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throneofsapphics · 3 months

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poly!ruhnlidia headcannons (sort of?)

warnings: mild violence, drinking, light sexual content, oral (f!receiving), minors dni!

a/n: I tried to keep this spoiler free for hofas, but read at your own risk! I have so many more ideas, please let me know if you'd like to see a part two!

going on a date

They’d never been on a picnic before, and you decided it was an absolute travesty, a crime, really.

Picking the park closest to your apartment, you filled a wooden basket with everything you could think of.

Ruhn, of course, was delegated to carrying the snacks. Lidia’s fingers intertwined with your own, her hand warm and steady. You’d chosen to leave before dawn, although they protested getting out of bed, you wanted to avoid as many crowds as possible.

Finding the area you'd scoped out earlier in the week, half hidden by a few trees, you spread the blanket, placing the basket in the center.

You held a grape between two fingers, glancing at Ruhn sitting opposite you.

"Catch," you grinned, giving him a few moments to process before tossing it in the air, slightly off to the left. His hand darted out, palm closing around - somehow not crushing it. "With your mouth," you clarified.

Lidia observed for a few moments, watching the two of you throw them further and further away from each other, diving across the blanket, knocking over random things. Eventually, she decided to join it. Turns out, she was very good at it - better than the two of you, and held it over your heads.

“Do you want a trophy?” his tone had a bitter edge, but his mouth curved into a smirk. His fae senses weren’t quick enough to keep the next grape from hitting his temple, courtesy of Lidia.

As the sun crossed the horizon, Lidia leant back against Ruhn’s chest, your head propped on her lap, her fingers running through your hair, nails putting the perfect amount of pressure into your scalp.

moving in together

The three of you took things slow, the decision to move in together taking several months. But, once you did, they encouraged you to customize the space, to add your own touch to it.

You looked at the wall adjacent to the window, still bare - no art or decorations.

“What are you thinking?” Lidia’s arms wrapped around your waist, her chin propped on your shoulder. You covered her hands with your own.,

“We could add a painting up there,” you murmured, hesitantly, judging her reaction.

She gave you a light squeeze, “I love that idea.”

The next day, Lidia came home with an assortment of paints and brushes. You glanced between them and her, eyes wide. “Worst case,” she shrugged, “we cover it up.”

ruhn taking you to get your first tattoo

“You’re certain about this?” He asked, for the thousandth time.

“Yes,” you groaned, squeezing his hand. Somehow, he thought he was a bad influence. It made no sense to you - you’d wanted a tattoo for ages.

‘Calm down,’ you cast out to him. The artist looked a bit on edge, given Ruhn was bristling next to you with each dig of the needle, each slight wince of pain on your face. You watched him force his shoulders to relax.

“Why don’t you get some food for us?” You said, aloud this time. It wasn’t really a suggestion. His brows flicked up, but he left, with a warning look at the artist. Your eyes rolled.

‘I saw that,’ his voice flooded your mind.

‘Good.’

A low chuckle came through, hinting at a promise of something else later that night.

later that night

Arms wrapped around your legs, warm hands spreading them open.

“Tell me what you want,” he kissed the inside of your thigh.

You squirmed, ignoring his teasing laugh. “You know,” you breathed.

“Tell me,” his eyes met yours, a hint of that damn Fae dominance that always sent shivers down your spine.

“You," your hands tightened around the sheets. "Gods, Ruhn. I want you.”

“And how do you want me?”

“Put her out of her misery,” Lidia drawled, “or I'll do it.”

Ruhn took the challenge, his tongue running slow, painfully slow, strokes, driving you to the point of madness - nearly to the point of begging. You felt the pressure, then two fingers inside of you, curling up to hit that spot, just as his lip ring ran over your clit.

Fingers threading through his hair, you screamed loud enough the neighbors could probably hear.

an hour later

“Official Aux business,” Flynn grinned, eyes darting between the three of you. Lidia leaned against the counter, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

However, your face turned red - already having an idea of what it was.

“What is it?” Ruhn grunted.

“We got a call,” Flynn sounded too pleased by this, “sounded like a female screaming. They called for a welfare check.”

Ruhn's hands pushed against his chest, shoving him out the door and slamming it in his face. Footsteps and laughter trailed down the hall. He picked up his phone, dialing a familiar number.

A too-cheery female voice answered, “yes?”

“Next time, I’m calling the 33rd on you,” he snarled. A beep and he disconnected.

getting into a fight

You were pissed. Beyond belief.

This male wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, and you knew your temper would start getting the best of you soon. A journalist, probably, given he couldn't stop badgering you with questions about Ruhn and Lidia.

They weren’t exactly overprotective or domineering assholes, they’d taught you how to defend yourself (more than you already knew) and respected that you could handle most situations on your own.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” you snarled, shoving the male's chest. He, rather dramatically, flew back a few steps. Maybe you’d put a bit more force than necessary into it.

“She hit me,” he yelled, attracting a few glances from people nearby. The bartender looked at him, then you, and rolled his eyes. You shot a tight smile back. His mouth parted, a look of alarm on his face, but the alcohol dulled your senses enough you didn’t see the punch coming in time.

The situation was taken care of rather quickly, the male thrown out of the White Raven none too gently, and you were led upstairs by another one of the bouncers, your friends trailing behind. You shot them an apologetic look when the rope snapped in place, keeping them downstairs.

‘I’m fine,’ you mouthed.

You slumped into a seat, a different bartender, someone you knew from school, sliding two fingers of whiskey in front of you.

“I give it five minutes,” he joked.

“Four,” the female working the other end called.

You grasped the cold glass, tilting your chin to let the cool liquid burn down your throat, leaving a comfortable warmth in your chest.

“I’d say three,” you finally added, glancing at the clock.

Sure enough, about three minutes and seven seconds later, thundering footsteps came up the stairs, preceding both Ruhn and Lidia.

Riso had probably called both of them before the conflict even occurred, he always had a sixth sense for trouble.

Lidia’s hands gripped your cheeks gently, turning you to face her. You felt the purple bruise blooming on your temple. “Let’s go,” she murmured, her hand gripping your arm gently, tugging you to your feet. You swayed slightly, gripping the counter for balance.

“Lidia please,” you pleaded, but her arm wrapped gripped behind your thighs, effortlessly throwing you over her shoulder.

At least you took the back exit out, Ruhn’s shadows obscuring your group, saving you from some public embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” She asked, after you'd made the few blocks trip home, sitting you down on the couch. Ruhn already had an ice pack wrapped in a towel, holding it up to the side of your face.

“Fine,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“What happened?” She pushed gently, one hand resting on your thigh. Ruhn moved with you as you threw yourself back, flinging your arms over the back of the couch, and snorted. He responded to Lidia’s glare, indicating she did not find this funny at all, with a shrug. Her lips pressed in a tightline, but she turned her attention back to you. "Tell me," her voice was soft, sweet. A tone she usually only used with you or Ruhn, and one that worked on you every time.

“He wouldn’t stop asking questions about both of you. A journalist probably.”

On instinct, you switched your gaze to Ruhn, spotting the brief flash of guilt.

“Don’t start,” you pushed one finger into his chest. He wrapped his own finger around it, tugging your hand to rest in his. “I knew this would happen," you insisted. It was true, as soon as your relationship went public, everyone had questions, and too many people felt entitled to answers.

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles instead, his other hand still holding the ice pack steady.

“I won’t. Who was it?”

“It’s been taken care of,” you said quickly. Sure, he’d annoyed you, but you didn’t want him to bare the results of two overprotective vanir. “He looks worse,” you added.

“Oh I’m sure,” Lidia caught your attention, a look of approval on her beautiful face.

#crescent city headcannons #ruhn danaan x reader #lidia cervos x reader #ruhn danaan x you #ruhn danaan x y/n #crescent city imagine #lidia cervos x y/n #crescent city x reader #ruhn danaan x reader x lidia cervos #ruhn daanan x y/n x lidia cervos #ruhnlidia x reader #ruhnlidia x y/n #poly!ruhnlidia #poly!ruhnlidia x reader #poly!ruhnlidia x y/n

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physalian · 4 months

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Writing Tone in Fiction (Or, Pacing your Story, Part 2)

See this post all about pacing and as the two go hand-in-hand. If you read that, I may repeat myself a little here. Tone, and how abruptly you change it, how radically you change it, and how you break it whether on purpose or on accident says a lot about your experience as a writer, and how well you planned out your plot.

**Trigger warning for mentions of mature themes**

What is Tone?

“Tone” is the maturity of the work, signaling whether or not your characters have to censor themselves for young readers. It’s also restricted by the genre, whether this is a comedy and what kind – slapstick or gross-out humor – or a scary movie about ghosts, but not graphic body horror. It sets expectations about the amount and degree of romance readers can expect, if the scene will fade to black before anything happens or if you’re in for a raunchy sex scene, or somewhere in the middle. It also helps audiences gauge whether or not characters can die in this universe, and how graphically if they do beyond Disney’s tried and true “villain falling ambiguously from a tall height” deaths.

OSP recently did a piece on Tone Armor, a device similar to but less obvious than Plot Armor where the established tone means that, no matter how dire the circumstances, your hero won’t actually die, the world won’t actually end, and a happily ever after is on the horizon. Red also discussed what happens when you break your established tone with the shocking death or mistreatment of a character, but more on that later.

How to Decide Your Tone

Depending on your genre and intended audience, content for younger readers demand quite a bit of censorship (though can get away with many, many things worse than death). In the US at least, movies go through the MPAA rating system to determine what’s permitted by the rating given – how many swear words, whether you can show blood, topless women, graphic assault, graphic violence, if and how characters can be killed or how gummy and resistant to damage their bodies are.

If you’re writing for children, you both have less freedom to write violent carnage, and more freedom to get really creative within the limits of your tone box. I can expect the kid protagonists of my fantasy adventure to murder countless monsters that dissolve into gold dust, not bloody carcasses. I can expect the villain to perhaps die from a stab wound, but probably not get decapitated, disemboweled, or drawn and quartered, at least, not ‘on screen’.

If you’re writing for adults, adults do still expect a warning for how graphic anything can be, whether that’s sex scenes, fight scenes, murders, assaults, bloody battles, garish injuries, dead pets, dead children, etc.

Unless you’re already planning to break your tone, you need to know fairly early on whereabouts you want to set those expectations. If none of the characters even allude to sex and you write in a graphic assault, your audience is going to be pissed, and horrified. If none of your characters even allude to sex, and you hint that one was assaulted off-screen, you will still upset your audience if you don’t give them time to prepare for the possibility.

You can soften the violence and graphic content you’ve previously established and few might complain about it not being gritty enough, but going the other direction puts you in a very precarious position. Choosing more mature themes will inevitably alienate younger readers, those with triggers, and those that just want to have a lighthearted good time. The trade off? You’ll invite readers with a work that’s exactly what they’re looking for.

Establishing a Tone

I’m writing this post today because I finally sat down to watch Game of Thrones. One can’t avoid spoilers for a series as massive as that, so I was prepared for the graphic violence, all the gratuitous sex, the infamous Red Wedding, murdered kids, horribly bloody battles, and the like. GoT, the TV adaptation at least as I can’t speak to the books, establishes exactly what to expect in the very first scene: Three people happen upon the site of a graphic mass murder, limbs and body parts strewn everywhere, kids among them, who come back to life as ice zombies to kill them.

That episode continues with a beheading, incest, more incest, attempted child murder via defenestration, a brother selling his little sister into marriage, rampant nudity, and… I’m sure I missed something.

**Spoiler Alert for Season 4**

What I was not at all prepared for was the graphic death of Oberyn Martell (Pedro Pascal). It’s quick, it’s violent, it’s graphic and gruesome and incredibly well-acted… it was also far more horrifying than the Red Wedding, at least to me. Murder is murder but the way this character went out almost had me quit watching right then and there. Google at your leisure.

It wasn’t necessarily outside the realm of possibility, but most everyone else died via stabbing, arrows, beheading, burning, falling, eaten by wolves, crushed, etc. This was deeply unsettling, particularly because it’s live action, not a cartoon like Invincible.

It did its job, and it’s the only moment to feature in nightmares and make me lose my appetite, so… well done? In the following Previouslies (correct me on the actual word) they don’t even show it, cutting around the actual moment because it’s just that horrible.

This was four seasons into an eight season show and nothing like it had happened before. In a tone already as dark and explicit as TV can get, poor Oberyn pushed it over the edge entirely. It broke the established tone.

Amazon’s The Boys treads the same very thin line, only these people have superpowers for a whole new level of deeply disturbed body horror.

So, when you’re establishing a tone in the realm of “less graphic than Game of Thrones but still terrible,” you can go one of two ways: Horrify your audience straight out of the gate, or slowly creep up to it with allusions and hints until they’re fully prepared for it when it hits.

If your characters have free reign of every swear in the dictionary, start with the “f*cks” and “sh*ts” as quickly as you can as part of their vocabulary, whether you intend to use the words sparingly or after every other word in their dialogue.

If you’re writing a multi-series work that intends to ramp up the rating as it goes, you don’t have to cold open with a murder, but establishing that characters do at least die in this world is a start. Establish that assault happens in the background, that killing happens, or animal cruelty. Your readers with triggers will thank you for it and read something else.

Unless you intend to shatter the tone and shock your audience with it later.

Breaking Tone via Killing Characters

The most effective tonal breakage I can think of that wasn’t even graphic, just dark and incredibly well done: Disney’s animated Mulan. The movie had been your standard Disney musical complete with grand animation for its sing-along song. Soldiers singing, dancing, laughing as they march off to war, all for a girl worth fighting—

The singing stops. The score stops. Their smiles drop. Cut to the scene before them that has murdered this Disney musical in cold blood and it’s a decimated battlefield, the snow-covered and burned bodies of their far better trained and more competent fellow soldiers, and the love interest’s father.

Mulan only briefly reprises one track in the climax, but otherwise, this happy-go-lucky sing-along has rudely and horrifyingly become a war movie. It’s still Disney, so it doesn’t get violent or graphic, but they shattered the tone in glorious fashion.

Breaking tone happens all the time, for minor events and major character deaths. It doesn’t become an issue of “you just alienated your audience” unless the tonal breakage is the aforementioned sudden graphic assault or other sensitive triggers.

Major character deaths are a whole separate monster to tackle and I’d like to, but for today’s purposes I’m talking about killing major characters when the possibility of any of our heroes dying was never established.

For anyone who never read Lord of the Rings and didn’t know the curse of anyone played by Sean Bean, losing Gandalf to another ambiguous high fall was one thing, but Boromir straight up dies in battle. Sure the story is surrounded by death and darkness but you expect heroes in a world like this to have some pretty hefty plot armor – and Boromir had so much room left to grow. In the grand scheme of the story, though, Boromir’s death was as far from shock value fodder as possible.

Sirius Black is another heartbreaking loss, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility – killing off Ron or Hermione would have been. Any mentor figure is automatically doomed with rare exception, especially ones in fatherly roles.

Bianca di Angelo is a different matter. She’s not the first death mentioned in Percy Jackson but she’s a brand new character and despite all the dangers the heroes have already been through and the warnings from the prophecy, actually killing her off for good broke the tone. Suddenly this war was real and there were lasting consequences.

Game of Thrones’ “Red Wedding” didn’t just shock audiences because a bunch of people died, it was which people that died. Robb Stark, eldest son and heir to Sean Bean (so of course he’s dead) and one of the siblings of the “hero” family had been leading a war effort to rescue and then avenge his father. He gets betrayed and murdered, along with his mother and a fair chunk of his army, caught by surprise at a wedding, because he broke an oath and married for love instead.

I knew of the scene and knew that Catelyn Stark was there just from the one time I’d seen the clip years ago, and as it got closer I worried it was Robb’s wedding, but I still wasn’t prepared for the death of the hero of the show. Jon’s off in the north doing his own thing and so is Danaerys. This was the bright-eyed usurper, the avenger, the never-lost-a-battle upstart. No author would ever kill that hero.

They’d established that anyone can die, similar to the Walking Dead in some ways, but this was a whole new level of boldness, killing off Robb. At the time of this post, I haven’t seen past season 4, but I know more deaths are coming.

Deciding to murder your hero, in any other story, would not go over well with your audience. Killing any major character is a decision that should be made with a deep understanding of the consequences or else you end up like Walking Dead after they killed Carl for shock value and never recovered their audience viewership.

—

It’s not just dead protagonists, it can be worldly tragedies, the heroes actually losing a battle, or the war, a uniquely horrifying monster or cryptid or villainous act. Or it can be a character beginning to contemplate self-harm and possibly attempting to end their own lives. It can be the reveal of an abusive relative, or an incestuous relationship. It can be mental health problems, sudden and un-curable disease and disability.

It can be less-dire things too, but I’m not much for writing comedy.

Tone, like pacing, doesn’t have to remain consistent throughout the entire story. If it’s a lighthearted comedy, let it stay a lighthearted comedy if you want to. You can change tone progressively, with hints and near-misses, or drop a bomb on your audience with a big reveal. What you do and how you implement it is entirely dependant on the story you’re writing.

Most audiences expect a book that isn’t written for elementary schoolers to mature over time and most genres come with set understandings. But hey, I hear Animorphs can get incredibly dark with a bunch of mature themes.

In general, killing a character just for shock value is rarely worth it in the long run. In general, writing in triggering subjects without warning to an audience that wasn’t prepared for it also isn’t worth it in the long run — save it for a different book.

If fanfiction authors leave author’s notes everywhere warning about the subject matter ahead, published authors can do the same, in my opinion. Content warnings should be a thing and it doesn’t have to spoil the surprise. Include it as a forward to your book, letting potential readers know that such and such work they’re considering spending real money on contains mentions of, or explicit depictions of, any and all mature and sensitive themes. You never know who’s out there picking up your book expecting a good time. Do right by them and give a little heads up and you might gain a fan you wouldn’t have otherwise.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools

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kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 1 month

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Curious about this: What’ll happen to Tiff?

Also I love the AU!! Keep up the good work!

Guys I strongly suggest you read the first few chapters of The Knightmare's End for context... (it won't make sense).

I also want to take this chance to say:

The story is not only about Kirby becoming a Star Warrior, it's him growing up wanting to be one as well.

I guess you could consider this a continuation of these two previous posts: Post 1 & Post 2

Also wanted to do a Dame Morgan updated mask reveal (and being a little troll)~ Still don't know who I'm gonna put in the Kirby OC Tournament.

And spoilers ahead if you choose to keep reading.

@shibuya-toast

When I first wrote the story (a few years ago), I struggled to make Tiff a part of the story...

When mixing anime & game lore (of the Kirby series), it was difficult to find a purpose for Tiff & Tuff... especially after MK's reveal. I didn't want to just regulate them as support y' know. The role of Kirby's love & supporting guardian is no longer Tiff's.

What's the point if they're just going to stand around and make commentary? How do I make them in this story meaningful?

And when I came back to the story I realized something "Why don't I make that the conflict!" (Something to conflict with Kirby... the emotional conflict of the story.. let's make it meaningful."

Tiff & Tuff, in a sense, represents Kirby's "childhood" period in the series; Kirby grows in the series, and slowly, he realizes more of what he wants in life. I didn't set up the conflict with the cappies for nothing. The events of anime & the Knightmare's end carry.

It makes him realize how much of an outsider he is from the cappies. (and wanting to kick him out at the end of the series along with all the times they bullied Kirby too...)

They (the cappies) know it... and Tiff (being the problem solver she is) tries to fix it... which goes terribly! (And the whole: Kirby overhearing Tiff admitting she never wanted to be Kirby's guardian doesn't help the situation at all...)

This comes across as dismissive of Kirby's feelings... ouch! There are no more monsters to fight & Nightmare's gone... why are the problems still here. Making Kirby feel more isolated from everyone in town... (was it just him...)

This is why he opts to be with Meta Knight & his crew... more avoiding the (problem)... This is where basically Meta Knight reveals his (MK) past to Kirby. (Him being the cursed star & finding Jecra, Garlude & Team Halberd- the OG crew)

MK: Thought I was going to be an outcast forever... But I found my people you'll... find your people one day too.

Kirby: Poyo- Ka-bi's people?

Kirby re-establishing and growing a stronger bond with MK. And, of course, the new threat arrives... Dark Matter!

Throughout the series, Kirby does meet (his) people who seem to understand him better & know what he's going through. Through the madness, gaining a set of friends who know how to support him:

Kirby's People: The Star Allies - Highkey, the Star Allies (unintentionally) become Kirby's emotional support group.

Tiff & Tuff don't really trust Kirby's other set of new friends (the former baddies that tried to take over Dreamland... namely King Dedede, and Marx...). But this is what (sadly starts the drift (which I have hinted at in Marx's arch).

But by the time they're kinda let back into the loop and they forgive each other but it's never the same as it was. (Fall out during Marx's story& they make up before Planet Robot). (And have completely forgiven the former villains... KD & Marx)

They feel so out of place with Kirby's new fantastical friends who seem to fit in & understand him better... where does that leave them (Tiff & Tuff)? The group seems to have their own dynamic, with their little set of inside jokes... and Kirby's changed tremendously... It's almost as if Kirby's outgrown them...

And it's this unlikely rag-tag of reformed villains to friends that make him realize, "Hey, I really do want to be a star warrior... travel around the world, see distant lands, learn about other places, meet new people & make new friends, and help the lost become the better versions of themselves but..." He doesn't want to be Dreamland's hero...

One day Kirby has a big announcement! Inviting everyone to Dreamland & Star Allies, to share the news. Kirby is excited to share the news.

(After Kirby & the Forgotten Land... I made Star Allies the finale.)

Kirby: Guys, the galaxy council recognized Star Allies as an official group and we've been given a planet to make our own base!

Knuckle Joe: ALL OURS!?

MK: That's right *pats Kirby's head* "Brehmuhm" (the planet that was given to Kirby), and all Star Allies it's be considered almost another branch to the GSA. That's lead under Kirby!

Kirby:* shows the set of plans to everyone* It can be our own personal quarters that you guys can visit & stay whenever you want.

Adeline: Wait, we can live there too?

Kirby: Yup, it's set up in the part of the galaxy where everyone can access it, and it's right next door to the GSA base... Of course, I'll be overseeing the plans with Meta Knight there-

Tiff: Wait Kirby I-

Magolor: Hey, I thought you were gonna stay with us in Halcandara for a month?

Kirby: I still am I just have to check in with MK at the GSA HQ at the end of each week.

Tiff: Hold on-

Marx: Come on~ MK WHY YOU GOTTA TAKE CHECK-INS ON THE WEEKENDS AT LEAST MONDAYS-

Tiff: WHAT IS GOING ON!~

Bandee: Me & Kirby plan to tour around for about a year before uh-oh

Tiff: Before what?

Kirby & Bandee had planned to take a tour around the galaxy. And the first place he's planning to stay is HALCANDRA BABY (Marx & Magalor)! Then next month Ripple Star (Adeline & Ribbon), then Floralia (Taranza), and ending the tour with Patchland (Prince Fluff) and dropping Bandee home. (Basically where all the Star Allies live... I did not want to list all places but you get the idea.)

This tour was to help establish diplomatic ties throughout the galaxies for the GSA (but lowkey, it was just an excuse to buy Kirby a year-long vacation).

Then Kirby formerly planning to move into the Star Ally base with Meta Knight and the rest of his crew and start his formal training with the Star Warrior in the GSA headquarters. (Becoming a cadet.)

(This was before Meta Knight became leader... and they didn't know that he was going to become the leader of the GSA, so yeah they were gonna have to move there any way either way~)

Kirby does pass the baton down to King Dedede (who has grown to be a true king and defender of Dreamland). Which I did hint at here: (sorry for my second blog that doesn't get much attention due to the spoiler nature of it due to it being a prelude of the future....)

So Kirby was planning to officially step down as their hero and hand it over to King Dedede, announcing his departure from Dreamland in two months, and then go on tour with Bandee the week after.

Needless to say yeah they're not happy about Kirby suddenly announcing his departure... But what specifically happens to Tiff well... it's Morgan-related but that's for later~

This is basically a water-down version of events, so if it doesn't seem like it makes sense, it does (there are just a few things in the middle I wanna keep a surprise...) but, it all makes sense in the end, I promise.

(I may want to change up how happens, but yup this is the gist of it!)

Brehmuhm is actually a reference to the fairy tale: The Town Musicians of Bremen by the Brothers Grimm. It's just the pronunciation of "Bremen" spelled out for~ (If you know the fairy tale you know why I chose to name it Bremen :3)

#kirby #kbasw #meta knight #kirby tiff #kirby fumu #tiff (fumu)#kirby tuff #metadad #kbasw answers #spoilers #dame morgan #morgan le fay #Morgan's mask is a kitsune #kirby oc

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sanguinesky-if · 14 days

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About the ages. I tried to search it on Tumblr, but was unsuccessful (probably a failure of mine). But, how old are the RO's?

Also, I would like to have the ability to choose MC's age, even if the range is not as big as it could be. I always enjoy having more character customization, even if the customization is never going to appear or is simple flavour text that appears like once.

Especially, because I don't think there would be any huge age gap between the MC and the RO's? Not that I would mind one, but all of them felt like they were around the same age range.

No, it's not your fault because you're the first one to ask that question!

But if I answer about their age, it might be a spoiler (revealing which of the ROs are supernatural, hinting about their species, etc.). So I'll keep it a secret for now.

Regarding the age difference, there are indeed ROs that are many times older than the MC.

I think it's hard to avoid that in terms of genre. I tried to approach the issue in a balanced way here, so most of them have a "but" in that regard. What is meant by that I also cannot say, as it is a spoiler.

All I can share is that there is a concept like "stasis" in this world, and let's not forget about "dreams", which even the MC has.

Also, I would like to have the ability to choose MC's age

It would only add accuracy to the narrative about the friendship with L and years of service as an officer, but other than that, nothing much would change.

I'll probably make a poll later to decide it, but thank you for sharing your opinion, I appreciate it!

I always enjoy having more character customization, even if the customization is never going to appear or is simple flavour text that appears like once.

The details of a character's appearance are very important to me, and I always try to change the narrative where these details might affect it. Here are a few examples.

Thank you for your message!

#asks #if #interactive fiction #if game #if wip #sanguine sky #sanguine sky if #ss general #ss ros #ss mc

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koco-coko · 5 months

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When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room.

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?”

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again.

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity.

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone.

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.”

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons.

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere.

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain.

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone.

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed.

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess.

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.”

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too?

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry.

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too.

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M.

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze.

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one.

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek.

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him.

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other.

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek.

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic.

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him.

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper.

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation.

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky.

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though.

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on.

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful.

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that.

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime.

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that.

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind.

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued.

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

#ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #suitor x suitor ikevamp #vincent x jean ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #jean x vincent ikevamp #vincent x jean #jean x vincent

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ppomumgranatum · 2 months

Text

eyes don't lie.

Chapter 1

more on Ao3 and Wattpad

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x mc #drama #sebastian sallow fanfiction

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previousloversandmuses · 11 months

Text

FREQUENCY: Episode 7 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 7: “Dead Man Walking”

WORD COUNT: 6033

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) SMUT (spoiler sorry) (finally) P IN V UNPROTECTED SEX (pls use proper birth control in your everyday life) Mentions of suicide, depression, drug & alcohol use. Violence, stalking. Homelander and SB being themselves. Offensive slurs.

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns.

PLEASE DISREGARD SPELLING ERRORS AND FORMATTING ISSUES SOMEONE BROKE MY COMPUTER AND I HAD TO FINISH WRITING AND UPLOADING THIS ON MY PHONE. I WOLL EDIT THIS WHEN I GET HOME TMRW ON MY DESKTOP BUT I WANTED TO GET IT UP ASAP ILY

Masterlist | Taglist

Sure, he could have ventured downstairs and harassed Vought Security by now, but no. He wanted the satisfaction of guessing this. He wanted to know how well he knew her. He wanted her to know how well he knew her. That he would appear on her doorstep like a knight in shining armor. But right now, he’s convinced he doesn’t know her much at all.

He started with her birthday, which he didn't know, but neither does she-- at least, he didn’t think she did. He’s not sure when his birthday is either, and they were both raised in the lab, so. That makes sense, right? He tried her favorite color, which he thinks may be green? That would make sense? She likes the forest? But it also could be pink because she is a woman after all, and all women love pink. Celebrity crushes? Him, of course, but that doesn't work either. And he thinks he doesn’t have the emotional security to even try another name.

“ILoveJohn…”Johnandme”...“John123”… “john1234” … ”homelander” … ”ilovehomelander”...”green”...”green123”...”password”... “frequency3” … “frequency123”... “freak+john”... “freakandjohn”... “ilovepink” …

She has her real name too, not “Freak”. Her real name, her given name, her birth name-- which he's sure is beautiful and suits her well. He just has no idea what it is. He has scavenged every computer file attached to Vought for years trying to find out even a hint. It has always come up dry. Without a lead. He has brutally assaulted security personnel over it.

“How fucking hard is it to find a fucking name? A registered supe name?” He would scream.

They would stammer, and quiver, and beg for their lives. Saying some Vought files are strictly kept on paper, so they could avoid the possibility of a cyber attack. That, of course, was never good enough for him.

“And you can’t even tell me the location of the fucking file, at least? Are you that fucking incompetent and mentally retarded? How the hell did you idiots even get a goddamn job here?”

Then he would raid storage rooms all round the city. Data centers from here to DC, which contain the most sensitive information. Of course, he’d threaten them too.

The worst part of it all, the only person he’d met that knew her name, was her. And of course, she never, ever told him. She taunted him with it. He begged like a dog salivating over raw meat.

He works at it for a few more hours until he goes for help. He must've just spelled something wrong, or is having some sort of brain fart.

When he enters the security room, the intern from the other day is already there. She had the night shift tonight, he's assuming. Although he hopes she isn’t on the clock as she snores onto the keyboard in front of her.

He clears his throat, looking around awkwardly--which does nothing. He then grabs a pen from next to her, and pokes her with it. Still nothing. He rolls his eyes, then claps so hard her hair flies back in a gust of wind. She jolts awake. Disoriented. She grabs her ears in pain.

“What the fuck?” She cries.

“Move.” Is all he says as he pushes her out of her swivel chair and takes her place. He hands her the computer from over his shoulder like it's a piece of paper. She grabs it reluctantly.

“What is this?” She asks, rubbing the side of her head to self-soothe.

“You have eyes. I need you to unlock it for me.” He mumbles, peeking down at his cuticles.

She inspects the computer, then sets it on the table next to him. She squats down onto her knees so she doesn't have to bend over. Grabbing a cord from the computer, she connects it and then waits for her main system to boot up.

“I need you to move a little, please…Sir.” She grimaces, moving over his shoulder to begin working on unlocking the computer.

He sighs, craning his neck over to the left so she could squeeze in. She begins to type, pulling up some system he doesn't want, or care to know about. She taps her hand impatiently on the mouse until-

“A-ha,” She says smiling, leaning back over to the laptop and typing in the information. “There you go.”

She hands the open laptop back to him. He inspects it with hesitance. Almost nervous to see the contents inside.

“What was it?” He asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“What was what?” She asks, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“The password.” He presses, glaring at her.

“Oh, um,” She pulls at her collar. Was it getting hot in there? “It was uh, fuc….”

He tilts his head towards her in a feigend attempt to understand what the fuck she just said.

“I’m sorry, in fucking english please.”

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“It was, uh, fuckyoujohn…nicetryasshole…” She grimaces.

He nods his head. Right. Of course it was.

---

When a maaa-aan loves a woman

Can't keep his mind on nothin' else

He'd trade the world

For the good thing he's found

The club had gotten significantly more packed as the night went on. The two of them are squished together, her back to his front. He nestles his face into her neck as he sings along to the songs blasting through the speakers. They are both wasted beyond belief. Ama and Asher had bought everyone a round of drinks after the long awaited makeout.

If she is bad, he can't see it

She can do no wrong

And turn his back on his best friend

If he puts her down

This was it. This is everything he needed to feel better. It was like he was floating. Her smell was intoxicating. He had never been this close to her skin before. It radiated a bouquet of roses and vanilla, even through the sweat and cheap liquor. He would never admit it to her, but he thinks he was pining for her since the moment he saw her. Like a mirage. It was one of those moments where the breath is stolen from your lungs. Where you’re taken aback by the sheer intensity of the moment.

When a man loves a woman

Spend his very last dime

And trying to hold on to what he needs

He'd give up all his comforts

And sleep out in the rain

If she said that's the way, it ought to be

When a man loves a woman

He begins to think in his foggy, mashed potato brain, that maybe, just maybe, everything he ever did, everything he ever experienced, was to lead him straight to her. That his time hidden away, chilled to the bone, was the universe crafting her especially for him. Like she was a hot summer day, and he was a piece of ice thawing out on the hot pavement. That he got to spend thirty years in hell to reflect and remember and regret, so he could be ready for her.

I give you everything I've got

Trying to hold on to your precious love

And baby baby please don't treat me bad

When a man loves a woman

Deep down in his soul

But he could just be drunk. Lovesick after what felt like eons of being starved of affection. Maybe he was more drunk off the scent of her than the liquor. He used to be able to hold it much better than this. But as she sways, and sings, and keeps her sweet feet planted on the ground, he can’t help but imagine that this was all he was ever made to do. Gee, when did he become such a sucker?

On the other hand, she definitely doesn’t have the capacity to even think in abbreviations, let alone full, complex, and poetic run on sentences about how they quite possibly had been made for each other. She was so drunk, she almost called him John a few times now. I mean, like father, like son, right?

Ah- there it is. There’s the thing she was so eager to stow away into the deepest parts of her brain the moment she even began to feel an inkling of attraction to this ancient man.

Her hand flies over her mouth- she thinks she’s going to be sick. What a way to ruin a great moment.

She goes stiff in his arms, he doesn’t notice at first until he looks down and sees her clawing at Ama.

Her eyes are wild, nervous. She hates being sick like this. Vomiting was no fun for someone who not only was a germaphobe, but experienced the five senses tenfold. A simple puke in the toilet became something of midevil torture when you considered the sights, the tastes, the smells-

Ugh, why the hell did she take that last shot?

Ama holds onto her shoulders, cocking an eyebrow, visibly confused. That is until she sees just how cartoonishly green she is. Her skin is completely rid of all colors. Her legs giving out on the dance floor.

Ama yanks over one of the other girls from the res and peels Freak out of Ben’s vice grip.

“What the fuck?” He shouts over the music, watching as the two girls float her out of the crowd.

He follows them out, tripping over Amas heels.

“I was in the middle of using that!” He shouts.

Ama pushes Freak and her friend into the bathroom, and whips her head around to him, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, well that can’t hold its liquor and is about to spew chunks all over the place. So I’d recommend going back with Asher.”

“What?” He asks, trying to push past her and into the ladies room. “Is she alright? Let me through.”

“Oh no no no,” she says, stepping in front of him. “You can happily wait out here.”

A club goer leaves from the bathroom, her flaming, flamboyant gay as her accessory. She looks Ben up and down, scoffing.

“Pervert.” She sneers.

Her gay friend, who is wearing more makeup than she is, glares at him even harder. Ben watches them in shock as they go back out onto the dance floor.

“Was that a girl or a guy?” He grimaces.

Ama cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

“Please go listen to NPR, or put on CNN, I’m begging you. For the good of the world.” And with that she shuts the door in his face.

Ama walks over to the stall Freak is currently knelt in. Their friend holds back her hair as she dry heaves into the toilet.

“J-John-“ she groans incoherently.

Ama and the girl look at each other.

“Who is John?”

She puked again. Coming back up for air, “John- he’s John…”

BLEH

The two girls turn back to freak, cocking their eyebrows.

“Right…John…” Ama says, reaching down to pat her back.

Freak pulls herself away from the toilet, wiping her mouth off, trying to turn around to them.

“No j-john… he- Ben..”

BLEHHH

The girls grimace as she hurls into the toilet again.

“Freak, what about Ben?”

“He’s his dad…”

“Who is who’s dad? What about Ben’s dad?”

Freak grips on to the sides of the stall now, trying to bring herself up to her feet.

“H-homelander,” She grumbles.

Now that’s a name they know. And a name they know that she knows very well.

“Wait, Homelander is Ben’s dad? How would that even work?” Asks the other girl.

Ama glares at her, then turns back to Freak.

“What about Homelander? Does he know you’re here?!” Ama is worried now, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her towards her face.

She looks half asleep. She doesn’t answer, just smacks her lips and feels around for some sort of water source.

“What about Homelander??” Ama cries.

“He-“ She hiccups. “Homelander is Ben’s son.”

Amas eyes widen. She lets go of freaks shoulders and steps back, hitting the door of the stall.

“I forgot- I feel like a pervert.”

Ama rubs her head, “No, no, you’re not a pervert.”

She squats down to get onto freaks level.

“He- I don’t know. This may change things. How angry would Homelander be if he knew you were going to screw his dad?”

Freak smiles, her eyes glossy and heavy. It’s a goofy smile, one that makes Ama grimace. There’s no way this girl had only four drinks.

“Let’s just hope,” she hiccups. “That Ben doesn’t find out I screwed his son.”

And with that she passes out onto the grimy tile floor.

-----

Her computer is exactly what he thought it would be like, organized and hard to maneuver. He didn’t understand her filing system, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask the intern to figure out any more of her offensive passwords.

As he looked around in the files, he noticed that almost everything had been wiped clean. All the folders were empty, just leaving the titles of what could have possibly resided in them before. Bringing his eyes up to the top of the screen, he sees the history tab. He thinks there is no way she wouldn't have cleared it, but it's at least worth a try. He brings the cursor up, and selects.

Yahtzee.

She cleared everything else but this. Quite possibly the most valuable information of all. Her search history.

He begins to scroll down, taking note of the last visited websites. Wikipedia, and mapquest. He goes for the mapquest link first. It takes him to coordinates that look to be in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York. No buildings for miles. He sighs. Scrolling back up to the top of the screen, he then selects the wikipedia link. The color drains from his face. He looks like he's seen a ghost.

“Soldier Boy”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

----

A picturesque morning. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining in through the cracked windows. A stream crackles along in the distance. The smell of coffee brings her out of her slumber.

Ah, what a beautiful day.

She sits up slowly, stretching out her sore limbs. Cocking her head to look out the window, she is greeted by sun rays--only then to let out a rough groan, grabbing her head in pain.

Fuck, she thinks. What happened last night.

The memories flood back like a scrapbook. More like images than pieced together scenes. She can see hints of the night, the important parts obviously sticking out like a sore thumb.

She drops her hands into her lap, looking down at her palms with shame. Was that- is that blood? No, no. It’s lipstick. Okay, just lipstick.

Turning her head cautiously, she checks the other side of the bed. It wasn’t undone, so it obviously wasn't slept in. She nods, applauding herself for not doing anything too stupid. Peering down at her body, she notices she’d been dressed in her own pajamas. That’s also a good sign. She knows for a fact if Ben undressed her, he would've just put her into bed stark naked.

From what she can ponder through the ringing in her ears, and the relentless pounding of her head, she doesn’t think she regrets the acts of the night before. She knew the moment she stared into his eyes last night that she had obviously felt something for him the whole time. She wonders if it's the mutual trauma bond. Similar to the one she and John share. John…his son. Bleh, and there is the warranted nausea. She doesn’t even remember how the hell she got home.

Did Ben carry her? Did Ama and the girls drag her down the road by her hair? Judging by the Sinatra playing from the kitchen, there really is only one way to find out.

She stares at the door in deliberation, stretching one last time. Why is her heart racing? Taking a deep breath, she pulls herself out of bed and through her bedroom door.

He sits on the sofa, coffee in one hand, the paper in another. She squints her eyes at him, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry- are you reading the New York Times?” She gapes, cocking her eyebrow.

He turns back to her, taking a quick intake of breath. He smiles softly, setting his coffee down onto the table in front of him.

“I made coffee too.” He says smiling, like it was some huge feat

She looks around with her eyes, wondering what was so impressive about that. He notices her aloof response and sighs.

“I haven't made coffee in thirty years…and that one has a computer in it.” He crosses his arms.

He refers to the digital screen on the Keurig.

“Ohhhhh,” She says, grasping the importance. “It’s not a computer you idiot.”

“A small celebration for you and an all encompassing victory for me.” His ego was visibly bruised by her indifference.

She smiles at him softly. She thinks something would have been different. That maybe he would have lifted her off her feet when he saw her. Spinning her around and placing hundreds of little kisses all over her face. Enveloping her in their beautiful slow burn love story--unless last night was really just the heat of the moment. I mean, he was the player of the century after all. She looks down at him from her spot in the kitchen, and he meets her with the same eyes he always has. A sharp pain rings out in her chest, her heart sinking down into her stomach.

What a silly little girl, she thinks. A silly little girl to think something like that wouldve really meant something to him. The guy was out of his mind on any substance the facility had to offer last night. Nearly a gallon of liquor, for starters.

She looks down at her feet, then bends down to pick up one of her earrings she assumes fell out during her wrangle inside. She stares at it, turning it over in her hands. Her eyes are bruning. Are they- is she really welling up with fucking tears right now? Because she thinks some prehistoric asshole wouldn’t be willing to give her the time of day? She huffs, turning around and making her way into the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower.” She calls as she closes the door behind her.

He sits on the couch with a confused expression.

She looks in the mirror. God she looks awful. Her makeup smeared, her eyebags sinking deep into the pits of the socket. Her cheeks hollowing out. She looks grotesque, and gross. Obviously someone who is planning on being gone within the next few weeks.

Right, she forgot about that. The activities with him from the night before distracting her from her imminent demise. A distraction, right. Thats all he is. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time on a man anyway. The future was what was really important. Her end goal being the greatest win of all. The most satisfying feat.

She steps in the shower, letting the warm water cascade down her hair and skin. She cups the water, bringing it up to her face, rinsing off the night before. She sticks her hand out of the shower, grabbing her toothbrush from the counter. She makes quick work of her teeth, also making sure to properly cleanse the impurities from her face and body. She sticks her arm back out to place to toothbrush back on the counter. A hand wraps around hers, grabbing the toothbrush. She jumps in response. How the hell did she not hear him come in there?

He takes the toothbrush and sets it back down on the counter. She rolls her eyes at him.

“A knock would be nic-” And before she can finish her sentence, he rips the shower curtain wide open.

She jumps again, her wet body fully exposed to him.

“Ben-” She begins, going to cover her breasts.

“Don’t,” He says, stepping one foot into the shower, fully clothed. She stammers, objectively confused. He shakes his head, looking down at her figure, and then back to her face, caressing her pretty cheeks. He then leans in. She's reluctant at first, her eyes staying wide open. She still has her body covered. But he takes his arm and wraps it around the small of her back and she's putty in his hands. She melts into his embrace as her eyes flutter closed. His mouth and hers mold together as the kiss becomes heated and sloppy. She can taste the fresh toothpaste from her mouth inside of his. The waster rushing in between them making it hot, wet, and messy. The water is hard, tasting vaguely of minerals. She doesn't care. She pulls back a little, but his mouth follows the flow of her face. She takes in a quick breath, gasping for air.

“Your clothes,” she starts, through broken peppered kisses all over her mouth and face.

“So take them off.” He mumbles like it was obvious.

This was a new one for her.

His clothes are heavy and fully drenched. She goes to lift off his skin tight shirt but struggles. He just reaches up and pulls at the collar, the whole thing ripping in two from the middle.

She looks down at his now exposed torso, brining a delicate hand up to rub up the ridges of his stomach. He looks down at her with gritted teeth. He hadn’t been touched like this in a very, very long time. He thinks he feels his skin burning. He sucks in air into his parted lips. Her mouth is agape, admiring his chiseled torso. She drags her hand up to his chest, her nails digging into his skin. Bens eyes roll back into his head. She’s not sure what to say.

“I,” she starts, chasing the rest of the sentence.

He looks down at her through heavy eyelids, bringing his hand up to her jaw and gripping it tightly. He holds onto her awed expression. Searching her face for any sort of reluctance. He sees nothing, although she is hard to read. Such an intense gleam of bewilderment.

He takes her hand from his chest and moves it down to the front of his pants. He lets out a deep groan. She looks up at him with the innocence of a girl gone untouched for years. She palms him gently, trying to elicit some sort of verbal response again. She enjoys the sounds he’s made. No sex had ever felt this intimate before.

She grips onto him harder, wrapping her nimble fingers up and around the button of his jeans. He watches as her hands make quick work of the top of his pants, beginning to drag them down the length of his legs. She follows them down to the floor of the shower, now ending up on her knees. She stares up at him through her eyelashes, staring directly at his rock solid package, begging to be set free.

He steps out of his pants, she grabs them and throws them out of the shower. They plop into a puddle on the floor. Her reaches down and grabs her chin again, pulling her up to meet his lips. He slips a strong arm behind one of her knees, hiking it up around his waist, never once breaking eye contact. Their lips graze, never touching. He reaches his hand behind her and grips her ass, kneading it like dough. She tilts her head back, letting out a small gasp. He leans into her neck, leaving a trail of nibbles from her clavicle all the way up to under her ear. She writhes under each one, her body struggling to stay upright. He doesn’t mind of course, this was light work for him. She was light as a feather.

He drags his other hand up her chest and around her supple breast. He toys with her nipple, pulling and twisting at it. He watches her pleased face from the crook of her neck. Then moving his mouth down and wrapping his lips on one of her stiff peaks. He sucks on it, nibbling slightly on the top. She watches him from her spot on the tiled wall. Her hand moving up and into his hair, scratching up and down his scalp. She swears he’s moaning more than she is. His eyes have gone white, making a new home in the back of his head.

He pulls back, now hiking both of her legs up and around his waist. He pins her against the tiled wall. Their noses brush, their lips grazing over each other. Her womb aches, begging to be filled. She had never felt this way with John.

“I’m rusty,” he whispers.

“If this is rusty I’m scared to see you well practiced.” She laughs breathlessly.

He smiles into her, kissing her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Better now,” she coos.

He chuckles, planting a kiss on her cheek. His hands massage her ass, pulling apart the skin. Grazing his fingertips around the spots she so desperately wants him to fill.

“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression this morning.” He starts.

She rolls her eyes, leaning her head back into the headboard.

“Is now really the time for small talk?” She asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He laughs again, moving one of his hands around to her front. He cups the soft skin of her pulsating heat. Teasing his digits around her swollen bud.

She moans, which in turn, elicits a big goofy smile from him.

“I didn’t realize you wanted me so bad.” He toys.

“I didn’t either,” she starts, arching her back off the wall. She gets in closer to his ear. “If only the V worked the same way on you. The only thing I could smell last night was how much I needed you.”

He groans into her neck, slowly inserting a long, thick finger into her dripping cunt.

“You feel that?” She asks.

“Fuck, do I?” He breathes.

He starts his slow assault on her pussy, rubbing his fingertips up and around inside of her. Massaging his augmented digits around until he can hear himself reaching the right spot. With her long, strung out moan, he can tell he’s gotten there.

From that, he inserts another, and begins to pulsate his hand in even, steady beats. She writhes against the wall, her stomach pushing into his. He kisses at her neck, biting and nipping, sure to leave a mark. All this talk of V has him forgetting how fragile she really was.

He pulls his hand out, and drops her legs. He steadies her as her feet slip around on the wet shower floor. He rips the curtain open. His hard cock standing at attention. Her mouth waters at the sight.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” He motions his hand out for her to take.

She looks at it reluctantly, then he leads her into the bedroom.

“I’m soaking wet,” she starts, yelping as he picks her up and tosses her on the bed like a ragdoll.

“Mm, that’s an understatement.” He smirks, crawling up the bed and nestling himself between her thighs.

“What if I told you I need you inside me right now?” She asks, pleading with him to fill her up.

He smiles, leaning down to face her pretty slit.

“Then I’d tell you you’d get it right after I had myself a quick taste. I’m starving you know?” He rebuttles, only then licking a thick, wet stripe up her dripping hole.

She tosses her head back, mewling. Her legs going to clamp around his head. He grabs her knees, spreading them apart, and pinning them down to the bed.

“Keep these open.” He mumbles.

He dives in feverishly, like he hasn’t eaten in years, and all things considered, he hasn’t. He starts on her clit, drawing circles with his tongue. Going back and forth between kitten licks and long thick stripes. He makes audible slurping noises, lapping up her juices from her hole, only to spit back into it making it even sloppier.

She is writhing back and forth, shaking as she fights to close her legs. Not that she even wanted to. Her body and brain were disconnected in this moment. Her muscles constricting and spasming. Her altered touch sense doing a number on her reproductive organs.

She tries yanking him up by his hair. Obviously he doesn’t budge. Still going forward with his assault.

“Ben,” she moans, giving up on physcial methods. “Ben please, I want you.”

He mumbles what she thinks is a “you have me”, but she isn’t too sure. Either way he doesn’t stop.

“No,” she whines. “I want you inside of me, please. Need it so bad.”

He lets out a deep groan, rubbing his hard cock into the mattress. Doing everything he can to relieve the intense pressure.

He sticks his head back up, his face glistening with her sweet juices. She moans at the sight. Sticking her pointer finger up, she beckons him towards her. He crawls on top of her until he’s hovering over her mouth.

Their lips barely touch, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She wraps her hands around his torso, digging her nails deep in his back. He sucks in air through his teeth. He lifts her knees up and over the bend of his arms, pushing them down onto the mattress. She watches from under him as he lines his angry, red cock right up to her slick entrance.

He sucks air in through his teeth as he sheathes himself inside of her hot core. His eyes roll back into his head. Fuckin A, he thinks. He feels like an addict getting their crack fix. He feels like a caught fish being thrown back into water. This was it. This is everything. Now he remembers why he was such a fiend back in the day. When good pussy was his only kryptonite. But pussy never came like this, he thinks. Pussy with personality, and similarities to himself, and beautiful eyes, and darkness, and light, and human. For once something he dips his cock in really feels human.

“Fuck me,” he groans, beginning to move into her slowly.

Her mouth is wide open, nothing coming out but strangled grunts. She takes it like a champ. Savoring every second his big meaty cock massages her deep, tight ridges.

He watches her face in awe, bringing one of his hands up and brushing strands of hair away. He kisses her lips, keeping his mouth there as he begins to speed up, hiking her legs up higher, and plowing into her sopping wet pussy.

The room is loud. Wet sounds and muffled moans fill the space. It’s hot, and humid. He swears the windows have begun to fog up. The two of them are ravenous. He tries to hold her down but she’s able to lift her hips up to meet his in a fit of impressive determination. This girl is a dream.

He readjusts, hiking her legs up onto his shoulders, admiring her smushed, fat pussy glistening under the flourecents. He watches himself disappear into her juicy folds, hugging onto him like a warm coat. Like a life vest. Squeezing him like a fucking blood pressure monitor.

He’s relentless now, pounding into her, and leaning down to suck her perky tits into his hot mouth. She gapes, her face contorted in pure ecstasy. No sounds leave her lips. Having the breath fucked out of her.

She regains it, letting out a shallow, strangled breath.

“Just like that,” she gasps. “Please, God, don’t stop.”

He smirks at her, wrapping a secure hand around her throat. Not squeezing, just simply for his own leverage. He goes harder, her poor legs definitely will be bruised by his fingertips tomorrow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He shouts through gritted teeth.

His head flies back as he spills himself into her. She milks him for all he’s worth. He thrusts into her a few more times before collapsing on top of her chest out of pure exhaustion. He takes deep breaths, trying to catch his breath, which never happens to him. But this took everything. Something so pure and raw and good. A craving that had finally been satisfied. She rubs her hands into his scalp as he lays his head on her sweaty chest. He leaves cute, and quaint little kisses. This is it. He thinks. This is every reason to stay.

If only she felt the same way.

——

He stalks up to Ashley’s office, an unreadable look on his face. He barges into a meeting with her and some other Vought executive. Both of their heads flying up in surprise.

“Homelander, what a nice surprise.” She exclaims.

“Shut it, Ashley,” He presses, turning to the executive. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The executive looks at Ashley, and then scrambles away out the door. She watches him in horror as he leaves the room, the door slamming behind him. John doesn’t take his eyes off of her for a second.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the CIA had Soldier Boy's body?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He gets closer, staring down at her with an intense gaze.

“I-,” she starts. He holds a hand out to stop her.

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me that he had been fucking kidnapped from the bunker in upstate New York?”

She stumbles over her words as he glares at her. She can’t bare to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, first of all, we were under the impression that he had been eliminated.”

“Well, obviously he hadn’t been fucking elimated, Ashley!” He bellows.

She trembles, finally turning to face him. His nostrils are flared, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let’s slow down. How do we even know he’s still alive? How do we know that he’s even escaped?” She searches for the right things to say. The way she knows to console him.

“Are you really fucking questioning me right now?” He scoffs.

She just stared up at him with big eyes, unsure how to continue.

He sighs, beginning to pace around the room. If Vought found out about Freaks' plan for the summer, they would surely kill her, which he didn’t want. Killing him? Obtaining Soldier Boy? That was fine. He’d happily fly him into the arms of the military and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted to him. But she was off limits. Anything that would happen to her would be in his own hands. He decides to not push it. Maybe just letting Ashley know about his disappearance was enough.

“You know what,” he lets out an ominous chuckle. “It’s fine. It’s fine! I’m sure he’s gotten himself out and is halfway through South America by this point.”

Ashley looks around, nodding her head. Anything he says goes. She'd rather keep her head than question what the fuck he had to say.

“Forget I even said anything.” And with that, he walks out of her office.

He’d take care of this himself.

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#homelander smut #homelander x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #homelander #soldier boy fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy the boys #jensen ackles x reader #soldier boy oneshot #frequency: a soldier boy story

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smiles-ocs · 4 months

Text

Some concepts and ideas for Castor and Ronan’s story called Starchild. Some of these are… hard to get to drawing, specifically Ronan’s younger siblings, might redesign them, but they’re all very young. Ronan left to join a crew so he could make money for them while his parents physically can’t work, and he made sure that his 12-year-old brother is very helpful. Then some random character ideas. A first mate on Castor’s pirate crew, two important characters named Rigel and Esther, castor as a young boy, and random scene ideas I have.

There’s a lot of crap I’m rambling about under the cut so go there if you want to know more about the characters, lore, and spoilers

I also have an idea of a deity or something of the sorts. It’s bascially a “Star God”, something with incredible power that was given to them from the heavens, and it is responsible for the starchildren that have shown up around the world, hence why this series is called Starchild. The whole thing around the Star God is a mystery, but people do know it exists thanks to the star children. This is a little dark but some explanation on Starchildren:

Starchildren are born every few hundred years or so, it’s unknown how often a starchild is born, but people believe that starchildren are the star god’s children, and that when they reach a certain age, they are sacrificed to deal with all the problems the world is having. They believe that if a starchild is not sacrificed, demons from hell will arrive to destroy the world. I hinted at this on my last post, but starchildren turn into strange creatures, the main one being the Leviathan. There’s also the Kraken and the other one who’s name is so complicated I’m not even going to bother with it dhskdbsk.

Long story short, the whole thing is a lie. Starchildren have incredible power when they become adults and are “awakened” as Starchildren. They remember the person that gave them that power (the Star God) and their purpose, which is watching over the people. However, centuries ago, someone in high power believed that Star children were too powerful, and out of fear, he came up with an excuse to kill starchildren before they grew too powerful, because no one should be more powerful than him. So they killed starchildren when they were young and weak, hiding behind the excuse of it being a sacrifice to the world or something, using the blood to cleanse the world and keep the demons at bay. That way, if the starchildren escape, and inevitably take on the role of “deities”, people will believe that the demons have arrived to punish them for failing, and will try to kill the awakened starchildren.

Starchildren cannot escape their fate, however, because they cannot hide unless they are far away from people. They have blue hair that shines in the darkest fog, blue hair that cannot be hidden, and a star birthmark somewhere.

I suppose there’s no reason to hide this now, but Castor is the starchild of this era, originally called Orion, but he changed his name for safety. He ran away when he learned that he was going to die, trying to escape on a boat. The people almost caught him, but the kraken appeared, seemingly saving his life. As Castor tried to hide from people, he tried to hide his blue hair, but it constantly shines through whatever he hid it in. The best he could do was to wrap it up and put a thick hat on, which helped, but even so, you can see in his wrapping the blue hair. He tried to dye it, hide it in mud, even shaving it, but the blue cannot be covered up, so hiding in plain sight was nearly impossible to him. He left to sea to avoid people, but accidentally became captain of the pirate crew. He’s a very jaded man who is intimidating and skilled in sword fighting. People respect him as a captain, so he is in high status on his ship (obviously 💀). Problem is, there is a very, VERY high bounty on the star child’s head, so even the most loyal crew members may turn on him if he is found out.

Castor trusts no one, but he seems to have a soft spot for Ronan for some reason. Even when he eventually finds out that he is the starchild, he can’t bring himself to kill him. He’s just a boy…

Obviously, Esther and Rigel are starchildren as well. Rigel is an ancient starchild, who lived a good life before the starchildren sacrifices. He roams the ocean, punishing anyone who threatens the innocent or disrespects the ocean. There were a lot of starchildren too, but the creatures of starchildren were hunted and killed, leaving Rigel, Esther, and Castor the last three starchildren. Esther was a starchild who escaped the sacrifice, who is far more cruel and jaded than Castor, and when Castor is “awakened”, she goes after him to use him to punish everyone.

Rigel is that turtle Whale island thing, Esther is the kraken, and Castor turns into the Leviathan.

The star god is no benevolent being, and is not a god at all. He’s a regular human who got magic from some meteorite, idk, there doesn’t need to be any specifics lol, and he grew immensely powerful. He resides away from the ocean, but he is not a good person. He’s greedy, selfish, and does nothing to help the innocent starchildren he “created”. He would love to have the starchildren to do his bidding, but if they die, it’s no matter, cuz he doesn’t need them. Idk maybe he’s not greedy lol. Either way the star god is not a good person, but I kinda want the star god’s role to be similar to Davy Jones in pirates of the Caribbean. There must always be a star god.

Anyways I hope that all makes sense 💀💀 Ronan is just there, being roped up into this nonsense, but he’s a good boy with a good heart and wants to help the starchildren, and he and Castor grow close.

#this was supposed to be a simple post but I DUMPED all that lore on you lol #I mean… at least the lore is easy to explain #unlike Clover’s story good GRIEF #my brother asked why his story is called ‘golden clover’ and I couldn’t begin to explain it 💀💀💀#it’s so complex #but I’m proud of it #this story is easier to explain tho and I like it a lot!#I felt weird combining the ocean and stars together #but idk they’re kinda connected in a way you know?#space and the ocean are very mysterious and unexplored #but space is more explored and more safe to travel through lol #but regardless there’s a lot of similarities between the two so maybe it’s not weird to combine them #poor Ronan will struggle through a moral dilemma through a lot of this #Esther is an interesting character so I’m hoping to explore her more #ocs #original characters #starchild

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midnightsun-if · 6 months

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actually the talk about the Scarlett's dad [and step mom] as well as Koda's family has me curious: Could we get some hints about the ROs home life and who is most precious to them? [Like for R I think I saw a grandparent? For Koda I imagine that is Pola dujshdh tho I'm sure his parents are way up there :-D]

I won’t be able to go into all of the home lives (due to potential spoilers), but I’ll try my best. 💜

Koda: Pola is definitely the most important person in his life— he adores his baby sister so much. He has a good home life: a loving mother and father, a kind aunt, and a warm community to call his own.

Scarlett: Anastasia, without question, (or Balerion). She typically tries to keep to herself, avoids her father as much as he avoids her, and is the perfect heir that’s expected of her whenever a public event is hosted. (Can’t go into the nuances of it though… for obvious reasons.)

Cyrus/Cyra: All of their younger siblings, I’d say. Though they do have a soft spot for the twins— Artemis and Apollo. They have a good home life too, though it can be stressful due to their tutoring and training, but they wouldn’t change it for the world.

Quinn: Their older sister— Alessia. She’s one of the few people they can stand being around when it comes to being back home (for a multitude of reasons). I can’t really go into their home life though… It’s complicated. (Quinn is seen as the eldest for reasons though they’re technically not the eldest.)

Caden: One of their oldest and dearest friends— as they don’t have a biological family. I can’t go in depth about who said friend is though… They remember their home life, from long ago, being kind and warm even though it had an undertone of sadness.

Sloane: Can’t go into this as it’s major spoilers for Sloane’s route… (Sorry.)

Blake: Lilith, without question, is the most precious person to them. Even though they don’t see her often— they know that she’d be there if they truly needed her. Their home life? It’s something they like to not think about.

Reginald/Regina: Their grandmother! They absolutely adore spending time with her and hearing various stories from her. Their home life is loud— filled with love and warmth… They wouldn’t have it any other way.

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: c aurelia #ro: r presley #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: koda kingston #ro: caden randall #ro: scarlett voltaire #grapecaseschoices #scenario asks

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glazemeda · 2 years

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summary; cyno's fluff alphabet for the 200 followers event! note; thank you, everyone, for your kind words! i decided to do the full alphabet for him since there were many requests. i hope he's not too ooc, I'm still learning how to write him,,, tags; fluff, some hints of violence and light angst, possible spoilers.

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Cyno, unsurprisingly, likes to play Genius Invokation TCG with you! If you don’t know how to play, he’ll gladly teach you and give you some advice on how to make your deck. He always has his own ready whenever he suspects you’re going to visit him.

Your lover is a busy man and doesn’t have much free time, so besides playing together, he’s willing to do something you like instead. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can deal with it from time to time just to spend time with you. He’d also enjoy traveling with you! For your birthday, he’ll take a few days off, so you can use that time to take a nice trip with Cyno.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

It’s a difficult question. The General Mahamatra thinks everything about you is beautiful, from your looks to your personality, once he falls in love with you, he can’t think of any other answer. But, Cyno loves your eyes very much, seeing how you are always honest with him.

If you’re with him, that means you have a decent sense of justice yourself. He admires that, along with your morals and your opinions in many topics. And, if you have a goal in mind, tell him. He’ll do everything in his power to support you, as long as you remember that there are limits for everything.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

It would depend on your own reactions. Depending on that, Cyno will either offer quiet comfort or try to lighten the atmosphere by telling one of his jokes, and then probably explaining it in great detail to make sure you got it. If he does the latter, you might end up forgetting about what upset you before to try and stop him.

If you prefer someone to listen to you, or hold you in silence as you calm down, he can also do it. He’ll stay with you, gently rubbing your back, maybe leaving a kiss on your head if you let him. Cry, scream, do what you need. Cyno won’t judge you when you trust him to be with you during your weakest moments.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Cyno doesn’t have any expectations about the future, preferring to cherish the present instead of daydreaming about something that might or might not happen. As everyone else, he does have hope, but he doesn’t really think about it a lot.

He would like to be with you but, as mentioned before, he focuses more on the here and now. Your lover prefers to cherish your touch, your smiles, the moments you share together in the present rather than think about what could happen in the future.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He’s in between. He does take the lead sometimes, but most of the time he prefers to share that with you. Cyno doesn’t exactly care about being dominant or passive in that aspect, he only cares about being with you.

Feel free to take the lead when you want to, as long as you’re respectful of his opinions and don’t try to force something, he doesn’t mind. If you don’t like to lead, he can do it, once again he doesn’t mind. In the end, it depends on your own preferences.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

If the fight happened because of something serious, no. Cyno is very firm with his beliefs, and has clear boundaries that will turn the fight into something truly serious. If you overstep these boundaries, it won’t be easy to be forgiven by him, and it’s pretty likely that your relationship won’t continue.

He’s pretty rational and tries to avoid misunderstandings with you, but this doesn’t mean that fights won’t happen. He’s busy a lot of the time and it can cause problems in a relationship, he can take his duty too seriously sometimes. When he’s angry, he doesn’t raise his voice, but when you see his cold eyes you wish he would yell instead. Another thing that may start a fight, is if you put yourself in danger, Cyno can’t think clearly in that kind of situation.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He’s grateful and aware of what you do for him. Cyno knows that it isn’t easy to love him, as he doesn’t really express his emotions often and is a rather… famous person in Sumeru. He appreciates how patient and understanding you are.

Once your relationship turns serious, he’ll try to not spend too much time outside. If you’re doing your best to understand him and love him for who he is, with his flaws and everything, he wants to at least try to spend more time with you. It’s the least he can do.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Cyno tells you everything he can, but has to keep a few secrets. He’s straightforward when he can’t say something, usually because it’s a secret from the Akademiya or something regarding a sensitive topic.

Besides that kind of things, he likes to be honest with you and expects you to do the same. Slowly but surely, he wants to share most of his secrets with you, as you’re someone he knows he can trust with his life. He hopes you feel the same about him, too.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Indeed! The General Mahamatra started taking more breaks after your relationship began, to see you more often. You help him a lot when he finds it difficult to relax or sleep. He’s also willing to try new things if you like them, whatever they are, as long as you don’t break any rules.

Cyno would most likely be able to help you with your fears and insecurity. He’ll be there to support you whenever you need him as you fight against something you fear, no matter how silly you may think it is. And, although he does feel a bit… flustered sometimes, he will shower you with honest compliments whenever you’re insecure about yourself.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Not really. As said before, Cyno trusts you with his life, so he trusts that you wouldn’t cheat on him. He wouldn’t, however, find it amusing if someone ignored your words about how you have a boyfriend and continued flirting with you.

In the mentioned situations, he simply has to step in. Most people, if not everyone, in Sumeru is aware of who he is, so that person will leave after a single glare if they’re wise enough. If not, well… let’s just say that Cyno doesn’t have a problem with showing his polearm. Threatening? No, no, it’s just a warning.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

The first kiss you shared with him was short and quick, but not less sweet. He wasn’t used to that kind of affection, so he would be a little clumsy for a while. It’s actually cute, as he does his best to learn more about how you like to be kissed.

After he got used to it, it’s safe to say that his kisses leave you breathless. Cyno’s lips start gently touching yours, but his kisses are long and slow if he has the type to spare. Even when he doesn’t, he kisses you with so much passion that you can’t complain. Don’t let his stoic face fool you, he can’t hide how much he loves your lips when he kisses you.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It would take quite a long while to even think about confessing his feelings. Not because he doesn’t want to accept them, and fear of rejection isn’t the main reason as to why he stopped himself so many times, but because of who he is. As the General Mahamatra, he has many enemies, and putting you in danger is what he’s afraid of.

So, it was most likely a slip up. Maybe in a situation where you put yourself in danger, not listening to him, and it triggers something inside Cyno. His face doesn’t change, but he’s a mess inside, scared of the thought that he could’ve lost you and upset because you didn’t listen. In the end, he accidentally confesses to you. No one would believe that someone like he confessed in accident, but it’s difficult for him to keep his emotions in check around you.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Cyno isn’t really interested in marriage, but if you want to get married, he’ll think about it. You’ve had some conversations about this topic, and if your dream is for him to propose, he doesn’t mind. He’s okay if you want to propose to him.

Either way, it has to be completely private. Only a few friends, family members and the like, to avoid making it too known. A private wedding, a day to always remember and a promise to stay together. Even though he wasn’t interested at first, he can’t help but let a soft smile appear on his face at the thought of putting a ring on your finger.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’s pretty simple with the nicknames… when you aren’t alone, at least. If you’re outside or around friends, he would call you “love” or “dear”. Cyno doesn’t call you by a pet name often though, he prefers to keep most affection in private.

And when you’re alone, he can just drop the cheesiest nicknames you’ve ever heard. Is he serious, or just joking? You can never be sure. But, he does like to call you “honey” sometimes, too, when he’s relaxing against you. He whispers the nickname close to your ear, asking you if you want to rest.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

The only one who will notice that you have Cyno wrapped around your finger is Tighnari, no one else can see the signs. They can’t see the way Cyno’s eyes soften ever so slightly when you’re around, how he likes to stay close to you, ready to put you behind him in case danger comes… His expression doesn’t change much, except for the almost unnoticeable gentleness and stares.

He’s pretty subtle, in a way. He expresses his love for you by making time to be by your side, telling you his newest jokes and bringing small tokens he thought you would like. It’s not showy, he’s not singing you praises all day around, but he’s always thinking about you.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Cyno has a… reputation, as we all know. As the General Mahamatra, he has made many enemies that hold a grudge against him, so he doesn’t want you to be seen as a target all the time. Therefore, he prefers to avoid most types of affection in public. But, sometimes, he does hold and gently squeeze your hand if he thinks it’s safe enough.

If you’re in front of friends, he’s a bit more open about it. Hand holding, a short hug and a peck are always alright. If you’re with close friends, those you can trust without a doubt, Cyno will even let you sit on his lap if you want to.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He always knows when something is bothering you, especially if it’s something that may cause you harm. Cyno can’t help but notice some of the signs you unconsciously give, be it the way you can’t look at him when he asks you about your day, or anything that may tell him you’re hiding something.

He won’t let it slide. Whatever it is, it’s making you anxious, and he wants to help you. If it’s because of someone, well… he’s a pretty good hunter, and it seems he’ll have a new prey to find. There are barely any limits for him to protect you, and he’ll use his authority to stop whatever is upsetting you if he has to.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He can be romantic sometimes, especially if he sees that you like it. Cyno shows it by getting you the prettiest flowers he can find, telling you that they made him think of you. Your lover can be a little cliché, but that doesn’t make his gestures any less charming.

He’s willing to do almost everything, as long as it’s not against any rules and it doesn’t put you in harm’s way. If him taking a break to travel with you makes you happy, he’ll take a few days off to be by your side. And, although he won’t tell anyone, a part of him wants to kiss you under the stars after spending the day exploring together.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Of course! Cyno will do everything in his power to help you whenever you need it, he’ll always be there for you. No matter how impossible your goal may seem, he believes in you, and won’t let anyone make fun of you.

But, if it’s something dangerous, you must let him accompany you. As someone who is very stubborn with his goals himself, he knows he won’t be able to change your mind, so he at least wants to ensure your safety.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

A routine may sound boring to some, but your lover is a man who needs to have some time to just relax, to rest without any surprises. It’s comforting to find himself following a routine with you, someone who loves him and stays with him.

Cyno does like to try something new from time to time, from a new game to exploring a place that caught your attention. An activity that isn’t particularly incredible, but creates new memories for the two of you.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Your lover is a man who pays attention to detail, at least when it comes to people. He unconsciously learns some of your quirks, noticing how your eyes light up when you’re talking about a topic you like, even if you never told him that you did, and the same happens with the things you dislike.

He’s a bit more empathetic with you, a part of him can’t help but soften around you, even though he learned to not let his emotions control him. With you, he can feel himself let his guard down ever so slightly, and he yearns to understand you more and more.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship is very important, you’re someone who can make his days much better with just a glance, with a smile you can make his heart flutter and his cheeks burn. Thanks to you, he found himself feeling a little happier each day.

But, even although you’re one of the most important people for him, his duty is still one of his priorities. Cyno won’t let a criminal escape, even if he has to stay away for a few days. He’ll apologize, but you must understand that he’ll never let something like that slide, and it won’t be the last time it happens.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Cyno loves when you fall asleep near him. It shows how much you trust him, letting your guard down knowing he won’t let anything harm you. Sometimes, he lets himself caress your hair, his touch soft as a feather. Sadly, you won’t be able to see the smile on his face.

He also likes to watch you from time to time, but tries not to do it too much in fear of you catching him and thinking it’s creepy. Still, his red eyes always end up staring at your relaxed form, engraving your features in his memory.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

In public, not really. Like it was said before, he prefers to avoid most affection outside… but in private, it’s completely different. He loves to hold you and kiss your lips as many times as he can before he has to go.

When you have free time together, his arms are usually around your waist, or his hand touching yours, or your arm, or anywhere as long as he’s touching you. It helps Cyno relax, reminding him that you’re right next to him. If you hold him, he’ll absolutely melt.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Cyno tries to focus even more on his duty, but his patience is noticeable shorter. He wants to finish everything he has to do so he can finally go back home, where you would greet him with a sweet kiss and an even sweeter smile.

If this doesn’t work, he’ll just stare up at the sky, watching the stars and wondering about how you’re doing. He has to force himself to not let his thoughts wander too much, he can’t let his guard down, after all.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Yes, he’s willing to take many risks for you. Cyno won’t hesitate to face the most dangerous enemies as long as you’re safe, and he doesn’t even care about his reputation if he catches someone insulting you.

No matter what, he will protect you. If he has to use his authority or violence, he doesn’t care, no one will touch a hair from your head.

glazemeda 2022

#cyno x reader #cyno #genshin x reader #cyno fluff #200 followers fluff event

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starlit-dreaming · 7 months

Text

when honestly you can't recall (Baxter Ward/MC) p2

Rating: M

Romantic Ships: Baxter Ward/Original Character(s); Derek Suárez/Leandra “Lee” Last

Platonic Ships: Main Character | Jamie Last & Leandra “Lee” Last, Main Character | Jamie Last & Original Character(s)

Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Single Parent, Angst w/a Happy Ending

TL;DR: A self-indulgent Single Parent AU. Lee has a better relationship with my MC compared to Liz. I wrote this when the Baxter DLC was still in beta, so I opted to avoid writing spoilers (for now) and to avoid rewriting moments of the Jude/Scott wedding.

A/N: Cross-Posted on AO3 under the same title (@ Starlit_Dreaming). There's gonna be more fluff in the next chapter, but I've also written like... 5% of the next chapter, and I've only been able to finish due to having free time in the last few weeks.

Obligatory Tag: @arcosoffireheart

Links: 1 | [2] | 3 | 4

Summary:

Everyone assumes that Gabby is exactly like her mother, but Rosaline will always see the traces of her daughter’s father. The shape of her eyes, how fussy she gets if there’s even a hint of conflict, every moment her daughter is calm and serene in her arms, the sweet and gentle smiles.

Her daughter does not have her black hair, either. Wavy hair, yes, but it was not fully black and her father has only ever dyed his hair.

It’s a miracle that nobody notices their similarities.

Including Baxter himself.

// In which Rosaline ends up becoming a single mother in the aftermath of her and Baxter’s summer fling. Some things change. Some things don’t.

——————————————————————

Part 2: i don't care (it's taking me apart)

——————————————————————

Then

Mid-Summer

Step 3: Age 18

———————————

“It’s… I don’t know. A frightening situation?”

It felt wrong hearing those words coming from Rosaline of all people. Throughout their childhood, she was always taking things in stride and going with the flow. No matter how scared or anxious she would get, she would always pull herself together and stand tall. Maybe it had to do with Cove, who always relied on her as a shoulder to lean on.

Cove was precious, there was no doubt about that, but Rosa tried so hard to stand tall for his sake that it’s hard for her to rely on him in the same way.

And that’s where Lee came in.

There were some matters that were easier to share between Rosa and Cove, but things like this were easier to share between Rosa and Lee. Lee was Rosa’s shoulder to lean on, the person she cried to. And still, it feels wrong hearing those words coming from her cousin. Her cousin deserved to be happy, to smile without a care in the world.

“Why’s that?” Lee asked, tilting her head back to look at Rosaline, who was sitting on the monkey bars and letting her feet kick back and forth.

They were both honestly too big to be using the park — it used to feel like such a huge place when they were kids, but not any more. Rosaline stares off at the sunset, and Lee simply leans her back against the ladder, watching her cousin.

What a solemn look — it didn’t suit Rosaline at all.

“I’ve only been dating Baxter for two months now,” Rosaline stated. “The honeymoon phase wore off, but… I’m still really into him. Like, thinking about a future, getting married one day, that type of seriousness. It’s just… kinda scary to me. I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Since you’re dating. You’re not the kind of person to date casually to begin with.”

Not that anyone actually knew that. Lee was the one Rosaline talked to when it came to anything romance-related, and sure, she might’ve mentioned something to Cove, but he wasn’t too interested. Probably on the ace spectrum, if she really wanted to make a guess.

Granted, Rosaline often broke things off with her exes within a month of dating. Either red flags that Lee noticed or because of incompatibility — most of those red flags being some who tried getting her number, despite dating Rosa, and Rosa promptly gave them the boot the second Lee said something. The fact that Baxter never asked Lee for her number when they met on the little boat trip was already a pretty good indication that he’s not interested in getting into somebody’s pants and dipping out after.

In fact, Lee was pretty confident that Baxter was equally head over heels for Rosaline. Is he just not communicating that to her?

“Yeah, that’s true, but still,” Rosaline sighed, wryly smiling. “I get jealous thinking that he’ll find you or somebody else prettier, even when I know that his eyes are almost always on me. I get all insecure, wondering if I’m good enough for him, or wondering when we’ll be breaking up because he finds someone new. What if we can’t handle long-distance? What if he loses interest in me? I just want to hog all his attention.”

“If he’s the type to break up with you because of something like that, then he’s definitely not worth your time and affections, but I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Lee stated rather confidently, moving to stand in front of Rosaline. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Rosa. There’s no way he’ll break up with you for those kinds of reasons. He’s nothing like your exes.”

“…You really think so?”

“I know so,” Lee grinned, reaching to hold her cousin’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “You’re both absolutely smitten with each other. It’s a bummer that Derek won’t be back before summer ends. We could’ve gone on a double date!”

“Yeah,” Rosaline smiled softly. “Maybe next year, unless Baxter has a chance to come back sooner.”

“For you? I think he’d do whatever he can to make you happy.”

———————————

Then

Early Spring

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 19

———————————

“For you, I think she would’ve done anything to make you happy,” Carol murmured softly.

They both stood on the porch, an old envelope in Carol’s hands as she took her hat off, curly grey and white hair revealing itself as she held the hat over her chest. She seemed to be doing some sort of silent prayer, as she looked at Rosaline with a distant look in her blue eyes.

Eventually, she smiled, something sad and soft and gentle as she puts her hat back on and hands her the envelope. “I suppose it isn’t so terrible, in the end. You grew up happy and healthy, Rosaline, something that we all had hoped for,” she said with crinkled eyes. “And while it’s not how she envisioned it, the house is yours.”

“…thank you,” Rosaline awkwardly said, gently taking the letter into her hands. “For coming out here with me. For not selling the house and everything that belonged to… my birth mother.”

“Oh, don’t go thanking me for a silly thing like that,” Carol lightly laughed, waving her off as she approaches the front door, digging through her purse for the key. “Val was like a second daughter to me, and even without renting this house, I make enough money to keep this place. Coming here and showing you the house would be better than leaving you here to handle it on your own.”

“…you mentioned earlier that you stopped renting the house…?” Rosaline questioned as the door opens, and Carol steps aside, gesturing Rosaline to walk inside first. Wordlessly, she enters.

What greets her is a home with cream-coloured walls that appear to be freshly painted over and a stairway with a child gate at the top and bottom. On her left is a small carpet area with bean bags and two regular-sized bookshelves — one filled with minimal and minor decor, and the other half-empty and half-filled with books as if waiting for the next renter to fill in the empty spaces. The right of the stairs shows a short hallway with a door to the garage, and at the end of the hall is an open door, leading through a laundry room which also leads into a bedroom from what she could tell.

“Yeah,” Carol said. “You had just turned 18 when I stopped renting the house to people. All of my renters here were single parents who needed a place until they could find their footing, and the last renter’s lease only finished up recently.”

Rosaline walks towards the bookshelves as Carol closes the door and puts her keys away.

“It’s up to you if you still want to keep that sort of thing up with this house, but I imagine it’d come in handy for your current situation.”

Upon closer inspection of the books, Rosa noticed that on the bottom shelf was an assortment of children’s books. Half appeared to be brand new, and she suspects that it has to do with the fact that actual children had grown up in this house thanks to Carol’s past renters, and Carol’s renters had gone out of their way to buy new ones.

In contrast to the bottom shelf, was the top to middle shelf where an adult would have a much easier time to grab and go. Some books on the top shelf were old and worn, gently gone through multiple times in many years, yet still well-maintained. There was a book of names, with pages marked with pieces of paper that stuck out from between the pages. But most notably were the self-help books, the cookbooks for beginners, recipes to sneak in vegetables for picky eaters, basic first aid, and many more.

This bookshelf was curated to best help a first-time parent, and that fact was evident with how many books didn’t look brand new.

“I… am really sorry. For not talking to you about Valerie back then. You look so much like her, but you’re an awful lot like your moms,” Carol said, walking over and standing beside Rosaline. “I couldn’t bring myself to properly meet you back then. I lost both of my daughters and just couldn’t let go of my grief. Valerie, who died in an accident, and Veronica, who died in childbirth.”

“I see… I’m sorry that I can’t really understand how you feel.”

“Nonsense. Yes, you do look like Valerie, and who knows, maybe you’ll share similarities with her, but you take after your mom and mother. I can see that you have such a light-hearted and joyful approach to life just like Pamela, and you are a sympathetic and comforting sort of soul like Noelani.”

“…what was she like?”

“Valerie was an orphan who started working part-time as a receptionist at Lacework Lenders. She didn’t have anyone else, just me and the others, but she and Veronica were sisters in everything but paperwork. No boyfriend or husband either — her ex ran off the second he found out that she was pregnant, but Val was very stubborn. Nothing stopped her from wanting to keep you and have a family of her own.”

She tried not to feel guilty over a woman that she might never consider as anything more than a birth mother.

“What happened to her?”

“A car accident,” Carol shook her head. “I don’t know all the details, but you were born early, and she was alive long enough to give you a name. Nobody knew your father, so we couldn’t contact him, we couldn’t do anything about him, really. I don’t think Val wanted him to know about you, either.”

“Well, that’s fine. I’m not interested in finding a father figure — I already have two in my life.”

Gregorio Suárez and Cliff Holden were the only dads in her life, and she didn’t care to find someone who never wanted the title to begin with. Men who didn’t want to own up to the consequences of their actions weren’t worth an ounce of her time, anyway.

“Good,” Carol nodded, pretty much agreeing with the unspoken thought. “Past this room and the stairs is the kitchen. My daughters worked on redesigning it to be a spacious kitchen — unfortunately it’s also been baby proofed, so some things might be difficult to open.”

Rosaline nodded along as they moved into the kitchen. The edges of the counters all had edge guards, making it less likely for children to get hurt from it. That… was actually fairly smart. She never considered doing that with counters, so it really was a good choice for her to come see the house. If she doesn’t move in, she’ll keep that in mind the next time she shops for her future baby.

Past the kitchen and dining area was a wide living room with carpeting and an L-shaped sofa set. There was a TV mounted above an electric fireplace, with an empty toy box in the corner.

“You’ll have to buy the toys yourself for your child,” Carol said. “The children of the previous renters often took the toys with them, but they usually buy some starting toys for the next renters. The previous renters did buy you a few baby blankets, though.”

“They left me stuff…?” Rosaline blinked.

“It’s only polite that they did,” Carol smiled at her warmly. “They went through similar problems like you, and a small bit of kindness can go a long way. They wanted to help you in a way that they were able to, just as the previous renters have done for them. You’d still have to buy some things of your own, of course, like milk formula and baby wipes. Val’s things were left untouched in the back shed, but we can go over that later since we’re just here to look at the house today. I know that it can be… a lot.”

It felt… strange. Despite the fact that there were renters before her, everything about this house just seemed to be done for her and her birth mother the more she looked around.

But her birth mother never had the chance.

The idea of using it for herself just felt unsettling. It felt wrong, as if she was stomping on her birth mother’s dreams.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa and I fix us up with some water, hmm?” Carol kindly smiled, gently placing a hand on Rosaline’s shoulder as she guided her over to the sofa, sitting her done. “And don’t go feeling sorry for Valerie. She would’ve been furious that I didn’t come help you in your time of need. I think it would let her rest easy, too, knowing that her own preparations would help out not just strangers in a similar situation, but also help you out with your own child.”

Rosaline rubbed her eyes, her other hand resting on her swollen belly as Carol wordlessly walked towards the kitchen, getting them both a glass of water.

Once, when she and Liz talked about their birth parents, she told her that she didn’t understand. Because the life she lived is hers, and that she could never imagine anything else. She loves her moms so much, and the idea of having different parents from childhood was unthinkable. The very idea of never being Cove’s neighbour hurts too much, the idea of never knowing the people in her life now.

And yet, this house was proof of a life that could’ve been, but never was. She could’ve been an only child, she could’ve been in a family of two. Maybe she would’ve acted like Derek had once thought she would when Father’s Day came around, maybe Father's Day would’ve become a sore topic of conversation.

Living here, she would’ve gone to the same school as Lee and Derek, she would’ve known them, but would she have been just as good friends with them? Maybe, maybe not.

(Would she have met Baxter, still?)

But here she is now, with all of that being only what-ifs.

“Do you have a name for them?” Carol asked, placing the cups of water onto the table and handing Rosa a packet of tissues from her purse.

“Gregory for a boy, Gabrielle for a girl,” Rosaline sniffed, taking the packet of tissues. “Gray or Gabby for nicknames. Maybe Greg or Brielle — I’m not sure which nickname to use. I just… their father doesn’t know, and I want him to see this child and understand that they are a symbol of the love we shared.”

She was being sentimental, and she was just thankful that everyone thought that she was just naming her child after Gregorio. It was dumb, and maybe she’d cringe in a normal situation, because Baxter had the whole black and white theme, and already she thought of their child as gray.

“Those are good names,” Carol smiled kindly, rubbing her back reassuringly. “And if he has an ounce of love for you, he’ll grow to care for your unborn child, if he ever meets them.”

“…would… Valerie really be okay with this?” With me, goes unsaid.

“Positive.”

———————————

Then

Mid-Autumn

Step 3: Age 18

———————————

“…positive.”

Rosaline let out a shaky breath, looking at the test before tossing it into the small wastebasket.

Her purple eyes stared off into space, lost in her thoughts. And when she turns to look at Lee, standing at the doorway of the bathroom, she looked as if she were looking for something. For someone. She hugs herself, looking small and even more fragile than she’s ever been.

And Lee knows that it’s not her who Rosaline is looking for, but she’s here, nevertheless. She’s the only one who’s here for her right now.

So, she does the only thing that she can do. Lee hugs her, warm and careful as if Rosaline were precious. She rubs her cousin’s back, hoping to give her as much comfort that she was willing to accept at this moment.

“Whatever you decide, I’m here for you.”

Rosaline doesn’t need assurance for anyone else. Lee knows her cousin, and she knows that Rosaline needs her assurance, because she’s here, she’s here and everyone else isn’t because of various reasons outside of her control. She’ll need their individual reassurances later, but Lee doesn’t need to wait to voice her own.

And then, Rosaline relaxes her tense shoulders, returning the hug tightly. Her eyes were watering, Lee noticed, and soon, it dampens the shoulder of her shirt where Rosaline laid her head against.

“I… I want to keep it.”

And unlike everyone else who would ask and showcase their disbelief, Lee nods, accepting it without question, “Okay.”

Because she knows better than anyone how much Rosaline gets stuck in her own head. She must’ve thought it over hundreds of times before the confirmation, before telling Lee, before asking her to be here tonight.

“And… I… I want you to be their godmother.”

“Of course,” she nods, knowing that she was going to be the godmother from the very start. Liz might feel hurt by that fact, but Liz also wasn’t always there for Rosaline throughout their lives. Lee was. Lee always was. “We’ll love and support you,” she adds, before Rosaline starts panicking over reactions next.

Everyone will spoil Rosaline’s unborn child, she just knows it.

Rosaline sniffed, eyes watering. “Will… will you be there…? When I—when I talk to my moms?”

“Always.”

———————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“Always,” Lee murmured, eyes glimmering with unshed tears in the dazzling lights.

Her gaze never leaves Derek’s as she speaks into the microphone, phone in hand as she says her vows. “Somehow, some way, fate brought us here today. When we reunited in high school of our sophomore year, after losing contact for that previous year due to conflicting schedules and busy lives, I thought it was a miracle that we managed to pick our friendship up right where we left it. When you had that summer training camp in the year after our graduation, our relationship was tested by distance when we decided to become more than friends. When you had to move to a different city for college, I stayed local, and still I wanted to be with you. Despite the distance, I knew that you were the one for me.”

Cove was definitely crying among all of Derek’s grooms men, as evident when one of Derek’s brothers grins, quietly giving him a packet of tissues. Rosaline just smiled softly at the scene before her among Lee’s bridesmaids. Her maid of honour, naturally.

“When you asked me to move in with you, I was excited — I wanted to fall asleep in your arms and wake up to your smile, and that’s how I knew that I was and still am head over heels for you, after all of our time being together.”

Derek started to tear up, holding her free hand as he stared at her as if she hung the stars in the night sky.

“I love you, so much more than what words can describe, and I swear to you that I will always love you. I’ll hold your hand through the good and bad, I’ll love you for who you are now and who you have yet to be, and I’ll stay with you, side by side, no matter the challenges that may come our way.”

She slips her phone into the pocket of her wedding dress, seamlessly hidden, a detail that Rosaline included in the design.

“I love you, Derek Suárez, and I can’t wait to build our future together.”

———————————

~1 Year Ago

Mid-Summer

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“…and I can’t wait to build our future together,” Lee read, eyes trained on her phone screen as she squinted at the screen.

Rosaline stared at her sketchbook, sketching potential design patterns. They’re in Rosaline’s living room, with her sitting at the dining table sketching out potential designs for the dresses.

“Well?” Lee prompted, looking up at her cousin from her spot on the L-shaped sofa. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve been rereading your vows a little too much,” Rosaline sighed, smiling wryly at Lee as she placed her pencil down. “It’s perfectly fine. You talked about your relationship, that you’ll both overcome the challenges together, and that you love him. Add more, and it’ll be a long presentation-level speech. Cut it too much, and it’ll be incredibly short for a vow. I think it’s fine the way it is, especially because it’s your feelings for him.”

“Mm…” Lee frowned, looking unconvinced. And nervous, Rosaline noticed. “And… it’s okay? You really think so?”

“Why would I think otherwise?” Rosaline raised a brow, picking her pencil up again to draw a purse. “Do you want your purse to match your reception dress? Or should I make it be a pop of colour like a flower bouquet, so it stands out?”

“Matching. I want people to see the dresses I wear and be wowed instead of focusing on my purse, and if I want the purse to stand out, I’ll just use it with a different outfit,” Lee leaned back into the sofa, frowning. “And I… that’s not what I meant, I mean,” she groaned, flopping down, lying around as she looked at her, almost guiltily. “You know I love you, right?”

“Uh, yeah? Where are you going with this?” Rosaline smiled, feeling downright confused.

“How uh… how are you and Baxter doing?”

Oh. It was then that Rosaline realized what Lee was getting at. The wedding is meant to be a heartfelt occasion, filled with happy tears and bright smiles all around. And here Lee was, concerned for Rosaline and Baxter, who both broke up because Baxter refused to try a long distance relationship.

And Lee was especially worried about hitting on a nerve with that speech.

Well, she admits that she’s a bit… sad that Baxter wasn’t willing to have an LDR like Lee and Derek, but she feels vindicated knowing that he’s now working for a couple that he expected to have broken up. It evened out on that front, and frankly the petty side of her thinks that Lee ought to emphasize that distance meant nothing to a couple who worked together.

Although Baxter had yet to ask her about Gabrielle. A fact that enrages her more than upsets her, but she understood why he feigns indifference.

Not everyone wanted to tackle the hurdles of parenthood.

“Nothing new,” she simply said. Honestly, Baxter was the same as ever. Only he of all people could confidently keep her at arms length even when they were technically in contact. “Apart from the group chat, he doesn’t directly text me. Assuming that he still has my number.”

And what did she expect? For him to step up, to talk to her about Gabrielle after he saw her for the first time? Did he even want to see the child beyond that initial first meeting?

“Not even about…?”

“Nope, but that’s okay,” Rosaline smiled. It did hurt, but Rosaline could deal with it. Her birth mother and her had shit taste in men judging from what she knew from Carol. “Besides, I don’t think Gabby cares about not having a dad. She’s already getting spoiled rotten by everybody, and seriously, it’s a bit funny.”

Lee barks out a laugh at that, “That’s true! Gabby practically has four grandmas and two grandpas, several uncles, and several aunties. Has Liz been gifting her more presents?”

“Mhmm, but Brielle still loves you and your pink hair more than she loves Liz, but that’s a secret,” Rosaline teasingly stated before humming much more thoughtfully to herself. “Honestly, worse comes to worst, I can always ask Cove if he’s fine with doing that whole second parent adoption thing, if she really wants a dad. Cove’s a sucker for her anyway, so he would cry happily if that happened, even if he’s never thought of it.”

“True, he really takes good care of her,” Lee smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were a thing.”

“Maybe in another life,” she laughed. “But Cove’s definitely my brother.”

———————————

Then

Beginning of Summer

Step 3: Age 18

———————————

“Cove’s definitely my brother,” Rosaline laughed.

“That’s reassuring,” Baxter commented, smiling as they strolled through the boardwalk. “And here I thought that perhaps he was your first love.”

She doesn’t miss a step, her smile remains, as she watches Baxter from the corner of her eyes. But her heart skips a beat, her gut freezes, her mind reeling with imposing thoughts. Why would he say that? Naturally, there’s only one reason as to why he’d wonder, and why he’d look at her with incredible interest.

Her first love is Baxter Ward, back when she only knew him as the enchanting boy who swept her off her feet. That was an undeniable fact.

Rosaline, however, doesn’t admit it.

“Nope, that honour belongs to Mr Cliff Holden, Cove’s father!”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. She did think that Cove’s father was cute, but not to a point where she was romantically interested. The idea of it was plain weird, and she and Lee both got a kick out of it when she mentioned it, meanwhile Cove was mortified that she ever thought of his father as “cute” and “attractive”.

Cove was even more horrified (which she never thought was possible) when she told him that his mother was super cute, because she actually did develop a minor crush on Kyra back then. Now she’s just “mom three” to her. She’s not afraid to admit that someone’s attractive, but it’s a rather fun embarrassment, one that only gets mentioned as a tease from Lee, when it’s just her and her cousin, since Cove prefers to forget it entirely.

He had smiled, at first, in disbelief, before cackling at it, grinning when she mentioned Cove’s reaction to her minor childhood infatuation. Afterwards, Baxter was laughing, a reaction that she both expected and wanted. The tale is a fun exaggeration, and it safely tucks away the fact of her first love.

After all, it’s a bit much to confess to your first love, especially one you still had affections for.

Still, he was absolutely adorable…

———————————

~1 Year Ago

Mid-Summer

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“She’s rather adorable,” Baxter absentmindedly comments.

Rosaline blinks, glancing over at him, but his eyes remain on the road. She thinks, for a moment, before realizing that maybe he finally wants to talk about Gabrielle.

“Yeah, Brielle is the cutest person in my life,” she smiled, thinking of her daughter.

“I would’ve expected her to come along, to be truthful.” It’s just small talk, but he’s finally showing interest.

“Well, my job can get rather hectic, and Carol keeps an eye on her for me until Cove gets off work. He normally watches over her whenever he’s home.”

“Ah… so you and Cove?”

“We live together, yeah.”

His hand grips the wheel tightly. Was he jealous that Cove spent more time with Gabrielle than him? He should just be honest about that, honestly. If he asked, she would’ve been happy to let him slowly build up a relationship with their daughter.

“I see…” he sounded rather… dejected. Almost accepting of the situation.

“I can always bring her along next time,” Rosaline offered. “She’ll be disappointed that I’m going to a bakery without her,” she chuckled.

“If that’s what you’d like,” he smiled, fake just like all the other smiles.

Even now, he was still holding back.

———————————

Several Days Ago

End of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

Even now, she felt like she was holding back.

“It’s okay, we can handle the clean-up,” Cove reassured her, his hand a warm comfort on her shoulder. “Take a break, Rosa,” he smiled. “Gabby’s with Lee; she came by to drop her off with your moms. So it’s fine, just… take a breather? You deserve it after all that’s happened.”

“The wedding’s over, so you can just leave it to us,” Terry grinned, and Miranda smiles, nodding along with him encouragingly.

She relaxes her tense shoulders, and she manages to smile back at them, feeling a bit weak.

“Yeah… you’re right. I need a break,” she took in a shaky breath and stands up. Eyes searching around the mostly empty room, spotting Baxter’s distant figure. She walks, her heels tapping against the marble floor as she deliberately bridges the gap between them.

And it’s Baxter, who keeps his back turned, whose back shifts as if tensing as her footsteps draw closer and closer. And it’s Baxter, and it’s always been Baxter, who draws her attention.

“Baxter,” she says, breathing, and steeling her expression.

He’s going to run away from her again, and if he does, she’s not quite sure how she’ll be able to handle it. Would it result in another night, crying in Lee’s arms like back then? She supposes that it’s a good thing Lee texted her earlier, saying to call her whenever she gets home. They both didn’t expect him to stay and talk.

“Ah, Rosaline,” he greets, turning to face her with that infuriatingly familiar smile. It was the same smile he used to maintain his professionalism, the same smile that showed her that he was just going to keep pulling away from her. His posture shows a clear desire to leave ASAP.

And her heart drops. Because even now, she was hoping that he would just… turn around and change his mind. That maybe he would give himself another chance with her.

But no, she supposes that was just a dream, and this was just her fulfilling a promise.

It’s just a dance, she tells herself and tries not to cry.

#wynter writes #fic: when honestly you can't recall #baxter ward #our life: beginnings & always #baxter x mc

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