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kaylas-world-0 · 6 months

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Bullfrog x h!reader

Summery; You and Bullfrog having some talk on a rooftop.

A/N: Gonna try a different style this time. I can't get enough of this frog.

Warnings: mention of physical fresh wounds and a bit blood, maybe a little bit angsty?

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

Rooftop Talks

Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you, you were watching this city that was plunged the appetite of the stars into darkness due to the light population, your attention was not on those around you, they might think that the city did not need the brightness of the stars, but they definitely needed something that could illuminate its somewhat nescient darkness. They couldn't walk around with their eyes closed every day. A sour expression appeared on your face with your aching body, your feet dangling off the rooftop you were sitting on. Your eyes turned to look at the moon, which is casting a gentle beam of light upon you causing a soft smile appear on your lips. You had always loved the quiet of the night, though even as darkness fell it was too early for most of the citizens to be asleep and there was still a distinct amount of noise in the city, but not as much as in the morning... And you still valued it, taking advantage of these quiet moments. You used the silence it could give you as much as possible and relaxed your tired body by taking a deep breath.

“Mon cherie?” You blinked with a familiar accent, easing you to come out of your thoughts, “I'm sorry to interrupt your serenity, but… maybe you should put this on your eye first… umm… before a bruising forms.”

You looked at his hand reaching out to you with a sympathetic expression. He had a can of soda in his hand, obviously cold, “Desole, that was all I could find, mon soleil.”

You couldn't help but smile when you saw that he looked upset that he couldn't help you much right now. You rejected his offer without any feedback and gently pushed his hand back, shivering at the touch of the cold soda, it was a cold enough night as it was, not wanting to press it against your body was just another excuse, "Don't apologize for that. Besides, you need it more than I do." You pointed out his obvious state. When he lowered his hand and frowned at your answer, you sighed, “Have you ever looked in the mirror? You may have stopped bleeding, but you're covered in more blood than I am." You'd be lying if you said you weren't too worried about his well-being, but he gave you plenty of assurances that he was fine. You are still unsure if you believe it. You also objected when he offered to get something cold for your eye, which of course wasn't a real offer, he was just trying to be nice, he was going to bring you one and he did. You knew he was tired after the previous events, you didn't want to wear him out any further.

A small smile formed on his lips: "Most of it isn't mine. So, worry not! I do not normally do such a messy job, but... how was I supposed to know you'd suddenly show up? (It's not your fault but still) It's my job to make sure you're okay... and no one should know that I... know you. I will not put you in further danger." Before you could open your mouth to question his concerns and talk about his worries, he suddenly slid in next to you and pressed the cold can over your swollen eye. You pulled back slightly, hissing at the cold and pain you felt. His face turned sour and he immediately uttered words of apology. Exhaling, you tried to relax your body and let him touch the can over your eye again, making you shiver, but this time you didn't pull away.

You almost turned red when you suddenly realized how close your bodies were. His gentle touch always felt nice, and under his soft eyes he observed with great attention as he scanned your facial features for any other injuries. Your face burned, your heart was almost beating out of its place. When you started talking, his honey colored eyes met with yours, "Y-You know I'm fine. You need to stop worrying about me and start taking care of yourself for once.”

He smiled at that, “Look who is talking.” You pouted with his words.

He shrugged, smiling in response to your half-lidded gaze. You two were seemingly ignoring what had happend, neither of you wanting to talk about it right now and ruin the moment. Although you knew that he wouldn't let this issue go easily and that you wouldn't be able to run from it for a long time. But you were still having a hard time with him, your faces were too close to each other, he is still pressing the cold can to your eye so carefully... Yes, you can do it yourself, but you didn't know if you could point it out and save yourself for your sake of mind or if you actually liked it. You know he is in close contact for your own good. You felt like he was getting closer to you with each passing second, you weren't sure if it was intentional or not. You knew he liked warm things, maybe your warmth is what draws him to you? You didn't know.

You tried to glance anywhere else other then him, though it was hard to do with how close he is. You mustered up a bit corage to move a bit backwards and swallowed, you didn't wanted to seem like you are fleeing from him or worse.

He didn't seem to notice or give a much thought about it. But he did lowered his hand a bit from your eye, "You know, Mon amour, I'm glad we met." You didn't expected those words slipping out of his lips, to be honest you were actually expecting for something like a comment about your slight uncomfortableness but it wasn't true you were just nervous. He chuckled lightheartedly at your wide eye expression.

"You are glad that my father hired you?"

"Well, I've never had this much fun before." You blinked with his words. He was being genuine. You softly laughed at that, “Well, I'm glad I met you too. In fact, you're kinder and nicer than most men I've ever encounter..."

Yeah, you know he is an assasin hired by your father. (You learned this far far later of course, when someone tried to hurt you, he was suddenly there?, so you can guess the rest.) And, yes, your father worked for Eden. But then why is Bullfrog helping him? Things were really complicated, even for you. In short, Bullfrog was sent for you. No, not to kill you. To protect you. You learned this not too far after you two met. Of course, your father never mentioned him before. He always followed very close, like your shadow wherever you went, as if he was your guardian angel or something. You didn't know why, but you felt attracted to him in some kind of way. You couldn't explain why you were never afraid of him or why you were so close to him, but you guessed that might be because how gentle he is and kind? Maybe something entirely else. Oh, and why Bullfrog is helping a worker of Eden you may ask? Well, you just find out about it today. It's beacuse he never worked with them to began with! Maybe you should be proud of it. Your father planning his betrayal from the very beginning. And he worked so hard for your life to be as normal and happy as possible. He doesn’t want you to get involve any of his job. And you might just done that today… That’s something you don’t wanna worry about right now.

You two stared into each others eyes without any further word. He didn’t leaned in and neither did you… just observed each other. You gently grabbed his hand, he seemingly sighed with your warmth on top of his. “I think I’ll handle the rest.”

He blinked then smiled, “Whatever you say, miel. Just tell me whenever your pretty hand gets cold I could return back the job.” He sighed as he leave the can to your hold.

“Of course—“ You paused. Did he just called your hand pretty or you misheard it? You nervously pressed the cold can over your eye. His smile growed seeing your flustered expression but it as quickly faded as he saw you shiver with the breeze. He got up to his feet and quickly inform you he will be back quickly and without letting you say anything he was out of your sight with a blink of an eye.

You pouted at that, “He is gone again.” You heaved a sigh and continue pressing the can over your eye. Your flushed cheeks are went back to normal by now. Your eye not hurting anymore, instead it felt numb with the cold.

You flinched when you felt something on your shoulders. You find Bullfrog behind you resting a blanket over your shoulders with a warm smile. He tilted his head with your surprise stare, “How do you feel now, better?” His accent flowing heavily in the air until it reached your ear. Your eyes widen as if you just understand what just happend. You quickly wrapped yourself in the warmth. “Yes! Oh god, thank you!” You happily gasped. You didn’t even question where he get this from, you were too happy and relieved to care at the moment.

He smiled at that and sat next to you, “Well, I am happy you are comfortable, mon cherie. It’s a bit windy up hereeEE!!!—” His sentence abruptly stoped as he yelped when your hands reached and wrapped around his small body, forcefully pulling him in. You wrapped the blanket around both of you and sighed happily as you rested your head over his head. Now it was his time to get flustered.

He cleared his throat mostly to get himself back to shape, you were sure he was about to melt under you along with the warmth, he was trying so hard to not lean back and suck it all in. You rolled your eyes at his tense body, “Come on, don’t be like this, relax. It’s not like I am gonna eat you or anything… Or have I?” You playfully nudge his sides as he sighed at your comment and attempts to cause him to squeal or laugh, “Okay, you are not ticklish, noted.” It wouldn’t be pleasant if he was anyway, so you guess it’s good for his sake. He shoked his head at that and leaned on your body without any words. You could see he was flustered but you didn’t point it out, instead you give him some time to relax. You reached out for the can and press it back on your eye while you were at it, not wanting a black eye. Your mind pondered a bit, while he pressed on your warm body, quite, a bit out of his character.

“Hey, can I ask you something… if that’s okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” You chuckled nervously with his answer. “Well, I don’t wanna… uhmm… sound offensive?”

He hummed at that, “I know you won't insult me on purpose, so it's okay, you can ask whatever you're wondering about, I'll try to answer as best as I can.” You felt a bit more on ease with his gentle reassurance. You pressed your lips and laid your head on his, after a little sigh you mustered up your question, “Have you ever… I dunno… croaked before?”

He snorted at that, “R-Really? That was what you were wondering?”

You pressed your flushed face on his head, trying to hide yourself as your arms tighten a bit more around him, “Y-Yes…?” You stuttered out.

His laughter died down as he sucked a deep breath, “To answer your question. Not intentionally but yes. It doesn’t happen often either. You can think them as like hiccups.”

"Oh…"

He patted your cheek affectionately, “Don’t worry, mon amour. I sometimes have questions about humans too, not specifically towards you but yes…”

“Really? Like what?” You were actually surprised with that but you guessed it must be normal.

He pondered a bit, “Well, nothing comes to my mind right now…”

You hummed at the fact that he seemed to be a bit flustered about it but you didn’t pursue his behavior, “Like you said, you can ask me anything whenever you want.” He nodded at that rather quickly like dismissing it.

He smiled at himself and hummed, you notice him pulling out a can of juice. He took out its straw and dipped it into the box, "Want some?"

You breathed out a laugh, "Sure." You leaned in for a sip as he reached it out to you.

After taking a long sip you sighed, now recalling the little issue back at your house, “Hey, I think we need to go shopping tomorrow. There's nothing in the house for us to cook or eat. Nor clothes for me to wear for the winter much.”

He snickered, “You mean for me to cook for you?”

You muttered, glancing away, “Well, I admit you can cook better than me. In fact, I've never had better food than what you cook."

He smiled proudly at that, “Thanks!” He sipped his juice happily.

There was silence, a pause. You grumbled now noticing your empty stomach. "Speaking of your cooking. I think I'm really hungry. I guess I shouldn't be surprised after all that hustle and bustle. I could really use some." Your stomach ached and growled angrily at you causing Bullfrog to smile.

"Let's order something."

"Let's go back to my place then."

#bullfrog #bullfrog x reader #allenwrites #reader #x reader #captain lazerhawk spoilers #captain lazerhawk

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boneblushed · 8 months

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Untouchable

masterlist | part 4 | part 5

synopsis So maybe Rafe Cameron isn’t as bad as you thought he was.

wc 4.3k

As the football team files into the locker room after practice, Rafe Cameron jogs ahead, the space filling with sweat and grit. The vague scent of testosterone permeates.

“Dude,” Dalton carps, shoved aside as Rafe pushes past him. “You good?”

“I’m late,” Rafe pants, fishing his towel out of his gym bag before throwing it into his locker. “She told me she’d murder me if I was late to another meeting.”

He’s in too much of a rush to notice the reception this receives, a flurry of knowing looks punctuated by a keen sense of hubris. Kelce and Dalton may be the only two willing to bet on his odds with you, but it’s clear that the rest of the team—the prefects, the graduating class—have picked up on the lingering eye contact and ricocheting glances, the drawn out meetings and nescient closeness.

Not that it matters. September now, with the crisp Autumn chill beginning to unfurl, you maintain the same, safe distance from Rafe Cameron as jilted you had once delineated. Sure, you’re friendlier now, a little softer around the edges, but it’s clear that you’re fighting hard to keep things professional, hold him an arm’s length away and not closer.

He wishes it wouldn’t bother him as much as it does. There’s been a few instances where he’s attempted more than a ride in his pick-up; an invite to whatever lame party his team’s throwing that weekend, an offer to stop by the Burger Shack on the way home. As friends—colleagues. To minimal avail, of course, you’re always giving him the same answer when he asks: “Nice try, Cameron.” Not a yes, not a no, just this odd, taunting response that’s sweetened by your peach scented lipgloss.

His most recent attempt had been just the other week, when a meeting about winter formal had run longer than you’d initially planned. It’d been brought to his attention by a pang of hunger in his abdomen, and he’d pulled up Uber Eats without any sort of ulterior motive.

“What’s your McDonalds order?” He’d asked, looking up at you briefly.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon that evening; he remembers this because of the way it bedaubed the bottom half of your face, accentuated the smooth column of your throat.

Your frown looked prettier in yellow light — that’s another thing he remembers. You’d raised your eyebrows a little, not bothering to look up at him. Another pang. “Why?”

“You’re not hungry, Y/L/N?” He’d asked, raising his in tandem.

“Starving.” You’d glanced up then, frowning harder, prettier. “Maybe you should concentrate on getting this done so we can both go home for dinner.”

“Okay, not McDonalds,” Rafe had acceded, flicking back to the UberEats home screen and leaning in. “Chinese? Thai food? Something fancier? Vending machine crap?”

“Cameron.”

“Y/L/N,” he’d mocked, knocking his shoulder against yours cajolingly. “C’mon, we both need a bit of food. We’ve been at this for fucking hours.”

“So if I say yes,” you’d asked then, angling away and sending him a pointed look, “you’ll let me pay for my own meal?”

Rafe hadn’t missed a beat, scoffing, “Of course not.”

You’d sighed, “Exactly.” And then, “Nice try, Cameron.”

Like clockwork. He’s thinking about it now, mostly about the way his name moulds your gloss-shiny lips, when Kelce’s voice breaks his reverie.

“Pussy whipped,” he coughs, earning a few stifled laughs from the rest of the football team.

Rafe’s about to rise to the bait when his conscience forces a falter, reminding him of the last time you were brought up in this locker-room. He’s constantly, incessantly taunted by the stupid, sophomore version of him; more so now that he knows his fondness of you was misinterpreted back then. So he’s adamant that there won’t be any more crude shows of affection—when he tells you he’s grown, he’s wants to be able to mean it.

So, instead of responding, Rafe flips Kelce off over his shoulder, grabbing his lathering gel and disappearing into the shower area.

“Oh shit,” Kelce wolf-whistles, more a jibe than a taunt. “You really are pussy whipped, huh?”

“Do me a favour, Smith.” Rafe sounds calmer than Kelce had expected him to, his rough voice scary steady. “And keep her name out of your mouth.”

—

You’re scrunching your nose when he nears, head lowered and notes in disarray.

It’s that stupid, heady cologne he wears—musk and patchouli something, you think—that you’re developing a knack for recognising almost anywhere. And chlorine, always chlorine and other pool chemicals, except for Fridays which are devoted to football practice petrichor.

“I would ask if you own a watch,” you say, refusing to look up, “but I know you do, because the Rolex logo blinds me every fucking time it’s in the sun.”

Rafe takes a seat beside you, snaking his arm around your backrest and swivelling it around to him in one swift motion.

You gasp in surprise, though it melts into a scoff as the indignation sets in. “Cameron,” you angle back, eyes widening slightly. “I was in the middle of something.”

“So here’s the thing,” he begins, ignoring you. His thighs are pressed into either side of his seat, the groove of his knees nudging your thighs ever so slightly. “I was… alright, a minute late, yeah? And I thought — well, she isn’t going to care if it’s a minute or ten, she’s going to murder no matter how late I am.”

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms over his chest. “True.”

“So,” he leans down, fishing a cylinder of Pringles and a packet of Skittles out of his bag, “I thought I’d take some time to pick out my ideal last meal.”

You glance down at the assortment dubiously, narrowing your eyes. “Vending machine crap?”

“Vending machine crap,” Rafe affirms, throwing them onto the table beside him. The plastic crinkles ominously.

“Bold of you to assume that I’d allow a last meal, Cameron,” you say then, faux-serious.

He leans forward in his seat, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Christ, Y/L/N, you’re going to deny me fundamental human rights now?”

“Wouldn’t you rather a quick, painless death than us delaying the inevitable with some food?” You respond, leaning forward in tandem.

“A quick, painless death, huh?” He asks, his voice lower now, roughened by the closeness. “How’re you going to do it then, head girl?”

The amusement on your features gives way to diffidence. It feels as though there’s a hidden meaning to the words he’s saying, something more crackling alive in the inch of space between your faces. “Poison,” you say, softer too.

A pause. Rafe’s gaze falls to your lips, and his chest stills, his broad shoulders tensing. “Don’t know if you’ll need it,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing arduously. “Not right now.”

You furrow your brow, momentarily bemused. “Hm?”

Rafe Cameron thinks about kissing you often. He thinks about it in this absentminded, matter-of-fact way, like it’s meant to be on his mind all the time, like the pull in his chest is an inevitable part of being your almost friend—colleague.

He thinks about it extra hard now, slanted by your proximity and the soft, bergamot notes of your perfume.

Contrary to your vow, it’s eliciting a slow, painful death not to lean in and press his mouth against yours. He swallows again, his gaze lingering on your lips, and the tension in the room sears through you like a meteorite.

You pull back hastily, clearing your throat and turning back toward the table. “Anyway,” you cough, pulling your laptop forward and touching the mousepad. “We should really get going on this agenda.”

Rafe takes a little longer to regain his composure, his warm breath folding over your shoulder as he sighs. He turns too, leaning forward to look at the screen, and suddenly his proximity feels like too much to bare.

You move your chair to the side a little, the legs scraping over polished wood tauntingly. Rafe’s chest pulls in protest. “Right,” he says after a beat, trying not to frown. “Winter formal.”

The pair of you work in silence for a while. Time ticks by slowly, the maddening inches between you shrinking, and it’s only at the sight of a purple horizon that you acquiesce and stop working.

When you close your laptop and turn to address Rafe, you find that he’s already looking at you.

The revelation makes your pulse jolt. You break eye contact and clear your throat, busying yourself with your tote bag.

“Your focus is unparalleled by the way,” he says after a beat, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Remind me never to leave you alone when you’re studying.”

You try not to look too pleased by this revelation. “I always study alone, Cameron.”

“For your safety, Y/L/N,” he replies, faux-sombre, “I really think you shouldn’t.”

You look over at him, raising your eyebrows. “Is this your weird way of asking me on a study date?”

“Oh no,” he responds matter-of-factly, pushing back onto the hind legs of his chair. “One, I don’t study.” He leans forward then, ducks his head to eye-level, the blue of his irises bright and ever present. “Two, studying together is not a date.”

In your head, this translates to: you’re overestimating his interest. You say, suddenly chagrined, “I was kidding. Obviously.”

“So was I,” Rafe returns, cracking a roguish grin. “Obviously.”

You scoff, throwing your tote bag over your shoulder and standing up. “Nice try, Cameron.”

“It’s true, though,” he replies, oddly sincere as he straightens. “Any other girl and I’d never fucking dream of bringing them to a library to hang out.”

“Make out,” you correct with a cough, earning another grin.

“Exactly,” he nods, raising his eyebrows significantly. “I mean, shit, I’ve got a reputation to uphold Y/L/N.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “What? As the Academy’s biggest fuckboy?”

“Fuckboy?” Rafe echoes, faux-affronted. “It’s not my fault I’m such a goddamn delight, now, is it?”

“Except,” you reply, trying not to smile, “that delight is probably the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Your shoulders knock together as you walk forward. It becomes harder not to smile, his closeness like warm syrup.

“And the first?” He asks.

“Well,” you splay your palm out and begin listing adjectives off, “cocky, arrogant, absolutely insufferable, sweet when you want to be which is actually rarely ever —”

“Sweet?” Rafe interrupts, something fond swelling in his chest. “I’ll take sweet.”

“You’re forgetting the rarely ever part,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows.

“Still,” he insists, grinning stubbornly, “ever.”

You shake your head exasperatedly, almost amused, and push through a set of double doors that take you to the foyer. The carpark isn’t far away, and the promise of a ride home—time and closeness like something rare—lingers in the air.

It’s as you’re grappling with its presence that you frown, suddenly aware of the silence. The pair of you have stopped walking and you aren’t certain why that is. “This conversation was going somewhere, wasn’t it?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, though his features are quick to acquiesce. “Right. The fact that I don’t consider studying a date.”

You cringe again. “Oh.”

“But,” he continues, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

A tell-tale warmth spreads over your cheeks. “Nice try, Cameron,” you mutter, though your voice sounds weaker than you want it to.

“Don’t worry, Y/L/N,” he murmurs back, bowing his head to eye level. “When I’m asking you out for real, I’ll make sure that you know it.”

—

Lightning: his musk and patchouli scent—and chlorine today, no petrichor to fill the air.

Thunder: his voice. Deeper when he’s calling out for you than when you’re alone with him.

One always comes before the other, like this cyclical reminder of how much of him is now familiar.

“Y/L/N!” He calls out urgently, prompting you to halt.

“Cameron?” You turn to face him as he nears, evidently bewildered. “No meeting today, remember? Cromwell’s away.”

“No, I know,” he answers, a little breathless. “How’re you getting home?”

You furrow your brow bemusedly. “Walking?”

“I always drive you home after meetings,” he says then, quick to fall into your step. “Let me drive you home.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You ask, sounding a little exasperated. “We don’t have one of those today, genius.”

Rafe grins handsomely, knocking his shoulder against yours. “I’m a creature of habit, Y/L/N. Can’t you use your head girl goodwill and humour me just this once?”

You shake your head bemusedly, deciding to accede. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal for you.”

Rafe shrugs matter-of-factly, beads of water falling from his damp hair to his broad shoulders. It pulls your gaze from his muscles to the bare expanse of his forearms, his shirt sleeves rolled up so his Rolex glints in the yellow sun. “It’d be weird,” he says finally, “driving home in silence on a Wednesday instead of listening to your god-awful playlist.”

“Hey!” You chide, pushing him sideways playfully. “My playlist is fucking fire.”

Rafe makes a face. “Listening to that much Taylor Swift can’t be healthy.”

“Don’t do that,” you return, fixing him with a knowing look. “I hear you humming along to Delicate whenever it plays.”

“Good tune,” he defends, accurate lyrics, “that’s it.”

“Aw,” you tease, smiling this sweet, amused smile up at him—sunshine incarnate. “Don’t worry Mr Fuckboy, I won’t tell anyone that you’re actually a secret swiftie.”

Normally he’d return the jibe, but that fond look on your face is making it hard for him to breath. He wishes he had a camera, pathetic as that is. He wishes he had you, was afforded the luxury of endless time with your pretty face.

“Kildare Academy’s head girl everybody,” he says after a beat, unlocking his car with a tandem grin. “The paragon of confidentiality.”

Delicate plays once on the ride to your house. And when it does, his proclivity for the song now made public, Rafe Cameron isn’t afraid sing along loudly.

He’s proudly unabashed when the chorus blares through, singing, “Is it cool that I said all that?”

“Is it chill that that you’re in my head?” You join in between laughter, angling toward him to face him fully.

His long fingers drum against the steering wheel with the beat, making the muscles of his forearm pulse. He leans forward to turn the music up louder, and when he hand drops again, it falls onto the vibrating gear shift.

Dangerously close to your exposed thigh, a slate of sunlight painting it a warm shade of orange. “Cause I know that it’s delicate.” Rafe becomes acutely aware of the lyrics to this song, all of a sudden. “Isn’t it…”

“Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it,” you continue to sing, that sweet, amused smile making a return on your face. Almost pleased. The awareness grows maddening.

You continue to hum along whilst Rafe tries to catch his breath. He’s almost grateful for the fact that he’s nearing your house until he realises that this means no more pretty girl in his pick-up truck.

“Think you can keep yourself from studying too hard this weekend?” Rafe asks, pulling into your driveway carefully.

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows playfully. “Think you can force yourself to do a bit of study this weekend?”

Rafe throws his arm around your headrest and leans in a little, this fond, roguish grin on his face that makes your chest hurt. “Why? You asking me on a study date, Y/L/N?”

“No,” you answer, fixing him with a pointed look. “I just think your brain deserves a little bit of a workout.”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek, his gaze falling over your figure slow. “Trust me when I say,” he replies, his voice lower now, rougher. “That the real estate you occupy in there is a workout in itself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, that pain in your chest dissolving into something softer. “All the nagging,” you deflect, “huh?”

Your front door opens, and Rafe catches the movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes linger on you anyway.

“Not quite,” he murmurs finally, just as you turn and unbuckle your seatbelt.

You look up at your porch and find your mother squinting down at you. She has a dish-towel clad hand pressed against her full hip, and her warm gaze scans over the pair of you knowingly.

When her expression changes, the delighted smile on her face creating crow’s feet, you recognise what’s coming before she’s even opened her mouth.

A few weeks ago, before his presence infused all this sweetness into your bones, you probably would’ve turned to him at this stage and pleaded he refuse.

Now, however…

“Rafe!” You mother calls out, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “Have you had dinner yet, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he answers, leaning forward to send her that handsome smile of his.

It’s a compromising position, his cheek close enough to press against yours, and you’re awash with the heat of his torso as it occupies the personal space in front of you. You swallow.

"Well then," she responds, "you'll have to stay and have it with us."

The arm he's wrapped around your headrest relaxes, his fingers brushing over your shoulder intermittently. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” your mother dismisses, waving the dish-towel around. “If you help me make the last few bits, you’ll be doing the opposite of imposing.”

Rafe hesitates momentarily, his eyes flicking to your face for approval. It’s only then that he’s able to recognise the closeness; his pupils flex a little, just enough to make you swallow once more.

You’re okay with this? He seems to ask.

You shrug. It appears all the confirmation he needs to shift the gear into park and release the ignition, his close proximity wavering.

And he walks the short walk to your porch behind you, his pleased expression hidden, unaware of the look of exasperation you’re sending to your mother.

She raises her eyebrows reproachfully. It’s only polite, they seem to say, as if we’re doing him a favour. As if Rafe Cameron doesn’t live in the most expensive house on the island, no doubt equipped with a private chef—a miscellany of fancy dinner items.

Maybe you’re embarrassed by the mediocrity of your own home, on the cusp of the Eight with enough roots to belong to the Cut. And you know it’s silly, thinking this way; terrifying too, because since when did you care what Rafe Cameron thought of you?

The fact that you’re grappling with these emotions must show on your face, because Rafe pulls close once the three of you are in the kitchen, ducking his head to your ear.

Goosebumps bloom where his warm breath fans over your skin. “Are you sure you’re good with this?”

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you sort of hate that he knows this is affecting you at all. You breath out a scoff, breaking away from him deftly. “It’s not a big deal,” you lie, sending him a stern look. “Drop it, yeah?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, raising his arms in surrender. Then, he shifts his attention to your mother, who’s grabbing a bunch of fresh vegetables from the fridge.

“Think you can handle chopping duty, Rafe?” She asks, handing them over to him with a smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats, and then he raises his eyebrows at you, his blue eyes filled with mirth. “So this is where you get it from, huh?”

“Ma’am,” you mother echoes, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”

After she’s enlisted your help in making the salad dressing, she can’t help but hover over the pair of you, throwing jibes as she pleases.

“So Rafe,” she says, ignoring your stern look, “Y/N tells me you’re captain of the football team, on top of being head boy. Your parents must be pretty proud of you, huh?”

Rafe’s features falter. There’s a split second where the hand that’s chopping away at the lettuce freezes in place; it’s a subtle pause, but you’re in tune enough to recognise it despite your mother’s ignorance.

“Maybe,” he answers finally, quick to plaster a smile back onto his face. “Though they do tend to have pretty high expectations.”

“And I’m sure you’re meeting all of them,” your mother dismissed airily, her bright eyes warm. “Do you know where you want to end up next year?”

“UNC,” he replies automatically. “Wanna stay reasonably close to my family, you know?”

You frown at this, sending him a questioning glance. From the little Rafe has disclosed about his father, it’s clear that he’s a bit of a tyrant—why would he wants to stick around here for him?

He turns his head in tandem, somehow reading your thoughts. “Wheezie,” he adds, looking back to your mother. “I know my dad’ll take care of Sarah just fine, but me and Wheez tend to get a little bit forgotten.”

“And Wheezie and Sarah are your younger sisters?” Your mother asks.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms, returning his gaze to the chopping board. “But anyway, I’ll probably apply to some of the other colleges on the East Coast, too, just in case I don’t manage to snag one of UNC’s football scholarships.”

“I’m sure your grades’ll get you through,” you say then, unable to help yourself. There’s a pause as two pairs of eyes descend on you, Rafe’s a little surprised, your mother’s on the smug side.

“Careful, Y/L/N,” Rafe teases, nudging your shoulder with his. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. “The dumb frat boy act may work your friends, but I know you pull more A-grades than all of them combined.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, a jibe. “More keeping tabs, huh?”

You shrug, mock-nonchalant, tapping the side of your nose conspiratorially. It transforms Rafe’s expression into something roguish, full of mischief, and he ducks his head slightly, feigning a challenge. “You’re right though,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m coming for your title, Miss Future Valedictorian.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me studying this weekend!” You exclaim, faux-affronted.

“It’s also why we can’t go on study dates together,” he affirms, nodding soberly.

You furrow your brow. “You’ve lost me, Cameron.”

He raises his eyebrows significantly. “Too distracting, Y/L/N, keep up.”

It throws you, the ease with which he admits to this, your mother his witness. You try to dismiss it with a scoff, though the sound that comes out of your mouth is far weaker. “Anyway,” you glance down at the concoction in front of you, cheeks too-warm, “dressing’s ready.”

—

Rafe stays far longer than you expect him to.

He tackles your mother’s interrogatory remarks like a champion, deflecting as necessary. And he’s polite about it all, effortlessly charming, asking just the right number of personal questions—making your heart swell with his thoughtfulness.

And it’s terrifying, really, when dusk falls and he’s still here. Burnt ochre transforms into deep, purple hues, and it’s only then that your mother acquiesces and lets him go.

“Thank you again for dinner Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says, halted at your door with a handsome grin on his face.

“You’re welcome here anytime, Rafe!” She answers delightedly, sending him a playful wink. “Especially when you joke about the fact that I look thirty.”

“Sisters!” He insists, looking between the pair of you solemnly. “Seriously, Mrs. Y/L/N. Love your work.”

Her smile extends from her lips to the sides of her crinkly eyes, crow’s feet shining through. “Give your family my best.”

He nods kindly, and she turns, disappearing around the corner and leaving you to close the door.

Just you and him on your porch, now. The stygian sky descends on the scene like velvet, and the silence reclines, allowing your gaze to fall over him in paces.

His too, agonising over everything from the curl of your lashes to the osculate between your lips. The smooth column of your throat, illuminated by the dim glow of your porch lamp.

“Thank you,” he murmurs finally, breaking the silence. (He knows, if he hadn’t, the urge to kiss you would’ve grown unbearable.) “For tonight. I haven’t sat down for a meal like that in a while.”

You’re quietly surprised by the revelation, and in the beat that follows, his figure blurs around the edges. He’s proximal, though not proximal enough. And his once-damp hair is now fluffy with static, his taut muscles ever-present, his torso like a body heat furnace.

One step forward, and he’d be able to press you against your front door and kiss you. You swallow thickly.

“Don’t thank me,” you say quietly, willing yourself to look up at him. “It was fun.”

Another pause. He’s staring down at you with this intensity that makes your cheeks burn, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something—anything, overwhelmed by his closeness.

“If only you were always like this,” you add, trying to tease though sounding a little weaker than you want to.

Rafe’s forearms are bare, rougher in the chill. He crosses them over his chest, leaning into the column of your porch, closer. “Like what?”

His warm breath unspools. He’s softer like this, at your doorway after dinner, his thick brows raised and skin awash in yellow light.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, looking away without meaning to. “Sweet.”

“Sweet?” He echoes, his voice lower, rougher. “I’m always sweet, Y/L/N.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper. You’re aware that he’s inched infinitesimally closer.

“To you,” he rasps, “I am.”

He pushes off the column of your porch then, ducking his head until it’s at eye-level with yours. When his rough palm finds the contour of your jaw, you let out a shaky breath, your heart a mess.

“Rafe,” you warn.

“Y/N…” he echoes, his finger sweeping over your warm cheek.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you

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euphreana · 4 months

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This year's redraw!

I really hammered on (pun intended) backgrounds this year, and I think it paid off. Can't wait to see what happens next year!

Comparison:

#maybe next year I'll bring the ropes back #and the glowy lines #and make the pose more dynamic #one focus at a time though #yearly redraw #reyetsa #nescient

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violadesdragons · 5 months

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Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days.

And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself.

Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

#bg3 screenshots #screenshot #video game screenshots #baldur's gate 3 #baldur gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 screencaps #game screenshots #baldurs gate #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale #bg3 elminster #elminster quote #bg3 wizard #wizard of waterdeep

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creative-frequency · 3 months

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Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Words

Summary: Despite your drunken ravings tonight, you still remain Raphael's most precious client. And he always takes good care of his clients. This is the third flashback oneshot for the main story. Word count: 2963 Notes: Drunk Tav, a devil and some unresolved romantic tension.

My writing masterlist

Why was the Underdark so gods damn… uneven?

You had to squint to see where to put your foot next amidst the rocks. And even then it didn’t go where you aimed to. Your knee and ankle ached with each step and it was easier to just drag the leg after you instead of walking properly-ish. Your prevailing state of intoxication didn’t exactly make moving easier, but alcohol did help in numbing the pain as much as the temporary solitude did this far away from camp.

Stupid bulette. Stupid tadpole. And most importantly stupid you for not preparing well enough for a road trip in the Underdark. Who knew how many days you would have to spend underground.

There was no one around to take the irritation out on, but… you did possess the means to summon a certain someone to listen to your nescient complaining. Was it smart? Of course not. You would most likely have to pay for the senseless act of stupor, but being less medicated and more drunk than you would’ve liked to be, somehow made the idea sound absolutely perfect! Like poking a sleeping devil in the eye.

You lifted up your hand, glared at the magic ring with burning ire and recited the incantation:

“Dominus! Inferiooor ad ge–, ad me– shit. AD TE. Me flerco–, me… fleurgh, ugh. For fuck’s sake. Flecto inferni.”

Nothing happened, no surprise there, but your brows furrowed furiously as you squinted to look around. No flames or cinders were to be seen.

“Get your ass over here, you stupid devil,” you cursed and kicked a pebble into the darkness. The sounds of it tumbling down echoed in the chasm.

“You would do well to mind your manners.”

“Oh–!”

You fell promptly to your butt on the cold, hard ground and wailed aloud since your injured leg bent painfully.

What stood in front of you was not the handsome man you had expected to see. It was a towering devil; red skin, majestic horns, leathery, gargantuan wings and claws at his fingertips. His eyes were no longer soft brown, but instead they burned with deep saffron, surrounded by inky black.

Raphael the devil had a pained look on his face and he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

You struggled to get up to save some modicum of self-respect in front of your patron, but trying to put weight on the leg made you wince instantly.

“A tumultuous evening, I presume?” Raphael asked, looking at you from dirt-caked hair down to the injured leg.

“What?”

“I see you’ve decided to take the scenic route to rock bottom tonight. Why haven’t you healed yourself, little raven?” he asked and tutted.

“I am doing it right now,” you replied quickly and a ravaging blush rose to your face. You would have rather died than admitted to the devil that you had ventured into the Underdark ill-prepared.

“Then why, pray tell, are you bothering me?” The snarling words revealed a glimpse of sharp canines.

You braced yourself and channelled the earlier irritation back through the stinging pain. There were also the three times you had already had to explain why you wore a ring in your ring finger and why the infernal rune R was carved on it. You still absolutely refused to take the easy way out and just comply with Raphael’s absurd practical joke with the ring. You would never ever pretend to be married just for his amusement.

There. You were irritated enough to tell stupid, handsome Raphael why you were bothering him tonight.

“I have WORDS for you. So. Uh. Listen carefully, Raph.” Your body swayed a little on the cold, hard ground. Trying to focus on Raphael’s burning stare was immeasurably difficult.

His eye twitched, but that was the only visible reaction. Though, he looked immeasurably displeased.

Scraping around the leftovers of your dignity, your back straightened and you started yapping:

“I have given my, MINE only, soul to you, but you – hic! – won’t remove this teeny tiny” – you made a point to show the size of the worm by pinching your thumb and index finger almost together and squinting at the space inbetween – “worm from my head.”

Before you could finish inhaling for the next words, Raphael leaned right to your face (you couldn’t help realising how huge his horns were!) and snarled:

“You haven’t given anything yet. And with that tadpole eating away at your brain, you might not have a soul to offer in the end.”

You gulped and your hand dropped. Your brain was processing rather slowly, but this revelation caused pause. Mind flayers didn’t possess souls. Well, not knowing before your outburst turned out to be just embarrassing.

Raphael pointed a sharp claw in the air and continued:

“Be grateful that I’m willing to uphold our bargain, forasmuch as I’m invested in your success, my due payment relies on it.”

You didn’t know what to say. Suddenly it became apparent that Raphael found this deal far less favourable than you did. All this time you had thought he had arranged the shorter stick for you to pick and that devils didn’t make bargains that weren’t advantageous to them.

“See that this is the last time you bring this up.”

Nodding furiously, but stopping just as quickly because it made your head spin, you said: “Uh-huh, yes, saer.”

You hiccuped and the pitiful sound echoed from the rocks around you.

Raphael straightened up. “Good. Time to go, then.”

You were sure he was going to just leave you to sit on the ground, but with the snap of his fingers, you found yourself at the House of Hope in the familiar dining room – still inelegantly sitting on the marble floor. And you hiccuped again.

Raphael sighed heavily, though you thought you noticed a hint of amusement in there. He walked over to you and before you could protest, leaned over to lift you into his arms as if you weighed nothing.

“This is emrass–, embar-…sing. Just. Let me down!” you yelped, but held on to his shoulders. He was so tall and you were so high up in his arms that it was enough to trigger reasonable fear of heights.

“Glad we agree on something, little raven,” Raphael muttered.

He walked towards a hallway in resolute steps. People dressed in rags scurried away to give the master of the house a wide berth. There was a faint jingle with each step and in your state of inebriation you were almost sure you were just imagining it.

“Where are you taking– hic! Me?”

“To heal.”

You were taken aback.

“Why?”

An almost smug half-smile twisted Raphael’s lips. His mouth too seemed huge in comparison to yours.

“As I’ve told you, I take care of my clients and despite your drunken ravings tonight, you still remain one of my most precious ones.”

Oh. Heat ravaged your face. Did the devil like you?

Door after door passed as the hallway curved. Each breath teased your dulled senses with Raphael’s scent: surprisingly sweet and musky with smoke somewhere in there. It was gradually lulling your consciousness, as you slowly sobered up, into comfort within the devil’s arms.

As he carried you, you settled to stare at his pretty face from such a close distance. You had never seen a cambion this close. The booze was probably shielding you from freaking out. Despite the infernal red shade of his skin and the burning eyes, his facial features were the same. The same dark eyelashes and brown curls at the tips of his hair.

Raphael was pretending as if he didn’t notice you staring, or he just didn't care. But his lips looked soft and you wondered how they would look like travelling the planes of your naked skin. You bit your lower lip, already feeling the heat and pressure gather between your thighs.

Raphael glanced at your face with an unreadable expression. Could devils smell dirty thoughts? Gods, you hoped not. Your cheeks were blazing.

“Tell me, Raph,” you blurted to divert his attention.

His molten eyes narrowed with warning. You failed to notice as you were busy looking anywhere but at his face.

“Is there a practical reason you’re sooo handsome? Hah! A handsome devil, just like–, just like…”

You couldn’t figure out what the devil was like until his icy stare shut you up.

“S-sorry…”

Raphael finally paused in front of a force curtain covering a huge doorway. It was like solid crystal and streaming water, sparkling in the low light of the hallway. You barely got a good look before it simmered and disappeared completely.

Inside revealed to be a large circular room. The inner circle was surrounded by large stone columns, candles littered every surface as the only source of light. In the middle of the room, amidst teal-hued vapours was a pool with two faucets constantly flowing more steaming water into it. Intricate rugs and plush cushions lay on the floor around it. At the back of the room, high archways lead to balconies overlooking the desolate plains of Avernus.

“Ooh, who is this?” an unknown voice drawled, “A new plaything?”

“Out, Haarlep,” Raphael said in a tone that left no room for arguments. The low voice made his chest rumble pleasantly against your body.

Raphael stopped by the pool, precariously close to the edge. When he stilled and the humid air clung to your every breath, his scent lingered. You couldn’t help the few deep breaths to inhale it, to almost taste it on your tongue.

“You smell like cherries,” you muttered to the devil, “So sweet…”

He cocked a brow at you.

“Swim, little raven.”

Raphael dropped you unceremoniously into the pool of restoration. The impact sent a jolt of pain from your knee through your whole body, but before you even hit the bottom, the pain was already alleviating.

Gasping, you emerged to the surface. Raphael was chuckling, arms crossed over his chest.

“You–! Insolent… devil!” you screamed, spitting water from your mouth.

It took mere seconds to realise your body had never felt more comfortable or healthy, at least not during your tadpoled life.

“You’re welcome. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, there are important matters that require my attention.”

“W-what, you’re leaving?”

“Would you rather I joined you in there?” he asked with nonchalance, his horned head tilting with curiosity.

Yes.

Moments ago the wine in your blood would have provided enough liquid courage to ask him to do just that, but now you hesitated, knowing the devil was just teasing you.

“N-no.”

“Adieu, little raven.”

Just like that, he was gone in flames. You were treading the water, still wobbly on your feet, but feeling constantly better and better.

You looked around the room that was likely Raphael’s private boudoir. The lavish and intricate design of the furniture and multiple paintings depicting the devil himself were way too over the top.

“He always did seem like a guy to have a painting of himself above his bed,” you scoffed out loud.

Since no one was there, you warily settled to sit in the pool and brushed your hair with your fingers. Your leg moved without any pain and all the scratches and bruises were gone from your body, as well as the effects of the alcohol. Shame. The water was almost too hot, but you revelled in it. It had been ages since the last proper bath.

Since there was no sign that Raphael would return any time soon, you started to plan for the next steps – despite how gratifying it was to soak in the bath.

A counter by the side of the pool had a neat pile of towels on it, so you slipped out of the water and paused to wonder if you should take off your wet clothes or not. There were no conveniently placed bathrobes or any clothing in sight, but a huge wardrobe loomed at the side of the room.

Surely there was no harm in borrowing a dry shirt, in the least?

You tiptoed to the wardrobe, huffed in relief since it was open and spent only a second to snatch a white, frilly shirt to change into. It smelled like Raphael – a fact you tried really hard to ignore along with the tender feeling that rolled into your chest.

You left your wet camp clothes by the pool and accepted the momentarily discomfort of keeping your wet undergarments on. Surely they would dry soon enough with the warm temperature of the Hells. Changing into a clean, dry shirt felt amazing. You didn’t dare wonder what Raphael thought of your rummaging through his wardrobe, but he wasn’t there to reprimand you. Come to think of it, what a poor host he was, leaving you alone like that.

The way out of the boudoir was once again sealed by a magical curtain, so you took that as an invitation to look around the room by yourself. The upper part of the room was reserved for a huge bed that looked like the most comfortable one you had ever seen. You would’ve sold your soul again to get a break from camping and get a goodnight’s sleep in a proper bed.

Although… Raphael was nowhere to be seen and it was probably already midnight. You were dead tired.

“Don’t mind if I do…” you mumbled to yourself and climbed into the massive bed, diving under the covers. The sheets carried a strong scent of cherries and burnt sandalwood, mixed with rich, alluring musk.

Within minutes, you drifted into sleep and spared no thought to how worried your companions likely were.

—

“Rise and shine, little raven.”

Your toes curled at the deep, soothing voice. It was just like it had sounded in your dream, but the details were hazy red and enveloped in the misty warmth of the pool. A pleasant feeling wavered through your body at the memory.

“Mm. Is it morning already… Raphael!”

You jumped to sit up on the bed, staring at the master of the house in horror.

He stood by the bed, once more in his human guise and a dark smile on his lips. He mused: “Indeed it is. I see you made yourself at home in my absence.”

“You just left me here! What was I supposed to do?” you argued back and hogged the covers closer to your chest.

Raphael chuckled. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

He offered his hand to you, signalling that it was time to leave his bed and get back to reality. After hesitating only for a heartbeat, you took the hand and let him pull you up, almost right into his chest. He steadied you with a hand on your shoulder and an examining look. A lighter version of the smirk persisted.

Once again you realised how the dark honey-tinted brown eyes of his human form were actually really pretty. Heat radiated off his body, maybe an effect of being in Avernus or a devilish side-effect of his. Nonetheless, it felt nice after being stripped away from the warmth of the bed covers.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave looking unkempt like that,” Raphael said in a soft tone that sent pleasant shivers running up your neck and pooled heat into the pit of your belly.

You started to realise you had just slept in the devil’s bed.

Before you could do anything but swallow, Raphael started undoing the buttons of your – no, his – shirt.

“What are you doing?” you gasped and clutched his wrists. His skin was so warm and the faint smile on his lips was nothing if not suggestive.

“Re-doing your buttons, my dear,” he replied with a hum of a chuckle. “You’re welcome to keep the shirt, but at least try to look like you just haven’t spent the night revelling in debauchery and sin.”

“But I was just sleeping!” you acclaimed.

“My point exactly.”

Your face was burning. From the devil’s expression you easily read that the bastard was enjoying this.

Raphael took his time undoing and buttoning the shirt, fingers travelling dangerously close to your chest and over your navel. An accidental brush of fingers there and another here. You just stood still, breathing shallow in a way that surely didn’t go unnoticed by him. You were fighting the unwanted tingling feeling and heat coiling inside you.

His hands lingered at the last button. You made the mistake of looking up at his face and were encountered with a heavy look that sent you reeling. Your pulse quickened. He was so close, you could have just pushed up to your toes and–

No. No way in Hell. Raphael was gorgeous, but you were not about to sully your soul by sinning with a devil. No matter how inviting the smile on his very kissable lips was or how amazing he smelled.

You had to break the spell somehow.

“Raphael?” You hated how tinged with desperation your voice was.

“Yes?”

You looked away as his hands parted from you. It was a little easier to breathe.

“Um. Thank you for your hospitality,” you said in earnest.

He huffed. “You are very much welcome.” He took a step back and a strange sensation that his thoughts mirrored your own carnal but hesitating ones crept into your mind. Raphael continued: “I’ll add it to your tab, little raven. But now it’s time for you to go.”

Your head snapped up.

“Wait, what tab–?”

In a swirl of devouring flames, you found yourself back at camp and a second later all your companions started yelling. Only then you remembered that your camp clothes had been left by the pool and you were not wearing any pants.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #the devil wears house slippers

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Oh but what if a rookie hero becomes obsessed with villain! reader too and it annoys yandere henchman a lot and has them pulling their hair out especially when they find out it was indirectly their own fault the hero took a different kind of interest in the villain

Locked in a elementary battle with the latest fool to dispute your reign; you hover over the fallen hero, knife aimed at their throat. Their performance was laughable - like the coward wasn't even trying to land a hit you. Following you around for months and this was the best they could do. A gash by your lips pales to the bruises that would litter their body soon after. If they survived.

Grinning like the madman you were, you slash at the hero's face - branding them with a new mark, while also tearing down their shield of anonymity. The blood gushing from torn skin masks the crimson hue of their flesh; the fear of their identity unearthed undermined by the honey trap of your gaze, pulled by that cursed smile - just like they had been when researching you before the fight. A nescient seduction many have fallen under prior, and would continue to for days to come; an obbessor right within your clutches without you even realizing.

Till their lips start to move.

Beneath the blades of the helicopter overhead and the roaring winds, the weakened hero mutters out to you. Their call is only heard by you, and the person listening in through a chip embedded into your clothing. They scream from within the sanctuary of your lair, knowing they should have killed that hero when they were just a civilian singing praises of you like none other.

Your lips twist as you process the hero's words. Two small words - that could mean anything in the world. Even itself.

"I'm...yours...."

#Yandere henchman #yandere oc #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere hero #villain reader #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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the-halloween-jack · 7 months

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ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｔｗｏ

PART TWO OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,103k Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >

A month had passed, and Y/N still found herself in the preternatural town of Mystic Falls; with every passing moment, her case became more thorny and twisted. Though, there were two things of which she was certain.

Vampires in this town did not succumb to their usual prison of daylight; the only logical explanation for a lack of night prowlers was that they simply did not need to prowl at night.

Secondly, the reason Y/N could not get any information from the townspeople was because they genuinely did not know anything; she had the nagging feeling their minds were patched up with fake accounts of nefarious events that they were unfortunate enough to witness. Y/N shuddered to think that maybe her memories had been played with, too; after all, she would not know. Y/N took to writing down everything she uncovered; if she were right about the memory tampering, all of her evidence and theories would be there to rediscover.

Y/N begrudgingly gazed upon her tenuous evidence in the form of a journal. Countless farfetched “animal attacks,” both historical and recent, missing persons and hospital break-ins. She knew three blood bank robberies had occurred within a fortnight, and yet no action had been taken by order of the sheriff. It was redundant to attempt a case so premeditatedly shrouded by the authorities, whose ill-judged aims of keeping locals nescient only paved the way for more of these “animal attacks”.

The stalemate the young Winchester found herself in was beyond frustrating; she could not deaden the voice calling for her brothers’ help in her head, though her stubbornness prevented her from doing so. The further this case progressed, the more impossible it became, its virulent tendrils unfurling in every which direction.

But the vampire case was not the only thing that frustrated Y/N; she found herself becoming quite comfortable in the uncanny town. Remaining in the same place for a couple of months gave her a strange sense of stability she had never experienced before. She found herself building relationships, and as depressing as it was, for the first time in her life, she could confidently say she had friends.

The renowned Mystic Grill played a pivotal part in this; every other night, the locals would flock to the establishment, blissfully ignorant of the wary pastimes of their councillors. It was the seemingly tight-knit nature of Mystic Falls that first attracted Y/N to the town, and although she had only resided there for a short while, she had already begun receiving invites to their extravagant founders' events.

Of course, Y/N was wise as to what these seemingly inconspicuous gatherings really were, though she still found the fact she was already being invited heartening.

Though friends and a sense of community were not all that was new, Y/N tried desperately to quell the feelings she had growing for the sardonic Damon Salvatore. Of course, she had had fleeting crushes before, but this time, she found herself infatuated. She was kicking herself for ever allowing it to happen. She would go out of her way to see him, convincing herself that she was only investigating the case, trying to get into the inner loop of the founders' council. Deep down, Y/N knew she was lying to herself.

The sound of a knock on her motel door snapped Y/N from her thoughts. Hastily shoving her journal under her bed and tucking her wooden-bullet-filled revolver in the waistline of her jeans, she strode over and glanced through the glass peephole, finding Caroline, an overbearing but lovely girl Y/N had come to call a friend, standing on the other side clutching what looked like a flyer. With a sigh, Y/N heaved the faulty door open,

‘Hey Caroline, I wasn’t expecting you here; excuse the room, it’s a mess.’

‘I don’t know why you stay here; I keep telling you we have a spare bed.’ Caroline’s response was doubtful; she already knew what Y/N would say,

‘I’ll get my own place eventually; for the meantime, I’m happy staying here.’

Y/N liked the idea of staying in Mystic Falls, continuing the relationships she already held dear. She thought of her brothers and how long her anonymity here would last; how long did she have before they found her and forced her back?

‘Oh well, I didn’t come here to judge your living conditions; I came here to give you this.’

Caroline held out the piece of paper Y/N had thought was a flyer, though upon closer inspection, she could see it was an invitation to a ball.

‘Another event?’ Y/N’s words were incredulous,

‘I know, we always have them, but you need to come to this one.’

‘I’ve needed to attend the last few founders' events.’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke; Caroline ignored her jab,

‘Elena, Bonnie and I plan on heading into Richmond to find gowns; you’re welcome to join.’

Although Y/N acted as though she held herself aloof from these girly hangouts, between being an only daughter and living on the road, they had been something she had never experienced before, and she could not help the excitement and giddiness she felt every time she was invited.

‘Okay, I’ll see if I can make it… Will Damon be there?’ Caroline’s eyes rolled so far back into her skull that Y/N was worried they would be stuck there.

‘I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll tell you again. He. Is. Bad. News.’ She very carefully emphasised each word. It was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes,

‘You know, I don’t understand why you’ve got such a big problem with him; you can tell me you know.’

‘Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to get mixed in with him; it doesn’t end well for anyone.’

Y/N wished she would heed Caroline’s advice; she could not afford to get mixed in with anyone, bad news or not; her lifestyle did not allow it. Though for a century and a half now, it seemed Mystic Falls was in constant danger from the Supernatural, would it be that unforgivable if she stayed and protected these people? Protected her friends?

Y/N quickly learnt that Caroline was a fan of advice; if anything happened, she had an opinion about it. For the most part, Y/N found it endearing; she could tell it came from a place of care. So why was it that she was so vehemently against Damon? What was it about him that caused Caroline’s dismay? These questions riddled Y/N’s thoughts as she sat alone in the very spot she met the dark-haired man, knowing that it would not be long before he sat in the vacant space beside her.

‘Why the long face?’ The satirical voice she had come to adore sounded from her left, and the face in question quickly shifted to a grin,

‘I knew you would be showing up soon; that’s enough to cause despair in anybody.’ Or at least Caroline, Y/N thought sardonically. Damon’s hand quickly covered his heart, his expression mocking offence.

‘You wound me.’

Damon pulled the stool next to the Winchester girl out from under the bench and lowered himself onto it with a hefty sigh, catching the eye of the young bartender,

‘House bourbon please…’ He glanced at the empty crystal glass clutched in her hand, ‘make that two,’ he added,

‘Thanks.’ She muttered,

‘You know, I’ve noticed you never buy me drinks.’ He teased, eyes crinkling with his smile, Y/N scoffed,

‘Nice try, Damon; I’ve seen your house. You don’t need me to buy you drinks.’ Her eyebrows furrowed,

‘What is it that you do for a living any way? How can you afford a house like that?’ Damon did not answer, instead, he waved his hand dismissively. He never answered personal questions; it was beyond frustrating. However, she understood she was being hypocritical; none of her new-found friends knew anything about her, nothing real anyway. She continued,

‘It doesn’t look like you have the time for a job; you spend all your time here.’ Y/N spoke with fake judgment; she spent a fair amount of her time here as well. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping her statement would elicit some sort of answer, but to no avail; Damon simply took a sip from his glass and moved to another topic,

‘Did you get your invite to the ball? I heard the girls were going to get gowns. ’ His tone was teasing as he wiggled his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes,

‘Yeah, I’ve also been invited to the shopping trip; I don’t know what I’m going to get; I've never been a dress person.’

‘Well, whatever you end up wearing, I’m sure you’ll look stunning; that’s something we have in common.’ Y/N's cheeks heated at his comment; she should be used to it by now; their whole relationship was built on cheap pick-up lines.

‘You flatter me.’ A chuckle escaped with her words,

‘Speaking of the ball… Were you going with anyone?’ His words were hesitant but aired with confidence,

‘You’re kidding, right? You’re just about the only person I know in town.’ Y/N was incredulous,

‘Well.. in that case… I suppose I better take you.’

Two days passed, and Y/N found herself in the back seat of Elena Gilbert's SUV, trying desperately to quell the feeling of giddiness settling in her stomach; the idea of a girls-day-out excited Y/N in a way she had not anticipated and although she had tried very hard to act aloof, she fears she had not been successful.

Every time she complained about dresses, shoes and jewellery, Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie shared knowing looks.

The day passed slowly, Y/N quickly learning to nod politely at the dresses she believed were only ordinary and gush over the ones she thought were stunning. By the end of their trip, Y/N knew that the girls would pass as goddesses at the ball, their embellished gowns complimenting each one of them wonderfully. Though she had not foreseen how difficult it would be to come to a decision herself, each dress she tried on never quite hugged or sat the way she wanted it. But when she glanced up at a mannequin she had yet to see, the dress she knew would be hers lied upon its shoulders.

The burgundy gown adorned a tight-fitting velvet bodice, its sweetheart neckline drawing out to meet hanging chiffon off-shoulder sleeves. Y/N thought the skirt looked like deep gushing blood as it extended from the pointed waist of the bodice to the floor, its chiffon overlay flowing delicately to meet the rest of the dress on the ground. Complimenting the dress was a pair of long gloves made to match its ornate material and a necklace of warmly coloured pearls encrusted with a brilliant red jewel. It was utterly perfect.

She drew closer to the gown, fingers stretching out to glide over the impossibly soft textile and called the saleswoman over, asking politely if she could have the dress and accessories to try on. As she held it up before her in the changing room, she was astonished to realise the material was even more stunning up close.

She took timid steps from the changing room, treating the gown with utmost care. As she turned the corner, Y/N heard subtle gasps come from her entourage, her cheeks suddenly deepening to a pretty shade of vermillion.

‘Oh my goodness, Y/N, you’re stunning’, Bonnie spoke earnestly, Elena nodding in agreement.

‘Hot and sexy are the words I’d use; whoever you’re bringing is a lucky guy’, Caroline added. Y/N was sure she suddenly looked culpable; Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

‘You know, you never mentioned who was taking you, only that somebody had asked.’ Caroline’s voice was suspicious,

‘Well, um…’ Caroline raised her eyebrows as though she was already anticipating Y/N's answer,

‘Damon may have asked me the other night.’ Caroline closed her eyes and sighed,

‘Y/N, he’s bad news; how many times do I have to tell you before the message sinks in?’ Her tone was frustrated,

‘You’ve never actually told me why he is “bad news.”’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks around her last words. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline exchanged glances; they knew something they were unwilling to disclose to her, and Y/N would find out what it was.

A/N: I wanted to add a reference for the dress Y/N found, though I could not find one that matched what I pictured, so I decided to draw what I was envisioning instead.

Here is a link to the image: https://i.pinimg.com/750x/60/af/61/60af61d9f9d20b5a4afa52cc71505831.jpg

#damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #the vampire diaries #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #winchester sister #vampire #mystic falls #x reader #tvd #spn #hunter #ball gown #mystic grill

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kaylaz-world-00 · 5 months

Text

Bullfrog x h!reader

Summery; You and Bullfrog having some talk on a rooftop.

A/N: Gonna try a different style this time. I can't get enough of this frog.

Warnings: mention of physical fresh wounds and a bit blood, maybe a little bit angsty?

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Taglist: @blorbostation @eateableworm @livelaughluvvfaithyy @darkchanx @astoraa @shiroisotto64

You looked at his hand reaching out to you with a sympathetic expression. He had a can of soda in his hand, obviously cold, “Desole, that was all I could find, mon soleil.”

He smiled at that, “Look who is talking.” You pouted with his words.

"You are glad that my father hired you?"

He blinked then smiled, “Whatever you say, miel. Just tell me whenever your pretty hand gets cold I could return back the job.” He sighed as he leave the can to your hold.

“Hey, can I ask you something… if that’s okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” You chuckled nervously with his answer. “Well, I don’t wanna… uhmm… sound offensive?”

He snorted at that, “R-Really? That was what you were wondering?”

You pressed your flushed face on his head, trying to hide yourself as your arms tighten a bit more around him, “Y-Yes…?” You stuttered out.

His laughter died down as he sucked a deep breath, “To answer your question. Not intentionally but yes. It doesn’t happen often either. You can think them as like hiccups.”

"Oh…"

He patted your cheek affectionately, “Don’t worry, mon amour. I sometimes have questions about humans too, not specifically towards you but yes…”

“Really? Like what?” You were actually surprised with that but you guessed it must be normal.

He pondered a bit, “Well, nothing comes to my mind right now…”

He smiled at himself and hummed, you notice him pulling out a can of juice. He took out its straw and dipped it into the box, "Want some?"

You breathed out a laugh, "Sure." You leaned in for a sip as he reached it out to you.

He snickered, “You mean for me to cook for you?”

You muttered, glancing away, “Well, I admit you can cook better than me. In fact, I've never had better food than what you cook."

He smiled proudly at that, “Thanks!” He sipped his juice happily.

"Let's order something."

"Let's go back to my place then."

#bullfrog #bullfrog x reader #allenwrites #reader #x reader #captain lazerhawk spoilers #captain lazerhawk

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