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thejakeslayla · 1 year

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╰─▸❝ heeseung as boyfriend❞

pairing: bf!heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ genre: fluff, established relationship, sensitive reader ୨୧ warnings: kisses as promised @magyuhye ♡

“coming back home tired to heeseung;”

as you arrived home, thoroughly exhausted, you finally collapsed onto the bed. your body ached, and your legs throbbed. heeseung sat at his desk, likely immersed in a video game. although you typically took interest in his activities, today, you couldn't muster the energy to peer over his shoulder. you simply crawled into bed, still dressed in your outdoor clothes, ready to surrender to sleep. with your eyes closed, you sensed heeseung joining you. soon, his fingers began to gently comb through your hair.

"tough day, my dear?" heeseung inquired, leaning in to kiss your cheek and then your forehead. you met his gaze as you opened your eyes. the tenderness in his expression brought tears to your eyes. today had been overwhelming, far from a good day. both physically and mentally drained, you had yearned for this moment since leaving home in the morning. you had started the day with such optimism, singing along to your favorite songs while getting ready, motivated and happy to simply exist today. unfortunately, reality had fallen short of your expectations. you didn’t even notice that your, tears had escaped, rolling down your cheeks.

"i'm so exhausted, heeseungie," you whispered, and that was enough for him to draw you closer, tightly hugging your weak body,. "i'm just so drained," you sobbed into his chest, soaking his shirt.

"shh," he murmured, his arms still wrapped around you, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "it's okay. i'm here, alright? do you want to talk about it?" but you simply shook your head, eager to forget the wretched day and find solace in your boyfriend's embrace.

he understood. he kissed the top of your head, and the room filled with your hushed sobs as he began to hum a familiar melody. you quickly recognized the tune; it was one of your favorite songs. focusing on his soft voice, your tears subsided, replaced by the comforting sound of his gentle singing.

"let's get you changed, okay, baby?" he asked after the song ended. exhausted and unable to speak, but it seemed like heeseung didn't need a response. he efficiently removed each article of your clothing, swiftly dressing you in your pajamas. gently lifting you, he adjusted your position for maximum comfort. heeseung tucked you in, ensuring every inch of your body was covered with the blanket, and then lay down beside you.

clinging to his side, you embraced him as he wrapped his arm around you. you rested your cheek against his chest and looked up at him. "thank you," you whispered, and he smiled in response.

"there's nothing to be thankful for, it’s normal, yeah? just taking care of you, this is what people do in relationships," you nuzzled against him, growing more at ease. he lovingly stroked your back. "bad days happen, princess. it's okay to have one, and that's why i'm here to help you after a rough day."

"i love you so much," you whispered again, and you could feel his chest quiver as you heard his soft chuckle.

"i love you too, y/n. now, let me sing you to sleep, alright?"

“fun dates;”

"stop cheating!" heeseung exclaimed as you stole yet another kill from him.

"you're just my support; what can i say?" you looked at him, wearing a big smile. "i'm just better," you teased, prompting heeseung to playfully hit your shoulder.

dramatically gasping, you retaliated with a playful hit, which resulted in you getting smacked on the head. unfortunately, you weren’t expecting that, you (also dramatically and almost on purpose) slammed your head onto the desk, loud groan leaving your mouth.

"oh my god, princess," heeseung moved his chair closer to yours, grabbing your shoulders and gently squeezing them. "are you okay? i didn't mean to, i swear. i'm so sorry," he babbled, panic evident in his expression.

"i'm okay, i'm okay," you reassured him as you got up. he gasped at the red mark on your forehead, a result of your head meeting the keyboard.

without a word, he drew closer and planted several gentle kisses on your forehead. "aggh! hee, it hurts, don't touch it!" you exclaimed, pulling away.

"oh my god, i'm so, so sorry, baby," he continued to apologize. after a while of heeseung panicking and you insisting that you were fine, he bought you five packs of your favorite candy, even promising to get you more if you needed it.

little did he know that this had been your plan all along – to act dramatic and get more candy.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

winter dates held an extra layer of fun. you went to a park together, with heeseung's hand safely tucked in your pocket, his thumb tenderly caressing your skin to keep your hand warm.

after arriving, you both built a snowman, but true to heeseung's clumsiness, he tripped first. he grabbed your forearm, pulling you down with him.

"as they say, if we go down, we go down together, right?" he chuckled, trying laugh off your annoyed expression.

"hee! i'm literally covered in snow," you whined, feeling your legs slowly freeze.

"let me warm you up, baby," he suggested, rolling closer to you, his jacket now completely snow-covered. he hovered over you, supporting himself on the slippery ground, then leaned in and kissed you. it wasn't just a metaphor; the kiss actually warmed you up.

the kiss continued until you both ran out of breath, but the special moment was short-lived. did i mention that heeseung had placed his trust in slippery snow? yes, as he pulled away, his hand slipped, and with all his body weight, he tumbled onto you. at this point, you couldn't help but laugh, despite the pain in your ribs. it was just too hilarious, and he kept apologizing. you decided to silence him by placing your freezing fingers on his warm, embarrassed cheeks and kissing him again.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it seemed like heeseung's clumsiness and luck for tripping over had rubbed off on you. during a spring date, as the weather warmed up, you decided to grab some ice cream.

here you were, sitting on the sidewalk after tripping and scraping your knee, blood trickling. naturally, heeseung panicked. he helped you up and even suggested carrying you while asking if you wanted to continue the date. you were yearning for some ice cream, and the thought of not enjoying your favorite flavor saddened you.

"poor baby," heeseung cooed when he saw you limping. "does it hurt that much?"

as you reached the ice cream stand, heeseung ordered your ice cream, remembering your favorite flavor. you sat down, expecting him to hand it to you, but he assumed you were already holding it, so he let go. unfortunately, the ice cream ended up on the ground, prompting a loud whine from you.

frustration and anger welled up during this date. unable to contain your emotions, you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"baby, no, no, no, it’s okay," you heard heeseung say as he crouched in front of you, brushing hair out of your face and gently wiping away your tears. "you can have mine, alright?"

you looked at him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes. while his flavor wasn't your absolute favorite, you were simply craving ice cream too much. you extended your hand, and heeseung, with a smile, placed his ice cream in your hand. as you indulged, he stood up, now patting your head.

"is it good, baby?" he asked, a broad smile on his face as he watched you eat, hot tears still streaming down your cheeks. "if it's good, i can buy you another one."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

the chilly night had fallen, and now you were sitting with heeseung under a blanket, lost in thought about the day you just spent together, inseparable from dawn to dusk.

as soon as you woke up, you forced heeseung to help you in making lemonade, his task was to make the ice cubes, making you yell each time he pressed his cold hands to your body, as you were taking care of cutting the fruit. the lemonade turned out delicious, and your boyfriend took all the credit, proudly complimenting his own work.

"so, is the lemonade i made any good?" he asked, looking at you with this goofy smirk on his face.

next, you headed to the pool, where most of your day had been spent. you engaged in numerous playful activities, multiple tries to drown each other, playfully splashing him, which always started a war, competing in who's gonna hold their breath longer and just swimming while enjoying each other's company. the day also featured multiple kisses, with heeseung even suggesting you try kissing underwater.

after several times that heeseung picked you up and threw your body into the water, you finally agreed.

"was it that bad?" he asked as he pulled you out of the water.

"well, maybe if you were a better kisse—" and you found yourself underwater again.

“lazy saturday mornings;”

"no, baby," heeseung groaned, pulling you closer and hugging your body even tighter. "don't leave, please. just five more minutes, hm?"

you were annoyed; why did your sleepy boyfriend have to be so attractive? and why was he so good at convincing you to stay? your hand found its way to his messy hair, ruffling it. he leaned closer, placing his lips on yours, probably his strategy to keep you in bed a little longer.

everyone knew that heeseung slept in late, and if he woke up at 10, it was a miracle. however, you didn't enjoy lounging in bed for that long. you pulled back, attempting to break free from his grasp.

"baby," he whispered, resting his head on your chest, snuggling closer to you. "just stay, please. i promise, just ten more minutes."

"heeseung, no," you protested, pinching his shoulder, but he didn't budge. "you're like a stone. you can sleep more; it's fine."

"i don't want to without you," he whined again, and you looked at him. a soft smirk played on his lips, eyes closed. barefaced heeseung, with messy hair, a husky voice, and incredibly cuddly—how could you possibly say no to him?

"i might go fishing with jake this friday," heeseung mentioned, his fingers idly playing with the end of your sweatpants. your legs rested on his lap as you sipped your coffee.

you just finished eating breakfast, and heeseung suggested watching something on tv. however, since it was still early, nothing entertaining was on.

"yeah?" you replied, setting your phone down. "are you going to catch something this time?" you teased, earning a sassy look from heeseung.

"just kidding, just kidding. you're the best fisherman in the country, heeseungie."

. . . . . -ˋˏ ✎ author's note! not my best work to be honest .. i am so delulu over heeseung but when it comes to writing for him im like ?? s weird.

#thejakeslayla #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung x reader #enhypen #heeseung x you #heeseung x y/n #heeseung drabble #heeseung drabbles #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung soft hours

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sometimesanalice · 2 years

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Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day.

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did.

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks.

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else.

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal.

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed.

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over.

You were tired.

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage.

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you.

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you.

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?”

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt.

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out.

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table.

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend.

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked.

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention.

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got.

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason.

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch.

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight.

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half.

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him.

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop.

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it.

The thought of it making him feel sick.

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely.

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.”

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him.

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix.

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.”

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.”

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that.

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you.

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps. It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering.

You were his best friend.

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore.

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment.

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident?

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly.

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.”

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly.

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed.

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.”

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore.

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life.

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you.

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative.

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?”

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?”

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected.

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.”

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table.

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in.

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts.

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure.

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour?

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him.

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out.

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks.

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order.

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.”

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause.

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.”

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting.

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now.

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin.

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own.

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.”

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu.

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right.

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer.

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming.

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion.

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley.

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago.

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming.

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you.

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders.

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone.

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.”

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous.

“Wait, what?”

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team.

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego.

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him.

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says.

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist!

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn @hey-assbutt35 @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner @caatheeriinee07 @rileyanntoinette @lublycho

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #rooster x you #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #love is in the air tgm #like i can tgm

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celestiaras · 5 months

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ making a run for it ]❜

ft. mysta rias, ike eveland, vox akuma, shu yamino, luca kaneshiro (separate) x gn! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ how difficult is it to escape from them?┊3k words

contains: yandere!! obsessive & possessive behavior, kidnapping & isolation, chains, mention of death, delusions, forced physical affection, overuse of the word “love”, overprotectiveness, probably inaccurate vox lore, possibly ooc, not proofread or beta-read, this is a train wreak of sewn together thoughts

➤ author's note: the image quality is so bad ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ i don’t watch luxiem that much and don’t really write for them as a result, but that should change because they are cuties

you lost track long ago of how many days it’s been since you’ve been captured, morning and night blurring together since your enclosure had no windows— it must have been nearly a year since you remember him saying something about your first anniversary coming up. the cold metal cuff around your ankle was just as heavy as when it was first fastened, the chain just long enough for you to reach the corners of the room and the bathroom while being fastened to the leg of his bed. you had every inch of it memorized and explored: the books were worn from being read so many times, the area was spotless without a speck of dust because you kept cleaning the place up, and the most excitement you ever got was from another movie getting added to the streaming service on the television since he didn’t let you have any access to the internet.

just like a bird in a cage, you’ve been locked away and isolated for only your captor’s eyes at night when he comes home from his daily activities. you no longer had any other purpose in the world than to be his to adore and admire, to spoil with material gifts that couldn’t fill the empty hole in your heart, and to be the object of his delusions that you feel the same. the thought of remaining here for the rest of your life as his ‘lover” made you shudder and feel sick to your stomach, a thought that you simply couldn’t get used to even though all hope seemed to be lost. you missed your family and friends dearly, already beginning to forget their faces and the sound of their laughter to your horror. you had to escape somehow no matter what the cost may be, preferably alive and fully intact, but you had no idea if their love for you would be greater than their rage when they found you missing.

━━━ .°˖✧ mysta rias ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ once you had a general idea of what you do, you were a bit hesitant to put it in motion since you didn’t have the specifics in mind and terrified that it would all go wrong with how flimsy it was, but you would never be able to leave if you didn’t take courage. however, if you knew that it would have been so easy and that everything went exactly as you planned, you would have done it ages ago. you couldn’t describe the euphoria you felt when the warm rays of the sun kissed your skin and the gentle breeze welcomed you to the outdoors, practically skipping off to make your long-awaited escape. truly, you were a fool to think it would have been so simple when you were up against a genius detective.

╰₊✧ maybe mysta let you run away on purpose just so that he could drag you back for the fun of it, would you believe it? running away was the easy bit, the real challenge is staying away. despite his laid-back and careless attitude, he’s quite the sadist who loves the image of happiness draining from your eyes and being re-filled with sheer terror when he finds you in the next country over. you’ll be completely helpless against him as he drags to back to his home, tearing you apart from new loved ones just as he did before. it’s so easy for him to destroy all the optimism of being free and sinking back into the despair of being his. it doesn’t matter how much you try to cover your tracks, how far you run, how much you alter your appearance with an identity change, he’ll track you down because the red string of fate always brings him back to you.

you can’t help but feel cold when he holds you, useless as the feeling of desolation rendered you unable to fight against him. you just let yourself be limp and wallow in how pathetic you are, trying to muffle your cries against his shoulder even though you soaked the orange fabric. he didn’t even bother saying any words of comfort and just patted your head your head with his gloved hands, but you both knew that it was an empty gesture that wouldn’t console you in the slightest. there was nothing he could due to make you feel better when he’s the source of all of your woes, so he doesn’t really bother with it.

for any normal person, the tears of their partner would shatter their heart to pieces, especially if they were the reason for it. they would apologize, buy gifts, and do anything they could to show their remorse because they love them. mysta loves you too, he loves you so much, but he loved your misery even more. there’s nothing that he enjoys more than your teary eyes like little crystals brimming over and the cute little sobs you would let out while trying to hide how much he influenced your emotions. he’s sick, so sick, but there’s nothing that could cure him, not even attempts to snap him out of his cruel ways and make him love you in a healthy manner.

━━━ .°˖✧ ike eveland ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ a man with intelligence, but no remarkable prowess to stop you from leaving. he doesn’t have extraordinary deduction skills like mysta, magic like shu, an influence like luca, or inhuman powers like vox, but he has his own charms that work in his favor and keep you by his side. he’s just so… sweet and gentle. you can feel his love radiating in his actions and his words, almost making you forget about the fact you were being held captive entirely. his kindness is the main hurdle, making guilt pool in your stomach because you feel like you were betraying his kindness when he took care of you and treated you like a queen.

╰₊✧ you thoroughly believe that you would have fallen in love with him properly if given the time to do so, but unfortunately, he turned out to be batshit crazy and no amount of bonding is enough to make you completely forget that. once your resolve is solidified that it wasn’t love he felt for you but was instead pure unaltered obsession, putting your plot into action feels more possible. it’s more difficult than escaping from the detective who purposely let you go, but if you manage to outsmart the novelist, you’ll finally find yourself free.

he whistles as he walks down the corridor, holding a silver tray in his hands that has a glass of strawberry lemonade and two decadent slices of cake in your favorite flavor. there’s nothing like spending time with the one he loves the most and a sweet treat in the mid-afternoon, a little pep in his step to show just how excited he is for this routine that occurs about twice a week. in his satchel, he holds a few novels that he thinks you would enjoy and will be asking for your thoughts about the previous books he gave you as he always does. everything was perfect from the weather to his mood to your love life, he doesn’t think anything would be able to ruin it.

at least he thought there wasn’t anything that could ruin it, unable to explain how far his heart dropped when he couldn’t find you anywhere. he ran about the manor in a frenzy, thoroughly searching through every room and crevice while calling out your name. rushing back to your shared bedchamber to properly examine the scene of the crime where he last saw you, he realized that the chain had been broken somehow. he felt dizzy and ill, falling into an armchair and throwing his head back to try and make the world stop spinning.

he couldn’t believe this was happening after everything was going so well! did he do something wrong? did he upset you or offend you in some way? he racks his brain for anything he might have said or done for you to leave him, so deep in his delusions of true love that he doesn’t even consider the fact that kidnapping you and holding you against your will for about a year would have anyone running for the hills. maybe you would come back on your own, finding it in your heart to forgive him and return to be his again? who is he kidding, you’ll never come back unless he looks for you himself! he’ll go and give you flowers and chocolates, and if you still reject him, he’ll simply persist until you remember how much you love him! he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to remind you of your relationship with him because the two of you were always meant to be together!

━━━ .°˖✧ shu yamino ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ similar to ike, shu is a very smart and clever person, but unlike the novelist, he has quite a few tricks up his sleeve. for instance, his home is laced with so many traps that are installed by his magic, like a temple straight out of indiana jones to protect his treasure. of course, he is the only one who can enter and exit as he pleases— the protection spell isn’t just there to keep you in, it’s also there to keep anyone who may be looking for you out. once he detects that someone is in his property, a simple snap of his fingers teleports you somewhere else until they leave. sometimes you find yourself in an abandoned city or the middle of a grassy field without warning, terrified but unable to find help no matter how far you try to run. wherever you are, he always knows the exact location and can summon you back just as easily as he banished you.

╰₊✧ he acts as though nothing happened, chatting just like he did before you found out his true colors. you can hardly even tell that he has such a manic love for you, remaining awkward as ever while referencing memes that you’ll never understand since you don’t have any interaction with the outside world. he isn’t half as delusional as the other boys, knowing that his affection for you is completely unrequited and will never be reciprocated, yet he still did it anyway because he just couldn’t help himself. you don’t understand this enigma of a man in the least bit, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t completely alter the course of your life and give you lasting trauma, but at least he doesn’t force affection on you… which is the bare minimum and you are still set on leaving.

the creaking of the door was enough to make you panic a bit, filling the disturbingly quiet house. you weren’t quite sure where shu was, but if he wasn’t with you, then he wasn’t here at all. this was the first time you had left the room and the first time you were exploring the house since you were unconscious when he brought you in. it looked standard, like your average, run-of-the-mill home that you would see in television shows, and impossible to guess that there was a prisoner inside. as a result, it was pretty easy to navigate the place and you found what you thought was the exit within minutes. you found a set of keys hidden in a living room drawer and decided to test them out in the front door, not knowing of the traps and naively thinking it would be simple.

unable to contain your excitement, you prepared to inset the first one into the knob, but before it even touched it, the sound of alarms like a thousand cymbals blaring through your ears and making you drop everything from the surprise. you had no idea where the noise was coming from nor did you know how to stop it, quickly dawning on you that you fucked up. running towards a nearby window, you attempted to push it up to climb out of it, but it only seemed to make the sound louder. when you saw a neighbor walking by with a dog, you tried banging on the glass to grab their attention, but it was like you were a ghost and they continued on with their day not knowing they were being begged for help. clearly, his magic was surrounding and you were too stupid to remember that, seeing flames of purple beginning to form near you and signifying that he was home to see what the commotion was about. you can only hope that he won’t be too upset with you.

━━━ .°˖✧ vox akuma ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ how unlucky are you to be the object of the great voice demon’s affections! he rarely ever lets you out of his sight as being a demon in the modern era means that he too must stay hidden from the public eye. it’s suffocating being under his observant eye, something as much as blinking doesn’t go under his radar. since he isn’t human, his senses are heightened with him being to hear so much as a floorboard creaking or smell the blood of you getting a paper-cut from a different room, leading him to be able to just sense your presence no matter where you are since you’re never far from him anyways. you don’t quite understand it, but what you do understand is that it makes escape much more difficult.

╰₊✧ he’s just so overprotective of you and you get it, having heard the story of his clan and how he lost them when they were all so dear to him, but it’s no excuse for his extremely possessive behavior. you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been outside and touched grass that wasn’t in his garden. he’s always by your side and never leaves unless you need to use the restroom or something, like a guard dog that doesn’t understand boundaries, yet even dogs could be forgiven for not knowing any better. the only time you don’t feel watched is when he’s asleep, with an arm thrown around you, but unconscious nonetheless.

you were more aware of every shift of his body and every breath he took than you would be if he was really your lover, unable to get a second of rest when being coddled like this. you feared that if you squirmed at all, he would automatically tighten his grip around you, but was pleasantly surprised when you were able to wiggle free. hearing him grunt made your heart stop, but he stayed asleep until you tried to get off the bed and stepped on the ground. hearing him ask where you were going made you sweat bullets, but you just said you were off to get a glass of water.

unfortunately, he decided to get up himself to go get it for you, leaving you sitting on the Alaskan king-sized mattress thinking about your fate. you doubt that you’ll ever get away from him, he’ll just track you down and bring you back. the world is massive, but so is he and you won’t make it very far. you can’t hide from a demon, not for long enough to sigh in relief anyway. if walking on wood with bare feet was enough to wake him from his slumber, hearing you open a door or window would be enough to have him running.

━━━ .°˖✧ luca kaneshiro ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ your prison is a palace dusted with gold, you’re served the finest food on silver platters, you’re decorated with jewels that are worth millions, but the splendor isn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you’re a prisoner. normally, you could only dream of living in a place like this where you’re doted on by a lover and spoiled rotten with whatever you want, yet you would do anything to trade this life for the people he had his men wipe off the face of the earth to have you to himself. it can’t be a paradise when you know it’s stained with the blood drawn by a mafia family.

╰₊✧ escape is next to impossible, as expected of the kaneshiro family. hidden cameras watch your every step and guards are lined up in every hallway to make sure that no one aside from their masters gets in or out, armed with weapons that they wouldn’t hesitate to use if necessary. even if they have strict orders not to use them against you for any reason, they are still allowed to use physical force to bring you back and any injuries will be regarded as collateral damage.

your legs dragged across the polished marble floors of the hall since you refused to walk back to your room, carried by two burly men in suits who caught you trying to run away for the -nth time. just like all previous attempts, you were caught within five minutes, which is an improvement to last time yet still not even close to enough to reach the pearly gates of freedom. knowing that you’ll need more then double of that to get out is disheartening, but everyone knows that you’re going to try again. you’ve learned that it really doesn’t cost anything to make a run for it, they don’t even punish you for it since luca loves you too much for that so they just throw you back on the bed before leaving.

there are a few bruises from their rough handling, but nothing too serious. you’d be willing to walk out of there with a broken arm if needed, you just wanted to go home and see the remaining few who weren’t picked off by the mafia again. later that day, you’ll be gifted with new dresses and shoes that shimmer in the light of the grand chandelier of your room to try and convince you to stay, however, there isn’t any use for such items if others couldn’t see it as well. if you keep trying, you’ll make it a little further as you learn from your mistakes, maybe even one of his men will feel pity for you or get sick of your antics and just let you go. you’ll only know if you keep trying.

#📜. her works #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #mysta rias #mysta rias x reader #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #tw: yandere

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erwinsvow · 5 months

Text

there’s an outdoor shower at the chateau—a tiny thing, really, just three planks of wood and the wall of john b’s home where the showerhead is attached. the water pressure depends on the day, depends on if anyone is using the bathroom inside the house or if jj accidentally left the faucet in the kitchen running.

there’s a rusty hook where clothes can be hung if the other shower was occupied, and the towel is always thrown just over the door opposite the water so it doesn’t get too wet.

you are well accustomed to this shower. you know exactly how to hang your towel to avoid the waterfall, where to avoid stepping because the rocks get slippery. sometimes the door opens up by itself, the result of old hinges and worn out screws, but you don’t pay it much mind, because after all, it’s nothing the boys haven’t seen before.

you’d consider yourself still decent, even showering like this. your bikini was filled with grains of sand, the result of being pushed around at the beach by jj and pope for the last hour. there’s a huge sandy hand print on your shoulder from where john b had helped you up, and you let the water wash it away with a smile.

you’re sandy everywhere, but that’ll have to wait until you’re back home. you wash your hair with the cheap shampoo sitting on the ground, the three-in-one you and kiara beg the boys to dispose of.

but at the very least you feel clean, rinsing the suds from your scalp and watching them run down your body and then onto the ground, draining into the grass. you’ve been spending too much time with kie—your first thought is that you hope this stuff doesn’t leach chemicals into the soil.

lost in the warmth since you’re the first to shower and the boys haven’t used up all the hot water yet, you close your eyes and forget the door’s opened by itself. you think it doesn’t matter since everyone’s at pope’s already. you were the only one who insisted on showering before joining them, promising you’ll bike over after ten minutes, though pope reassures the others it’ll be at least twenty-five.

there’s a voice coming from the backyard, rafe thinks, stalking further and further into the shoddy little house. the land wasn’t terrible, right on the lake, but the place was anything but well kept, a mess of missing shingles and splintered wood. he stops thinking about the house as soon as the voice becomes clearer, the further he steps into the back. he was here to convey a message to the pogues that call this place home, but no one that he wanted to find was around.

stepping in mud and grass, he walks to the backyard, a pretty voice filling the humid air. you’re singing something he doesn’t know, something that sounds vaguely familiar. maybe something ward used to play on the record player in the study, back when rafe used to spend time with him.

you, whoever you are, sound nice, even muffled by the sound of the running water. when rafe gets closer, he sees there’s no door blocking his view to a pretty girl washing her hair and singing softly. you’re in nothing but a yellow bikini, showing him all too much but at the same time not entirely enough.

he’s not sure how long he stood there. it must have been some time, because when you twist the shower knob and stop the water, turning to grab your towel, you see rafe and curse loudly, shoulders raising in fear by themselves.

you stand like that for a moment before realizing rafe is staring, probably because you’re in a tiny, wet bikini. you yank the towel and cover yourself.

“can i help you?” you demand, the sweet voice all gone. even if you didn’t recognize rafe, the clothes he wore and his expensive shoes covered in the dirt of the chateau’s grounds were a dead giveaway.

“yeah. m’lookin’ for the idiots that live here. seen them around?”

“no. goodbye.” he laughs at that. eyes raking over your body again. you’re covered now but still feel exposed, like he can see through your towel.

“funny, kid. when you see ‘em give them a message from me, will ya?”

“leave a voicemail like a normal person. i’m not your messen-”

“yeah, yeah. tell your boys we know what they did.” you stare back at him, confused by what he means but angry at the intrusion and the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you. “sure. whatever that means. are you all done being a stalker now?” he laughs again.

“we’ll see. bye kid.”

#this has been in my drafts for ages but i only had the first line #idt anyone else is gonna like this but i do #<3 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #singing pogue reader #i guess....

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whitexwolfxx310 · 1 year

Note

Hi. Request. A bucky or sebastian x fem reader. Soft wedding smut. Fluff. NO daddy or mommy kinks, for the love of God. NO! Thank you

Yes!!! I have been so excited to write something like this! I couldn't help but dive right into it! I hope you enjoy ♥️

||You're My Home||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: Your wedding night!

Warnings: Spicy content! 18+ only! Oral sex F receiving, unprotected penetration, praise kink, FLUFFFFFFF!

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This isn't a part of the BBWWS, but let me know what you think!

Spending the last year planning the intricate details of a wedding had you completely drained. Centerpieces, invitations, flowers… it sounds fun in theory, but was utterly exhausting.

Bucky did everything he could to be by your side every step of the way. Even the late nights when he came home from a mission to find you crying in the middle of the floor- that was littered with glue, glitter, ribbons, and card stock that was going to somehow come together to make the seating chart you had imagined in your head. He had this magic about him that would take the stress away, reminding you that the very core of all of this was your love for one another. He’d offer to help, and seeing him in all black leather covered with glitter was a sight to behold. You teased your fiancé, saying he should pitch that idea as a new uniform.

You held onto those little moments to help push you through the craziness of wedding planning. After all, the endgame was becoming Mrs. Barnes. And even though the big day got closer and closer, you never got over the sight of Bucky’s mothers ring on your finger.

But it all came together on a beautiful fall evening as you each stood at the end of a plush grass isle. That had been his one and only request- to be married outdoors in a wide open space. Bucky didn’t look when you first appeared, he was afraid. It wasn’t until the music played and Steve gave him a reassuring grip on his shoulder, did he brave a look.

He didn’t smile at first. His eyes took in every small detail; The bold white sheath dress that hugged your curves, the plunging sweetheart neckline that accented your breasts, the floral patterned lace that disappeared the further it fluttered down the dress. No, he didn’t smile. Not yet. Instead his teeth clenched and his lips slightly twitched as you started to walk towards him. Bucky’s ocean blue eyes now had a watery sheen to them, conveying just one simple word: ‘mine’.

When you were only just a few feet away from the sunflower and marigold decorated alter, he stepped forward to meet you. To hold your hand in his as you both take your last steps as each others fiancé. Standing face to face in front of a large group of people that suddenly seemed to disappear, you could only focus on the man in front of you. His pearly white teeth that gleamed as he now smiled, his eyes as bright as you’ve ever seen them, his infamous nose scrunch in excitement that made you fall in love with him in the first place, and that tanned, God-like skin that practically glowed under his all black suit. Every feature was enhanced from the too perfect watercolor sun as it started to set during your vows.

The minister hadn’t even finished the conclusion of the ceremony by saying ‘you may now kiss the bride’ before Bucky gently cupped both sides of your face and gave you the sweetest, heartfelt kiss. The beaming smiles on both of your faces almost made it impossible to press your lips together. Cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd, causing him to take you into his arms, dipping you down low as he maintained the kiss for show.

The evening was full of clinking utensils against glasses, music that had everyone dancing (even Bucky), and the ever so slightly guilty conscience you had from wasting such an amazing tasting cake by smushing it into his face. It went by so fast that it was practically a blur, and over far too soon.

Everyone sent you off in the picture perfect way; people lined up on both sides of the main entrance and held sparklers that just felt as though they were illuminating the newly married glow coming off of you both.

Driving back to the rented cabin for your wedding night was painfully slow. Bucky’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove, giving the occasional squeeze when his thumb wasn’t grazing against the soft white fabric.

Pulling into the drive, you can feel that the night has cooled. He quickly turns off the car and slightly fumbles as he runs around to open the car door for you. Holding out his hand, you take it into yours and allow him to help you out. After all, wedding dresses aren’t well known for their ability to move with you. Bucky picks you up, now holding you in traditional bridal style to bring you through the threshold. He kicks the door lightly, opening it and walking through, making you giggle as you held onto him.

“Thank you, husband.” You enunciate. He smirks, gently placing you back into your feet.

“You’re welcome, wife.” He reiterates the title also. You both laugh.

His eyes find yours, portraying the same look of adoration he has given you through the entire day, making you feel like the happiest and luckiest woman in the world. Your smile mirrored his own- but one side of your lip tugged into a smirk as you slowly started stepping backwards towards the bedroom. The faint clicking of your heels against the floor being your silent invitation.

Those sky blue eyes set ablaze, and without hesitation, he pulled at his black tie, shimmying the knot down until it was undone and fell to the floor. Bucky’s midnight black tuxedo jacket followed suit, starting to leave a trail of his clothes as he followed you into the bedroom.

He places his hands on each side of your waist and encourages you to turn around. Now with your back to him, he steps in close- the front of his body now pressing into yours. As you expose your neck, Bucky's lips kiss your collarbone, almost making you visibly shiver under his touch. He inhales deeply, as if somehow your scent has changed now that you're officially his. His lips leave small, butterfly soft kisses that trace up to your ear. Instinctively, warm fingertips trace along the lace seam on your lower back.

"You looked... so beautiful today," he breathed, as his fingers clasped the tiny zipper. "But, I would be lying if I said that I haven't been thinking about getting you out of this dress, all day." Your hips impulsively press back against his at the words. The fabric became less taut the more he pulled the zipper down.

That familiar combination of his warm and cool touch started to line your curves. Turning in Bucky's arms to face him, the dress pooled around your feet on the floor. After helping you out of the mesh layers, Bucky drops to his knees in front of you as he admires your new revealed outfit- a strapless, shortened, white flower patterned corset with a matching lace thong and garter belt to hold up thigh high stockings. Placing a firm kiss on your stomach, his head tilts up so he can look at you through hooded eyes- his lower lip still tugged down against your belly slightly.

"God, you're gorgeous. Just...perfect. And mine." The last word changed his tone from admiration to instant primal. He was back on his feet, hands already starting to roam your body. In return, you grip the collar of his dress shirt, pulling his face down closer to yours. Even in heels, you're significantly shorter than him.

"I love you, Bucky. You're everything I've ever wanted, needed, and more." You say, in a small voice- your lips so close to his that they just barely touched with each word you spoke. Not even waiting for a response, you purse your lips to his as you start to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt.

His warm tongue skims against yours- and now you're even more impatient that his naked body isn't already on top of yours. Taking a fist full of the shirt from both sides, you pull as hard as you could- buttons flying, leaving his chest bare. Bucky's lips didn't leave yours as you pushed the shirt down his arms, letting it drop to the floor.

Stepping forward, he supports your body- laying you down on the bed. His hips press firmly between your legs, and even through his dress pants you could feel that he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him; Causing the recognizable throbbing in your lower core to make it's first appearance. His palm presses flat against your upper chest, feeling your heart as it starts to beat faster, for him.

Using his palm as guidance, his lips now trail behind his hand as it coasts lower on your body. Your sternum, beneath your ribs, your belly button, and just above your underwear. While his lips left creamy, soft kisses- the small amount of stubble on his chin tickles, causes you to wriggle slightly under his touch. You exhale all of the air out of your lungs as he plants one faint kiss on top of the thin fabric between your legs. The warmth from his breath has your body completely in his control; your back arching off the bed, aching for more of his touch.

Moving the fabric to the side, he gives one more exposed, tongue filled kiss- causing your breath to hitch. You force yourself to look down, taking the upmost gratification of seeing this man's, your man's, face between your thighs. Bucky ran his warm pointer finger through your folds, grinning with approval of how wet you already are. His ribbed tongue swirls as he licks and sucks smoothly- your hips grind softly, working with his motions.

At first your moans are sigh like and gradually turn into small whimpers. It's a small game Bucky likes to play- teasing and edging almost to the point it will drive you insane. But the orgasms that snowball through you over and over again make it so worth it. He glides over that one sweet spot that makes your entire body tense.

"Don't stop," You sigh, struggling to maintain breathing as your nails start grabbing into his full head of hair. He gives a small 'Mmm' in response, the hum from his throat practically echoing in your rib cage.

Keeping the gradual brushing of his tongue, your entire body starts to come off of the bed. Your toes point downward as you fail in remembering how to breathe- Bucky's arms tense around your thighs as you start to wriggle, holding you in place as you ride through the wave of pent up tension.

A combination of his name delicately wrapped in moans escape your mouth. Even after what seems like relentless energy waves rolling through your body, his tongue doesn't stop- but instead becomes softer and silky, twirling so gently around your extremely sensitive and swollen clit. Only once does your body shudder at each pass of his tongue does he stop.

The coolness of the air replaces where his mouth was as he kneels on the bed. Bucky pulls on his belt buckle, the metal rattling as it comes undone and gets thrown onto the floor. At some point, your thong had been ripped off. Being the skilled lover that he is, his pants are already being tugged off as he moves to hover over you. His sweet- yet salty, lips are on yours; his tongue massaging your own as you both taste yourself through the kiss.

Reaching down between your legs, you grasp and start to stroke him slowly. He breathes into the kiss at your touch and as you adjust your body underneath him. You guide the tip of him to your entrance, rubbing it maliciously slow up and down your folds to lubricate him, with you. The most delicious sound reverberates in his throat as his hips gently press forward, his silent plead. Not being able to resist much longer yourself, you start to guide him inside of you.

A unanimous moan is breathed out between the two of you as he presses in. In an attempt to make himself slick, Bucky pushes in, and then pulls out- repeating this movement until the majority of his length is inside of you. You're so tight that he can't fit in all the way just yet.

His hips rock gingerly against your own, starting off gradually as your internal walls expand to adjust around his intimidating size. The abdominal throbbing didn't stay dormant for long once Bucky found his rhythm. He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead into your own. His breathing becomes heavier as your whimpers morph into moans- moans transform into broken 'oh's'.

This being your second orgasm makes it more intense; and Bucky knows well enough to keep his pace. Changing anything in the moment could cause him to start over again. Not that he would mind.

"Just like that," he breathes, and gently strokes your cheek. And you start to crumble all over again at the smoothness of his words. Your nails dig into his slick and muscled back for stability- your stomach re-living that rollercoaster drop feeling. The sounds coming from you are becoming shaky and high pitched. Bucky presses his lips back into yours, swallowing your sharp whines of pleasure.

He doesn't allow you time to come back down from this high; instead he repositions you both. Bucky is now slightly leaned back on his knees with you straddled on top of him, nice and close.

"One more?" He asks with a smug smile, already taking on the challenge regardless.

Your throat is so dry, your vision still semi blurred- and yet, how can I say no?

His hands grip onto your hips- your bodies forming a V. No movement involved, you can feel the incline of him in this position- with every tiny motion, his tip is going to caress against your G-spot in this alignment.

The first, slow grind makes Bucky hiss. He's deeper, you feel tighter. This isn't going to take long at all... for either of you.

Allowing his hands to guide your hips, you move along to his pattern. The combination of both internal and external stimulation already has you unable to think straight. Your body shudders a little more fiercely this time- Bucky's fingers dig into your skin more as he grunts through his breath. You can feel the pulsing, warm sensation inside as he comes- making him feel even more slick. His body convulses slightly until all that is left is excessive breathing and sticky, sweaty skin between you both.

Bucky's hands cup your face- the cold from his metal hand being more than welcome. "God, I love you." He says, then presses his lips against yours. And in this moment, you realize that every night for the rest of your lives could be like this. This intense, this passionate- forever.

If you enjoyed this, please check out my Masterlist! Requests are open!

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @floralwsloki @erinallene @fafafalafel @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @winterassisin84 @cjand10

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lowkeyrobin · 8 months

Text

TOMMYINNIT ; body art

summary/prompt ; doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; use of tubbos real name once (lmk if I should change it), wilbur existing (written before he was exposed, stand with victims)

word count ; 750

masterlist

Tommy sat at his desk, happily streaming some Minecraft with Wilbur, Tubbo, and Phil. He notices some thin, black lines forming on his left hand, resting over the WASD keys on his keyboard. They started at the fingers and slowly trailed down to his wrist.

He lightly smiles, seeing that his soulmate is doing the usual, drawing some doodles on their hand in the evening. He refocuses his attention, getting back to his stream.

The next afternoon, he walks about town with Wilbur and Tubbo, having a fun little day out with two of his best friends. They sit down on the ledge of a fountain in the little center of the outdoor mall they were walking about in. Wilbur on the left, Tommy in the middle, and Tubbo on the right.

Tommy looks down at his hand, still stained with black and red marker. Clearly, his soulmate hadn't showered or had been trying to rub it off while washing their hands since yesterday, like they wanted it to stay. Tommy hoped that they were proud of their arts skills. Maybe once they'd met, he could get some temporary sharpie tattoos from them, although they'd forever be twinning with that ideology.

"You good, Tom?" Tubbo asks, tapping the blonde on the shoulder.

He quickly nods, "Yeah, yeah. Just-"

Wilbur cuts him off with a smug smile, "Admiring your soulmate’s artistic ability?"

Tommy silently nods with a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He had no idea who was bound to be with him, but he was already falling in love in a way.

Somehow, they knew that red was his favorite color, how he loved roses and tulips. They frequently drew flowering red vines on their hands and fingers, with a little note reading 'for you, soulmate'.

This time, they left a note at the base of his wrist.

'have a lovely day, blondielocks <3'

Blondielocks.

That dumbass nickname they gave him a few weeks ago while they communicated with markers on their legs. That night created a core memory for the blonde boy.

The next morning, Tommy's legs were still covered in red, green, blue, and purple marker stains. That forced him to sit in the shower with a wash cloth and wipe down his legs and thighs, washing off all he wrote. He patiently waited for them to do the same, and not long after, the colored ink dripped down his legs into the drain, leaving his legs as white as they were before like an empty canvas.

Wilbur lightly shoves Tommy with his arm, "You'll find them soon enough"

"Says you! You're twenty-seven and you still haven't met your soulmate" Tommy frowns.

Will opens his mouth to speak, but closes his lips, unable to come up with something witty yet reasonable to reply with.

He fidgets with his hands while he scans the people walking around, seeing a person with some doodles on their hands walking past with a friend. Upon a bit of creepy staring, Tommy feels something in his brain tingling. A weird, safe sense as he looks at this person. As they walk past, he notices the doodles on their hand are exactly the same as the ones on his hand.

He quickly taps Tubbo on the shoulder, staring at the stranger.

"Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, Toby! Toby, this is an emergency!"

"What?" Tubbo sighs, setting his phone down as he looks at his blonde friend

Tommy discreetly points towards the person, "I think that's my soulmate! What do I do?" He asks, hushing his voice.

Tubbo shrugs, "Go talk to them, compliment them, I dunno"

Tommy turns to Wilbur who just replies with a smug smile.

"You're no help" the blonde mumbles, standing up as he feels his hands start to shake.

He walks towards the person, tapping them on the shoulder.

They quickly look back with a warm smile.

"HI! Uh, sorry to bother- uhm, I really like your outfit" He awkwardly smiles

They return the awkward smile back, seeing his hand run through his hair.

"Thank you!" They say

They look at his hand, then him, seeing the ink drawn doodles. He shows them his hand, the two sharing thoughts.

They hold their hand out as well, showing the same doodles on their own hand.

"Uh, hi" He awkwardly smiles, "I'm Tommy" He flips his hand over, showing the little message on his wrist, "Or Blondielocks"

They giggle, flipping their wrist over to show the same text.

"I'm Y/N"

#lowkeyrobin #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt x reader #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit oneshot #tommyinnit #soulmate au #mcyt soulmate au

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onlyswan · 2 years

Text

summary: in which jungkook comes home drunk but bam can’t speak.

> fluff / wc: 2.6k

> warnings: jungkook almost throws up once 😭

note: hello school has been so hectic so i just wrote this to relieve my stress for a bit </3

—

jungkook releases a sigh, scooting closer as if he hasn’t already crossed every inch of distance between the two of you. just by the smell of it, you can tell that he had soju and beer.

“close your eyes, baby.”

he complies with a hum, eyelids softly fluttering shut. as gentle as you can, you wipe off his eye makeup with the makeup remover.

“cold.” he mumbles, sinking deeper into his pillow to avoid the uncomfortable feeling.

you take a hold of his face with your free hand to keep him steady, moving on to his other eye. “stop. don’t want your face to feel all itchy later, do you?”

he frowns in response, opening his eyes again when he feels the wet wipes running over his cheek next. he lazily watches you concentrate on the task at hand. loving hands with the most tender of touches. blurry eyesight tracing over his skin to allow his pores to breathe after an exhausting day.

you squint under the warm glow of the lampshade, and his hand instinctively lands on top of your head, holding back the hair falling over your vision. you press an appreciative kiss on his temple as you pull out a fresh wipe. you clean the remaining thin layer of makeup on the right side of his face before sliding down to his neck, making sure to clean his skin thoroughly.

he feels so much better with his face bare, cleaner and comfier. almost like he can finally breathe after taking off a mask that covered his entire face while he was running a marathon. don’t get him wrong— he loves makeup, and he loves experimenting with different looks to showcase various sides of himself. he considers makeup products to be artistic tools that help him express the entirety of his being, just like paint on a canvas does. but the clock says it’s 1am on the dot, and right now, he’s drained. he just wants to be the human, jeon jungkook.

his eyes glitter with fondness as he watches you take care of him as if he is your most treasured cluster of atoms in the universe. his hand falls on your nape to pull you in for a soft kiss, staying still for a second before puckering up his lips for another. he allows you to assist him to the bathroom after, leaning his weight on another person for the first time in a while.

—

you practically brushed jungkook’s teeth and did the rest of his night routine for him because he claimed that his hands weren’t working, demonstrating it by dropping his facial wash on the tiled floor. you leave him on the bed after helping him into his pajamas to freshen yourself up next. however, upon exiting the bathroom, you’re rudely greeted by an empty bed, the blanket messily pushed over to your side.

“jungkook!”

you heave a sigh, padding out of the bedroom. you flick the main light switch of the living room, and the first part of jungkook you see are his feet, which are propped on the couch. you walk closer and find the rest of him sprawled out on the carpeted floor. you click your tongue and put a hand over the curve of your waist, staring down at him with a questioning look.

he looks back at you with a wide grin, extending his arms to raise the puppy he’s holding. “say hi, bamie!”

oh, so now he has the arm strength to carry a dog? when he couldn’t even raise one to hold his toothbrush earlier?

you meet bam’s drooping round eyes, slowly blinking at you as he is suspended in the air. poor thing.

“you know it takes me like two hours to make him tired and sleepy, right?”

you’d think spending an hour outdoors would tire a puppy out, but no. somehow it makes him more energetic, and you have to play with him for another hour at home before he walks away from you to curl up in his bed and rest.

jungkook pouts stubbornly, his slurred words the same plea he’s been uttering for the past two days. “but i want to teach him how to speak.”

“baby, he’s too sleepy for that right now. look.” you gesture to the puppy slowly falling asleep on his hands, his relaxed limbs hanging out and swaying lightly. “we can train him again in the morning.”

he whines as he kicks his feet on the couch, abruptly waking up bam because of the sudden harsh movements rocking his body. your boyfriend stills, and he lowers down his hands above his face to make eye-to-eye contact with his beloved son.

he faces bam to your side. “he’s awake now.”

“oh my god,” you cry out with your face buried in your hands, knees suddenly feeling weak because you’re so sleepy and he can’t be fucking serious right now.

he should’ve drank more. that way, all three of you would be peacefully asleep by now. bam would be chasing a butterfly in his dream, and you would be getting chased by a dinosaur or a shark with legs. but no, if one is awake, everyone is awake. apparently, that’s just how it goes in this household.

and so, you drop down on your knees and make yourself comfortable on the floor, pulling out the bag of plain popcorn sitting on the lower compartment of the center table.

“just five minutes, okay?”

he only giggles in response, setting down bam on the floor before lying down on his stomach beside the puppy, his hands cupping his smiling face. a young and radiant flower in the midst of spring, and you as the bright and yellow sun.

“so cute,” you pat his head tenderly, his smooth hair pleasing to the touch.

he shyly scrunches his nose. “hurry, before he falls asleep again.”

you both revert your attention to bam, who has now zeroed in on the opened bag of popcorn on your lap with an alert posture, head tilted to the side as he watches your every movement.

you bring out a piece of popcorn, holding it up between jungkook and bam. “okay- bamie, speak!”

you and your boyfriend wait for a few seconds, before you turn to him next. “jungkookie, speak.”

he snorts, pressing his lips into a thin line to swallow down his laughter. compared to yesterday, he handles it better now.

“woof!”

“good boy!” you beam at him with a dramatically enthusiastic tone, feeding him the little treat and patting his head again. bam watches him chew and swallow with satisfaction, and he turns to you again to inch closer— the tip of his paws poking your shin.

“your turn, baby.” you say to him sweetly, petting his head before grabbing another treat. “bamie, speak.”

he blinks at you, his stance and expression unchanging.

“jungkookie, speak.”

jungkook uses his elbows to drag himself as close to you as bam is. “woof!” his lips stay in a big pout with his bunny teeth showing, and you playfully slot the piece of popcorn in the space between.

he grunts when he fails to catch it with his mouth, covering the popcorn with his hand when bam makes a move to steal it away. “yah, i earned this! go get your own!”

he hides the dirty popcorn under his stomach, and you feed him a fresh one. bam barks in protest, standing up on his four paws.

“bamie, i said speak, not yell.”

jungkook laughs while clapping his hands, head falling on your lap in self-orchestrated slow motion. he rolls on his back to lie down properly and to watch bam try to earn his first popcorn. but then his vision goes black, and the world blurs and spins in brain shattering motions. he covers his mouth when he starts to feel the nausea creeping up, keeping his eyes closed until his stomach calms down.

meanwhile, for the sixth time . . .

“bamie, speak.”

bam’s tail wags, and he barks loudly. again.

“not like that, baby. quieter, and calmer. okay?” you mellowly attempt to help him understand, making lowering gestures with your hand. “just a little woof! like this, bamie.”

your voice seems to ease him down as he sits back down politely. jungkook, on the other hand, is straightening out your legs. he took a pillow from the couch and lied down beside you while you were preoccupied with teaching bam. his ink-free arm tugs you closer by your thighs, keeping it there as he nuzzles his face against your side.

he sighs in relief, basking in the comfort of having his lover as close as humanly possible. drowning, even. with the way his body is currently floating. he proves his theory right time and time again: cuddling you is the cure for any type of discomfort or pain that he feels. works like a charm. never failed him. not even once.

you grimace. “are you sleeping now?”

he hums raspily, tightening his embrace.

“but you’re the one who asked for this. i’m not even sleepy anymore.” you complain.

and let jungkook’s response be loud snores as he falls asleep as an exhausted heap on the floor, his limbs holding your body prisoner to his.

your sour expression turns into an endeared one when you feel bam’s little paw tapping your forearm to gain your attention. your heart grows three times its size as he looks at you with his dark and round eyes beseechingly.

you jut out your bottom lip, scratching his chin. “aww, my bamie. daddy bothered your sleep then left us all alone, huh? sorry. he’s a bit drunk. but i’ll give you treats to make it up to you.”

you return the bag of popcorn to its previous spot, grabbing an unopened pack of dog treats you hide in the small box beside it. you rip it open, and bam’s tail wags excitedly, more than ready to be fed.

you return his smile as you wave around the dog-bone-shaped treat.

okay, one last try and you will give up for the night.

“bamie, baby, speak.”

silence.

one more. the last time, you swear.

“bamie, speak. woof. like this, remember?”

still nothing.

“speak, bamie.”

“woof!”

it’s almost like he just said goodnight to you. calm. quiet. casual. and scarily identical to the tone of jungkook’s woof.

you gasp in surprise, eyes as big as saucers as you feed him the treat with your trembling hand. for context, jungkook has been tirelessly trying to teach bam the command speak for the past month after watching a bunch of tiktoks of adorable dogs doing it. his fiery determination deserves to be acknowleged and recognized, especially when he resorted to acting like a dog as a teaching method.

jungkook fought a dog his size at three years old and twenty years later had another fight with a random dog in the countryside when he and his hyungs went strawberry picking. and somehow everything boiled down to this. from barking contests to an anticlimactic woof. it has been entertaining and . . . painful to watch.

and then it dawns on you.

jungkook missed his son’s first word.

his drunk ass just had to deflate and fall asleep five minutes before it happened. you sigh in frustration, watching your child lick and chew on the treat before swallowing.

“can you do it again?”

he sits infront of you in his good boy pose once again, licking his lips, obviously asking for more.

“stay, bamie. i just need to get something, okay?” you say to him as you carefully free yourself from your boyfriend’s heavy arms and thighs.

you quickly grab jungkook’s newest camcorder in the bedroom (still carrying the pack of treats because you’re not as dumb as you were two weeks ago) before coming back to find bam licking jungkook’s cheek. he quickly approaches you again when you sit back down.

focusing the camera on bam, you start filming with jungkook’s snoring in the background.

“bamie, speak.”

“woof!”

the innocent puppy gazes past the camera expectantly, and you break out into a smile.

“ohh? that’s my good boy! good boy, bamie! you finally got it! i’m so proud of you. here, baby. here.”

you extend your arm to give him the treat, and he jumps to feast on it to his heart’s content.

oh, to marvel at a ball of fur made of curious senses and perplexing stamina for simply existing. to form a sacred bond using only single words and hushed caresses. to have such a creature love you unconditionally and co-exist with its guard down despite having sharp teeth that can make you bleed, does it not make you want to become a kinder human?

—

“are you crying?”

“no. why would i cry?” jungkook’s voice cracks, tear-stained eyes trained on the video he’s been watching on loop for the past ten minutes. he’s still in his pajamas, bare-faced and hair disheveled from sleep. he most probably doesn’t even remember that you woke him up and practically dragged him back to the bedroom after getting bam settled back in his bed.

the hangover soup you prepared is half-eaten and neglected, and you’re positive teardrops have fallen into the bowl so you move it over to the side.

any chance that he’s still drunk?

“he really learned it! and we sound the same, don’t we? that’s cool. it really worked.” he rambles on as the video restarts for the nth time, the hand not holding the camcorder tugging at his hair in an attempt to dull his throbbing headache.

you stand behind his chair, hugging him from behind as you watch the screen together.

“you tried to make it sound like it was the first time, didn’t you?”

you sheepishly hide your face on his neck. “bad acting?”

“if my hangover was a bit worse than this, i would’ve believed it.” he chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “i love you, baby.”

“i love you more.” you say quietly, kissing his cheek before breaking away. “now go give him his breakfast so you can experience it yourself.”

he springs up on his feet almost immediately, speeding towards bam’s food bowl. you shake your head with an amused smile, letting him have his quality time with bam as you finish your breakfast.

“baby!” jungkook yells from the living room as you put away your empty plate in the sink.

“whaaaat?”

“come here!”

“wait!” you yell back, washing your hands before heading to where he is.

you find him sitting on the floor with his legs crossed while holding up bam’s bowl. bam is standing infront of him, patiently waiting for his breakfast.

“what’s wrong?”

“look at this!” your boyfriend pouts at you. “bamie, speak.”

silence.

and then he- “woof!”

and bam responds, “woof!”

you look at them back and forth in confusion, before trying it out yourself. “bamie, speak.”

“woof!” he follows your command without missing a beat.

jungkook’s mouth hangs open, feeling utterly shocked and betrayed. you cover your mouth to stifle your laughter.

they can invent their own language if this carries on.

“this is so wrong. help me do it too! i’ve been working so hard!” he wails in agony and disappointment.

you sit beside him, breathing deeply to compose yourself because you feel too guilty to make fun of him further.

damn it, he was already happy earlier. guess you still have more work to do.

you rub his hunched back soothingly, kissing away the defeated look etched on his face. “aw, my love, i’m sorry. he’s a fast learner, so don’t be sad! he’ll respond to you in no time. but first-”

you gently pry away the bowl from his tight grip, warily side-eyeing the starving puppy drooling at the sight of its first meal of the day.

“let’s give him his reward before he yells at you.”

—

taglist! @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @yvesismywife @enhypenslay @cramseys @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @rkie @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @ameliejeannelaurent @takochelle @the1921-monsters @investedreader @seagulljk @yeow6n @yoonqkiss @hopeworldjimin @lllucere @unnatae @zqynmlk @bxbyyyjocelyn @zkdlllin @koostarcandy @tswisal1 @fragmentof-indifference + send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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retrogradepermaculture · 2 months

Text

Environmental Astro

Ok, my post on astrology and your space was a bit (???) mote popular than I thought, nothing special but didn't realise the topic would attract any interest at all.

I have always tried to read this way (in line with the environment) just because it always made sense to me, I found I couldn't understand astrology out of this context so I got deep into geospatial and geolocational stuff and also reading the energy of places.

🌲 This approach is great for reconnecting to nature especially if you feel nature deprived or even climate anxiety. This can often affect earth and water signs.

🌺 Sacred groves (rings of trees) appear all over europe and had significance in Celtic times in the uk, these can be great places to go and relax at the quarter moon as they normally have loads of dynamic beneficial energy that is not so intense that it brings up unnecessary shadow work

🍁 The age of aquarius is both water and air based, some people are sceptical but could this refer to the huge changes in tech that are taking place and the impact on human consciousness and the natural world? Sometimes things are real but astrology often works in metaphor. There is evidence in the landscape on ley lines, water lines, and so on that our consciousness can affect the landscape and vice versa

🍀 Signs born in winter (maybe sagittarius to pisces) can find they are negatuvely affected by energy in summer, it can be too intense for them. It helps to go near water or other shady, cool, or sacred places such as nearby woods and so on

🍂 Full moon can make all signs more anxious and jittery, it may be tempting to stay in and hole up in your room but this powerful time can amplify shadow work especially if you go for a walk near a body of water.

🌲 The 'dog days' of summer wre recognised by ancient people and coincided with the rising of the star sirius. This came along with periods of stiflingly hot weather. In this period energy can feel stagnant and shadow work is difficult. It can help to travel to different places in this time to combat this.

🌺 Autumn can be a time of great change for all signs but especially earth and fire signs. Being in an urban environment at the time can help with this and bring positive change into your life as urban centres have a greater diversity of different energy

🍁 Train stations and places like airports are ruled by mercury. If mercury is in your inner houses this can lead you to feel overwhelmed or drained after visiting these spaces. If mercury is in your outer houses you may instead feel inspired and energised.

🍂 Pluto placements in any of the inner houses (1-6) can lead you to doing shadow work mostly around your home space ans seeking the outdoor world as a form of distraction.

🍀 uranus placements in your outer houses (7-12) can indicate where and in what field you will manage to challenge the status quo. 11th house can refer to places like coffee shops, bars, and other social spaces. 9th house connects to academic institutions, museums, and libraries. 10th house can cover places of fame and status like concert halls but also those with intense power structures like the business district of a city.

🌲 The 9th house can influence how you respond to places of learning. If you have beneficial 9th house places you may find these environments inspiring. Alternatuvely uranus in the 9th house can lead to feeling stifled in these environments. Mars can lead to conflict and a tense atmosphere while venus can lead to you finding spaces solely transactional but maybe uninspiring (think of a degree or course that is only taught to the book for financial reasons)

🌺 swimming pools, beaches, rivers, the sea, and lakes are all governed by different planets. Pools tend to fall under uranus or neptune depending on the space as they are man made structures.

🍁 as liminal or transitional spaces, beaches connect to the 2nd house as well as the 11th and 9th (travel). they tend to be ruled by different planets based on the individual beach

🍂 rivers have a strong influence from mercury as they are in a sense a form of energy flow/communications in the natural world

🍀 the sea is ruled by the tides and therefore the moon. Your draw to the sea (if you feel this) may be governed in fact by the phases of the moon.

THANK YOU! 🦋HOPE 🦋YOU 🦋ENJOY 🦋

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treysimp · 2 years

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Would you ever do the staff for the bath headcannon ? I love the third years one btw 🥰

It's time babe! I hope you enjoy!

Taking A Bath With Them - GN!Adult Reader/NRC Staff (Crowley, Crewel, Vargas, Trein, Sam)

Rating: T (Lightly suggestive themes)

Tags: Reader's body not described nor are pronouns used, non-sexual domestic intimacy and fluff, elements of body worship, implied body insecurity from reader, established relationship, how do I make myself fall in love with each character I write for guys please explain to me.

Words: 3k

Silly author's notes: Not that I’ve been seeking it out but it feels like I never see anyone trying to put the moves Vargas (like I’m sure you exist, Vargas-fuckers where you at?) so since all of you are so fucking complicated I’m gonna do it! Fluffy domestic garbage for all!

Want more TWST? Here's my masterlist!

Dire Crowley:

��Never judge a book by its cover, but tattered books don’t get picked off the shelf,’ is probably a quote Crowley heard in passing one time and then immediately tried to contribute to himself. Being the headmaster of a famous and prestigious school involves a lot of hard work, but you can never forget about appearances. Clothes make the man, and if the said man in those clothes doesn’t pull them off, what is even the point of wearing them? It feels like a lecture every time that you and Crowley bathe together, but you can’t say that you necessarily say that you disagree either. If anything, it was a trademark of NRC to be the flashy talented bad boy counterpart to the pure princes of Royal Sword Academy. Public perception seemed to ebb and flow as far as which one was the superior institution, but you would never tire of Crowley’s antics to show up Ambrose and improve NRC’s reputation. You may wonder, does Crowley remove his mask when bathing? And the answer is yes, but it is replaced with a gel pearl mask to ‘get rid of his horrendous eye-bags’ Crowley would say. You would wonder who would even see said eye bags, but you felt like you weren’t going to get a better explanation even if you asked.

Since Crowley loves to travel so much, one of the best parts of any vacation is being dragged to a beautiful outdoor hot spring when the ever-busy Headmaster is relaxed for once. He asks over and over ‘isn’t it beautiful here,' or, ‘are you happy with this,’ or even ‘this was nice of me right’? It’s the smallest hint of insecurity and worries that he will readily give. Crowley wants you to enjoy your time together, but a small part of his heart gnaws at him that maybe he missed something crucial and you were just too kind to say something. That you weren’t having a good time, that you didn’t truly think that he was kind, talented, and magnanimous and was just staying with him out of pity.

He hated himself for those thoughts, he truly didn’t believe that you would think of him so, but the stream of questions ran across the back of his closed eyes like an unending scroll of his deepest fears shaped into written reality. Crowley would then hear you tell him how happy you were, gushing about the bath, the clarity of the night sky, and the lovely locale and he could feel his anxiety washing away just like splashes of water on the surrounding tile floors circle down a drain.

He would pull you to his arms and talk about what he wished for the future, any particularly astounding stories from his past, and he would feel a genuine smile whisper across his lips. Maybe he wasn’t as great as he hoped, maybe he wasn’t as kind or as thoughtful, but you were still here in the soft warmth of his arms in this soothing water… and that was more than enough. Maybe he needed to think a little more in the short term, and all that came to mind was the fluttering heartbeat in his chest as your head leaned on his shoulder and his lips met your soft cheek.

Divus Crewel

Crewel is another one for spa treatments and taking great care of your body. He loves to take you into your bath and spoil you with scrubs, oils, and potions of his own making. He is ready to smooth, perfect and tighten every insecurity you have. More than anything, his favorite pastime is stealing you away for a weekend trip to somewhere beautiful where you both can be pampered.

As the man is also more than a bit into a gorgeous classic car, imagine the most idealized movie setting, the two of you cruising down the coast in a cherry red convertible with fashionable headwear to keep both of your hair behaved while your oversized sunglasses gleam in the sunlight. The word glamor doesn't cover even half of it, but it's a good start.

Expect these trips to be for both business and pleasure: hunting for vintage clothing pieces and fabrics in beautiful locales, scrounging through markets for rare ingredients, and then wasting the rest of the days away at spas, drinking delectable wine and enjoying only the finest foods. You worry that you are too spoiled by him at times, and if you mention this to him, he will just laugh joyfully.

‘If I ruin all other men for you forever, I can’t say I would complain,’ he would joke, smoothing mud from the bath you shared over his shoulders sensually. He already had ruined all other men for you, but you were sure he probably knew that anyway. That was part of what was so lovely between the two of you, there was so much left unsaid, but never unheard.

You got ready in the morning together, passing products back and forth across the double sinks in a routine. You would get your dinners and pass pieces of the best bites back and forth so that you could both enjoy each taste together. Every task felt routine but oh so comfortable. You would try the same products and give your opinions on them, swapping purchases back and forth based on who’s skin might suit it more, whose hair would behave better with each ingredient, and so on.

Students at NRC would try to distract Crewel during class by asking him when he was going to marry you, and most of the time he would throw back some sort of ‘maybe when you get an A on an essay one of these days,' if he was feeling snappy. It was hard to miss the way his eyes would crinkle any time you were mentioned and how his mood would be notably lifted for the rest of class. This isn’t to say that he was any less harsh on his students, but they did see him smile more, so the criticism would be just a bit softer as a result. You would know these days too, as he would pull you into a bath and massage your neck while he laughed heartily at the shenanigans of his classes.

That was another thing you so loved about these quiet bathtimes, getting to see all of the faces and responses that he kept hidden just for you.

You were so lucky.

Happiness.

Ashton Vargas

Your meatheaded darling did mean well, but… he was just one of those people that thought that you could muscle through everything. Unfortunately, he had built enough muscle that he has been proved right so far. While Ashton was quite self-obsessed and would flinch in fear every time he imagined that he lost even a centimeter of calf muscle, he never would give you any grief about how your body looked in the slightest. He was very encouraging and would do everything he could to get you to (healthily) build up your stamina and strength, but there was never a time that he would get frustrated with a failure you had. If you’re a person who cries when they’re frustrated, he will wipe them away. If you are someone who yells or wants to throw things when they’re frustrated, he will give you a ball and let you go ham against a wall until you’re cooled off enough for a hug. Vargas wasn’t always book smart, but he was intuitive to others’ needs in a way that few people are.

Ashton is very enthusiastic about bathing, which is good for you because you get a great view while soaping up. Since he’s such a show-off, Vargas will wait on you hand and foot to get a chance to flex a muscle, flip his thick hair over his shoulder or sparkle his perfect white teeth your way.

He just wants to make sure that you feel just as beautiful as he knows he is. He wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know? You’re special, even when you might not agree with him. There was no arguing with him, if the peak physical specimen of himself thought you were worthy of bodily worship, how could you deny him? Are you saying that he isn’t gorgeous? His big blue eyes will sparkle in dramatic unshed crocodile tears at the thought. Oh? Did you say he is gorgeous? Well, then you are too. Beautiful people know how to spot beautiful things, and the only way you could argue that he was wrong was by saying that he wasn’t beautiful.

His logic made you want to hit your head against a wall, but when a man with the body of a goddamn superhero tells you that he thinks you’re hot it’s pretty hard to disagree with him. If you still try to fight it, prepare for over-the-top compliments while he forcefully tries to make you relax and go along with his praise. We are talking scrubbing behind your ears and saying that you have ‘well-formed lobes’ kind of compliments. You like that he’s complimenting you, but you also don’t know how to respond either.

More than anything, his hugs are to die for. During a bath, after a bath, once you are both snuggled in bed and comfortable? Heavenly, all of it.

Vargas loves to talk you to sleep, both of your plans for the next day, going over when and where you are taking your next vacation, and giving suggestions for what muscle groups he thinks would most benefit you to build. Hell if you tell him that makes you uncomfortable or you aren’t able to follow through, he will immediately change his plans and make variations to be kinder to your back, your knees, neck, ankles, etc. Never underestimate a man who knows anatomy better than geography. This goes double when you grab a map and realize that one trip that he told you was a 'two-hour drive’ from Night Raven was actually a fifteen-hour one, even with the help of the mirrors.

Oh well, his confidence was something you loved, no matter how correct he may or may not be.

Mozus Trein:

Trein was almost hilarious with how soft and tender he treated those he cared about versus the strict and stern History teacher exterior that he gave off.

Something that drew you to him was seeing how tenderly he cared for his daughters. All three of them had all flown the nest at this point, but seeing him smile softly while he penned them letters as he scratches Lucius’ chin and murmured conversation to the cat was something that made your heart melt.

You had been brushing up on your animal languages to better talk to Lucius too, and you could make out the gist of what he says now. As you suspected, he is not the most polite to others, but he is relatively quick to befriend those that bother to talk to him and offer treats that he likes. Due to these habits, you get along quite well. You try to ask for secrets about Mozus, but Lucius won’t always answer. The only consistency you can make out is that it seems like the cat will only answer you when he thinks it’s funny, but his sense of humor can be a bit difficult to work out.

Trein is not one for much intimacy, he is more one to enjoy mutually comfortable silences. He has had a lot of time to work out every habit and isn’t overly open to doing things outside of them, but a soak with bath salts or some other kind of medicinal mixture suits him quite well. Trein humors your wants and needs and is more than willing to go along with any ‘couples’ treatments you might be interested in within reason.

Surprisingly, he is open to doing things like acupuncture, fire cupping, and various types of experimental medicines, but if you ask him to get a facial his eyebrow will be stuck in a skeptical arch for the entirety of the experience. You were able to snap a picture of him making this face while wearing a green clay mask with cucumbers over his eyes. You treasure the photo, but you will never show it to him as you know he will be horrified at how undignified he looks. Part of his charm, you think.

Overall the greatest treat of all is seeing the relaxed smile that creeps onto his features when he is truly relaxing. It felt like something special just for you, sneaking a sleepy peek at him in the evening: relaxing in a silken robe, reading a novel, glasses perched on his strong nose, sipping at chamomile tea, and wearing the softest smile. It made your chest feel so warm that you got to see these small and simple moments. Everyday moments were the most special, you thought. Perhaps this simple comfort is what happiness truly is.

He will see you staring at him, invite you over for a chat and then wrap his arm around you and bring you to bed. He tucks you in tightly, much like one would do a child. His eyes soften when he does it, you suppose there must be a lot of pleasant memories attached to the action. Once he is satisfied with the bedding, he climbs in next to you, giving you a pleasant peck on the forehead before turning off the light. You hear the pitter-patter of little fluffy feet walking in a circle, a huff, and then a perfectly elegant flop and a warmth near your right foot. You sleep soundly, waking up every so often to feel a hand fixing the blanket that you repeatedly kept throwing off of your shoulder and another kiss on your temple as soon as it was finished.

Happiness.

Sam

As the youngest and least academically-focused staff member, Sam seemed always eager to prove himself. This was especially funny to you, considering how his ‘friends’ gave him such a leg up in almost every situation that you wondered why he ever felt less-than.

Sam had worked his salesman voice to near perfection, had an in with almost every vendor of note, came from a famously powerful family, was strikingly handsome, stylish, and had a killer smile…

Okay, you were wandering off topic here, but how could you help it?

His magenta eyes would flick to yours in passing and you found yourself not being able to think of everything but him. You wanted to joke that his signature spell was how he took your breath away, but that one was all him. You weren’t even sure if he knew how breathtaking he was, moving through each room like a tap dancer one Maxi Ford away from a full routine.

The theatricality that he brought to everything he did made you feel similar anticipation to being in a theater, hoping and praying that the handsome lead actor would look down at you specifically during a pivotal scene. For the sake of your heart, you were glad that somehow you had succeeded in catching his gaze the same way he had yours.

When it came to bathing, he enjoyed it. As the local ‘literally-everything’ supplier, he always had something to surprise you with if you wanted a fun gimmick in the bath, but he had his own perfect set of potions to maintain his stylishly dyed hues. You weren’t entirely sure if his particular swirl of hair colors was natural or magicked into place, and the few times you thought to ask Sam, he would just put one finger in a ‘shush’ motion over his mouth with and wink. It was hard to deny that his cheeky mysteriousness wasn’t appealing though.

If Sam was having a particularly good time, he might try to entice you in a cute little deal or ‘give you an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse’.

It was a relatively silly game because the cost for all of these handshake deals was always ‘a kiss’ which you would gladly give him regardless of if he gave you something in return. You liked the goofy smile he would give you after you agreed, so you indulged him regardless. He sometimes would act shy and murmur something about ‘stealing his first kiss’ (he made this joke from your second kiss onwards) but would quickly give up the ghost to cover your face in playful smooches and thread his hands at the nape of your neck so you couldn't move away from his lovesick gaze.

You’ve seen no true gentleman before in your life if you haven’t seen Sam at a proper ballroom soiree. Letting his relaxed slouch straighten into an elegant straight back and properly dressed to the nines, it seemed like he belonged under a spotlight. Sam was an amazing dancer, singer, card player, gambler, smooth talker, and pianist. He seemed to be accomplished in yet another hobby each time an acquaintance of his would say hello and jokingly admonish him for not showing off some hereto unknown skill of his. He would take the friendly jabs well, say ‘perhaps another time’, and then introduce his ‘charming companion’ (you) to them all in turn. Saying each word as fresh and new as the first time, though the words were practically a script for him at this point.

The ultimate renaissance man, truly.

Once you both were exhausted and came back to your home, you would bask in each other’s company. His voice raspy from overuse of the night, he whispered his thanks to you for accompanying him. You interrupt his soon-to-be soliloquy to say, ‘how could I possibly refuse an invitation from the most beautiful man I know?’. His eyes would crinkle with laughter from your response and he would pull you close, exhaling into your hair while the exhaustion of the night hits him like a well-anticipated crescendo.

Sam idly thought that out of the two of you, the power you held over him was far stronger than any spell he knew.

It was this time of night that you thought he looked his youngest, chortles losing all of their rehearsed and powerful baritones, words spilling out messily, sentences punctuated with ‘ah’s and ‘um’s.

Sleepy magenta met your eyes and you would decide to finally drag Sam off to bed, tucking him under your fluffy comforter with care. He fell asleep on a dime, and when he was sleeping you felt like you could see the angelic face he must have had as a child.

You couldn’t wait to see what you both did together tomorrow. Maybe you’d even tell him that you loved him.

You weren’t going to be able to stop yourself from blurting it out sooner or later anyway.

So who was your fav? Dying to know. I ran away from the bath theme a bit but it was all from a place of love, I promise. Have I convinced you to simp for someone new? Let me know!

Love you, reader! 💋

Requested tags: @stygianoir (hope you liked it!) @yandere-kou, @daeda21, @buckketboy, @aikochan4859, @kumiko-desu, @prince-zukohere, @fragmentedstarlight, @sarahyumiko2, @sappyisyourpappy, @rebel-faes-writing, @witch-waycult, @dari-kun, @riddle-simp, @naniky, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Fireleaf (Part Seventeen)

Hello, hello! It's been a while, no?

Sorry that there was a little hiatus with Fireleaf. I felt like I wasn't posting as frequently as I wanted to, and so close to the end, @greeneyedivy and I wanted to focus on the writing and get the last few chapters written so we can post them every couple of days. I'm so excited for us to be back to posting, though!

Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

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No.

No, no, no.

There was no hearing anything above the intense roaring inside your head. Time had slowed and your heart had sped up and panic was an off-key, bleating song in your ears.

You couldn’t imagine what you must look like. Whether the colour had visibly drained from your face. Whether Beron or Willow noticed the rigidity of your limbs as Dion pulled you over to a seat at the table. Movement felt like trudging through thick, impossible mud. Mud that the ice in your bones froze over with every step.

This couldn’t mean anything good.

This was all your fault.

This was no innocent visit, a gesture of goodwill.

This was a calculated move in a game of kings and queens and blood and earth and death.

Was that why Beron had brought Willow here? A means to an end? A means to a death, someone’s death—

No.

You had to shake the shrieking, chaotic thoughts away before they tumbled from your lips. You straightened your back in the chair and outreached a hand towards the pot of tea. How long had you been sitting, now? It seemed like an eternity since you’d stepped over that threshold and seen your youngest sister, perched prettily, unmarred and unharmed…for now.

Conversation was continuing around you, even though you were sure you hadn’t breathed a word. Had Dion said anything? He must have done. He must have had the good sense, the experience, to save face and do what seemed natural. Unlike you. You, who was falling to pieces.

“She’s always been the same.” Willow was laughing as you forced yourself to tune in. Laughing fondly. Her eyes were pinned on you, a smile on her lips. “Our mother used to call her a little tearaway.”

Beron also laughed. A laugh that was deliberately lilting and charming. They were talking about you. Laughing about you. Willow was doing it fondly, but…Beron was tucking information away. However small it may seem. Anything he might use against you.

“Sometimes, she would come home covered in mud. As if she’d rolled around in it.” Willow grinned. “This one time—”

“I don’t believe,” you blurted an interruption, clearing your throat, “that you saw enough of the estate the last time you were here. Perhaps we could take a stroll around.”

Both Beron and Willlow turned to look at you, Willow’s eyes holding mild curiosity and Beron’s…Beron’s holding amusement that was only meant for you to see. Dion didn’t give a single reaction.

“Oh?” Willow’s pretty, pump lips parted. “Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself some secret hideaways like you used to when we were younger.”

Finally, Dion spoke, his voice rough from a while of disuse. “We’ve been so lucky with the weather these past few months, we’ve spent a lot of time outdoors. Y/N particularly.”

Beron’s lips twitched. A sneer; it was a sneer cloaked as a pleasant smile. “She has a few favourite haunts she could show you, I’m sure.”

And that in itself was another carefully-worded comment. A reminder that he knew everything. It seemed he even knew the thoughts in your head.

“Well I’d love for you to show me around more.” Willow smiled.

“Let’s go now. We may even catch the sunset—”

“What’s the rush?” Beron tilted his head. “Willow hasn’t even finished her tea.”

You stared at him, your jaw ticking. That cold sluice of dread was a roiling, swarming thing in your gut. Your body slumped back in the chair.

“Tell me more about Y/N’s escapades.” Beron turned back to your sister. “They’re so very amusing.”

And so, Willow launched back into her stories, nattering away to the High Lord as though he was any regular person she might talk to. She didn’t shrink away from him or sense the wolf that lay grinning beneath the sheep’s pelt. If anything, she seemed to enjoy his company. And all you could do was sit there and turn over excuses in your mind, trying to think of ways to get her out of there.

A small, saving grace came along with the arrival of Barric. His eyes immediately found yours, and he quickly looked away, taking in the sight of your sister.

“Barric,” Beron sipped his tea, “thank you, again, for going to collect Willow.”

“Of course.” Barric dipped his chin. “It’s a pleasure to have you here again, mistress.”

So he was in on this scheme, then. There seemed to be a flash of something in his eyes as he angled himself towards Beron and grasped his hands behind his back.

“We should be going, my Lord.” He said.

A moment of silence passed between the two males as they seemed to communicate something with a mere glance. And then Beron was pushing out of his chair, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this short.” He announced, feigning a look of regret that he directed at Willow. “There is business away from the estate that I must attend to. We’ll be gone a day or so, but I look forward to speaking with you again when we return.”

Willow smiled warmly. “As do I, High Lord. I thank you for the tea.”

Rather unfairly, you wanted to scream at her for the pleasantries. It was frustrating — torturous, even — that she bought the false smiles and easy conversation. That she couldn’t sense what was right in front of her.

You had to remind yourself that you’d had over a year, now, in Beron’s pit.

But then…you’d sensed what lay behind the exterior on your very first day. Willow seemed oblivious to it all.

“Take care.” Beron said in parting. “We’ll be back soon.”

The goodbyes that both Willow and Dion called were mere noise to you. You didn’t bother to offer your own. You’d returned to the screaming inside of your head, your eyes on the High Lord’s back as he retreated from the room. He didn’t look back; didn’t need to. He knew he’d rattled you. There was no need to rub it in your face.

You knew precisely what business would be taking him away from the estate.

Knew that his cache of Faebane would be finding a new home within a day or so,

And you knew that Willow’s arrival was the beginning of something very, very bad.

He left a thick, uncomfortable silence in his wake. And yet, that roaring in your head continued, making the room feel smaller and louder.

“Well.” Willow loosened a breath, staring between you and Dion. “I expected you both to be a little more happy to see me.”

Dion’s face softened. You couldn’t will yours to do the same. “We are…” He said.

“Then why—”

“What did Beron say to you?” You blurted, your hands digging into the edges of your seat. “When he invited you here. What did he say?”

Your sister’s brow pinched. “He sent Barric to collect me. Said that you’d been hoping for a while that I would visit again, and it would do you some good to have a familiar face around. He even said we could discuss having my marriage to Isaac annulled.”

Dion glanced at you. You glanced at him.

“I don’t like this.” You said.

“No.” His jaw tightened. “Neither do I.”

“Could one of you please tell me what, exactly, is going on?”

Both of you returned your attention to Willow. She looked utterly perplexed, perhaps even a little offended. She’d clearly misjudged your words.

“I don’t exactly know.” You cleared your throat. “But I suspect Beron is up to something. And I think inviting you here is just the start of it.”

Willow cocked an eyebrow. “Why would the High Lord—”

“I think Lucien should be here for this discussion.”

Both you and your sister turned to Dion, Lucien’s name adding another layer of panic to the situation. You honestly couldn’t tell, anymore, what Beron was aware of. Whether he was privy to the ins and outs of your relationships.

And Lucien should know if…if you were to have any sort of relationship—

You couldn’t even consider that right now.

Dion was speaking to Willow once more. “I promise, we’ll explain everything. Y/N can go fetch Lucien, and the four of us will go somewhere private to talk. The lake. We’ll go to the lake. No one will think to follow us there.”

“I don’t understand what your brother has to do with this—”

“We’ll explain.” Dion repeated. And the unspoken inference was clear; but not here. Not where we can be heard. He turned to you. “I’m going to take Willow down there now. Track Lucien down and meet us there, okay? It’s time he knows about Willow and I.”

You nodded, surprised by how much your body shook as you rose and tucked your chair in. Willow looked so bewildered that you couldn’t help the slither of guilt that settled in.

“I’m sorry.” You said — and truly, you were. Mostly because this was your fault. “I really am happy to see you, Willa.”

She managed an unconvincing smile as you passed her, squeezing her shoulder. Your legs trembled beneath you, and the estate suddenly seemed colder. A terrible, icy cold.

Under any other circumstances, you would have been delighted by her visit. But you couldn’t be — not like this. Not when you knew it was all a move in an elaborate game.

One that you’d triggered, and one that you were sure to regret.

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Your brain was failing you, refusing to work.

You didn’t know how long you’d rounded the estate, dipping your head into rooms and finding them empty. When you couldn’t find Lucien in his outbuilding, either, you were momentarily at a loss — until your eyes crept over to the armoury.

You wandered over, your arms wrapped around yourself and your eyes shooting paranoid glances in all directions. Beron and Barric may be gone from the estate for however long, but it was clear that that meant nothing. They could have anybody watching, anywhere.

The armoury door was open ajar, and you pulled it, slipping inside. There was evidence of a recent presence — cloths and oils and polish on the work table, light filling the area — but there wasn’t a breath to be heard. You stepped forward, looking around—

A scream ripped from your throat as a warm hand enclosed around your mouth, tugging you backwards. Your body hit a solid, warm one, and it was that action that made you realise how cold you were. Panic sluiced through you, washed over you like a wave. You needed to fight, to do something.

But then Lucien’s familiar, earthy scent enveloped you, dousing the flames of fear. His deep chuckle broke through your panic and stroked at your ears, your skin.

“Caught you.” He murmured against the shell of your ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve come looking for me, lady?”

You shifted, turning in his arms to look up at him, your faces merely centimetres apart. His eyes fell down to your lips before flicking back up again, and whatever he read on your face sobered him in seconds.

“Hey…” His voice was soft, his hand coming up to brush your hair from your face. “What’s wrong, little love?”

Your eyes clouded for a second, becoming hot and watery as you stared up at him. This brilliant, complex male who you felt so fiercely for. Who felt fiercely for you. Was it so wrong for you to…

To love him. That was what you felt for him. You were already there, drowning in the depths of that emotion. There was no stopping it in its tracks before it went too far.

You were in love with Lucien Vanserra. And it could well be coming to blow up in your faces.

“I…um.” You composed yourself, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. “I need you to come with me.”

Lucien’s eyes slid to your lips again. His hand was at your face, also brushing the odd tear that had broken free. “But I so like being here with you.” He held you tighter against him. “Like this.”

And gods, you liked it, too. What you would give to block the world out and stay here in this little bubble, you and Lucien touching each other freely.

But Dion was waiting. Consequences were waiting.

Your voice was raw as you stepped out of his hold. “We have to go meet Dion and Willow.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Your sister’s here?”

“Yeah. Yes. They’re waiting for us.” You stepped aside. “Come on.”

“Whoa, wait a second.” His hand enclosed around yours, and he seemed to finally understand that there was…something. Something far bigger to this. His eyes searched for the answer on your face. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you here.” You pulled on his hand. “Please. Just…come.”

Only a moment’s hesitation lingered. One of him still trying to puzzle out the expression on your face. When he seemed to accept that the answer wasn’t readily available, he laced his fingers with yours.

“Okay.” He said. “Lead the way.”

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“Why are we meeting them at the lake?”

Aside from Lucien’s questioning, you’d travelled the short journey here in a terse silence. You’d ridden your horses to the opening of the trees and gone forward on foot.

“This is one of the few places we can talk.” Was all you said.

Lucien had made a grab for your hand again as soon as your feet had settled on the ground. The weight and warmth of it settled around yours was…comforting. You liked it. The ease of walking through the trees, hand-in-hand. If you closed your eyes, perhaps you could pretend things were normal, that you were just a couple in love—

No. Things were not normal.

As you pulled Lucien through the brush of trees, the sounds of Willow’s and Dion’s soft voices floated ever closer to you. You followed the gentle hum of conversation, bizarrely noting — at an entirely inconvenient moment — that the cadences and tones of their voices seemed to just rub together like fine silk. As though they were always supposed to. Did you and Lucien sound like that?

You continued to tug on his hand as you finally reached the edge of trees that opened out onto the shore of the lake. And you stopped. Stared.

Stared, as Dion — unbeknownst to your presence — boldly pulled Willow closer to him by the waist. His face dipped towards hers, and it wasn’t that the sight bothered you, but rather…stung a bit. Because of how easy it seemed for them. And intrigued you, also. You’d never seen firsthand what they looked like together, unguarded.

The sight was such a momentary, fleeting surprise that you almost forgot Lucien was with you. Until he stopped at your side. Also beheld the sight before you.

“What are the fuck are you doing?” He spat.

Both Willow and Dion looked up, and Lucien was letting go of your hand, storming past you.

Of course — of course you should have told him what to expect of following you here. This part, at the very least.

“Lucie—”

“You piece of shit.” He flew at his brother, shoving against his chest. “You would betray Y/N like this? With her sister?”

The utter hypocrisy of the reaction wasn’t lost on you — but clearly was on Lucien. He went from calm to seething in seconds, and you knew he was moments away from using his fists to defend your honour.

Without a thought, you were tearing forward and slipping in between the two males, your hands pressed against their chests. Willow watched on with wide eyes.

“Cut it out right now.” You snapped.

Lucien gritted his teeth, breathing heavily. “Y/N—”

“Lucien, it’s fine.”

At your back, Dion barked a quick laugh. “I take it you didn’t tell him, then?”

“I wanted to wait until we were away from the estate.” You pushed against Lucien’s chest, backing him up a few steps. As he continued to glare at his brother across the top of your head, you boldly reached up and clasped your hands around his face. “Hey. Look at me, Lucien.”

Finally, his dark, churning gaze slid to you. He seemed to search your face for a moment, as if he was looking for any sign of upset, of harm. Slowly, you felt the tension begin to leave his body.

“It’s fine.” You told him gently, soothingly. “I appreciate you coming to my defence, but it’s not necessary. I know about them. And Dion knows about us.”

The fact that there was no reaction from Willow told you precisely that Dion had filled you in. Lucien’s eyes flicked to his brother again, assessing.

“What does he know?” He asked.

You pulled your hands from his face. Stepped back. “Everything.”

“That I love you?”

You jolted slightly, the words still a splash of reality that left you both hot and cold. He may have said it once before, and you may have thought about it constantly since, but…for him to repeat it so candidly, so unguarded, in front of his brother and your sister…you had to fight the urge to wrap your entire body around him. Had to remind yourself that there were more pressing matters at hand.

“I didn’t tell him that part, no, but—”

“But it doesn’t take a genius to see it.” Dion finished your sentence, his intense eyes on Lucien. “And I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Lucien’s eyes shuttered. “I’m sorry—”

“I get it, brother. Don’t worry about it.”

Willow suddenly stepped forward, her hand clasping her neck. “Can we please get to the point of why we’re here?”

It seemed so, so natural — the way both Vanserra brothers moved. Dion tugged Willow closer to him, and Lucien was spinning you around, pressing your back to his front, his chin atop of your head. His arms came around your waist, and for a moment, you couldn’t help feeling stunned at the…the sheer openness of it. Everything between you had always been behind closed doors, and yet he was happily holding onto you as though there was nothing complicated about your situation. As though you were just a regular couple in love, desperate for each other’s touches.

You didn’t fight it. Merely allowed your hands to rest on his arms around you. It was…comforting.

“Beron’s up to something.” You announced, feeling Lucien stiffen behind you. You met your sister’s gaze. “Him inviting you here? It was no innocent gesture. It was a…a calculated move. A warning.”

Willow cocked a dark eyebrow. “A warning about what?”

Slowly, Dion shook his head. “That…that’s what I can’t work out, exactly. Unless he’s somehow found out about our situations — the directions our feelings have gone in, that the marriage between Y/N and I is just a formality — I can’t understand why he’s striking out now.”

“Why are you so sure he is?” Absentmindedly, Willow’s fingers began to toy with Dion’s hair. You tracked the movement; how natural it looked. “I mean…maybe this was just an innocent invitation. He said Y/N could do with some familiar company.”

Dion shook his head. “I wish it was, but—”

“But you don’t know our father.” Lucien finished for him. “He doesn’t do kind gestures or courtesies. Particularly not for females. Every move he makes is a well thought out, methodical one that will benefit him and him only. And something has obviously happened for him to strike out like this.”

You couldn’t find your voice. Couldn’t do anything besides standing there, stiff as a board, your eyes staring into space. Because you knew precisely what Beron had struck out for. Knew that you’d caused it. That this panic, this danger, this…chaos…was all your doing.

And all you could do was stand there, ashamed, as the other three speculated around you.

“Okay, so, if it isn’t an innocent gesture,” Willow’s brow pinched, “can you think of anything that’s happened of late? Something that would have got back to him?”

Dion shrugged unsurely. “I suppose nothing can be ruled out, but…we’ve always had eyes on us. Our whole lives. We know that our father has people watch our every move, and we’ve become very good at slipping between the cracks when we don’t want something getting back to him. I’ve been absolutely meticulous about my letters to you, making sure they don’t get into the wrong hands. So unless he knows something about Y/N and Lucien…”

Lucien shifted behind you. “I can’t say we’ve always been careful. There’s been a lot of…heat of the moment things. But father hates me. He would strike out at me. This…this is an attack on Y/N.”

“This is my fault.”

The words just…fell from your mouth. An admission that had been fighting to break free. You felt all three pairs of eyes on you as you stood there, your body taut.

Lucien’s arms squeezed you. “Don’t blame yourself—”

“No,” you interrupted. “You don’t understand.”

Dion was suddenly studying you hard — like he could tell there was something. That you’d done something. Again. Even though you’d promised him you wouldn’t. Even though you’d sworn to stay out of trouble.

He slowly blinked at you, his voice strained as he said, bluntly, “what is it.”

You stepped out of Lucien’s hold, your eyes darting to the ground. “Beron already warned me not to cross him. You remember that day in the meeting? When I contradicted him in front of his subjects?”

Dion tightly nodded.

“…He saw fit to punish me for that. He made his warning very clear.”

Lucien stepped towards you, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “How did he make it clear?”

You felt so, so stupid, so pathetic and childish and reckless as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “He kind of…assaulted me, I guess.”

“What?!”

The word, thick with outrage, seemed to come from all three of them. You tried to shrug it off. “He hurt me a little and warned me not to cross him again.”

“…that was the night you got drunk and came to find me.” Lucien stared at you. “You were acting like you were in pain, and the next morning, you had a bruise on your cheek.”

You nodded. “It was.”

“That was months ago.” Dion stared at you. “Why would he be striking out now?”

He knew. You knew he knew that you’d somehow fucked up again. Irritation was beginning to pull his features taut, and it sliced at you painfully. You didn’t want him to be mad at you again.

But you had no choice.

“I couldn’t sleep the other night.” You said. “I was standing on my balcony, looking out over the green…and suddenly, Beron and Barric were there, talking in hushed tones. Which was made even weirder by the fact that it must have been gone three o’clock in the morning. They were up to something…and I was intrigued. I followed them.”

Willow gaped at you like you were utterly insane. Lucien’s expression seemed to echo the sentiment. But Dion…darkness crossed his face. You watched him swallow and shake his head.

“Just hear me out.” You stepped forward. “I know it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it, okay? But I knew something strange was going on. And I was right. I followed them to one of the outbuildings. There’s a hatch built into the floor of it, and it leads down to Beron’s cache of Faebane. They were discussing moving it, because people were getting suspicious about the hamlet fire.”

“What does the hamlet fire have to do with this?”

“Your father ordered it. Because he knew the so-called Lesser Folk were beginning to speak out against him. And he infused the flames with Faebane so that no magic could be used to limit the destruction. We had to put the whole thing out by hand, and it destroyed way more than it would have done if magic had been an option.”

You knew — knew that out loud, it sounded like a fanciful story that you’d cooked up to get at the High Lord. The way Willow stared at you suggested just that; that perhaps spending so long in a viper’s den had rubbed off on you. But surely Dion could see what was happening. Surely he knew his father well enough to see the truth in your statement. And Lucien had been there—

You rounded on him, staring up at him with pleading eyes. His expression was unreadable, and you…you couldn’t bear it.

“Tell him, Lucien.” You whispered. “You were there. You saw…”

Lucien nodded resolutely, his eyes flicking to his brother. “Y/N is right. That fire was a deliberate one…and who else do we know with a huge fucking cache of Faebane? It’s not as though you can stroll down to the market and pick up a stash. Father was behind that fire, brother. We know it. And the victims of the act know it, too. One of them said as much to me.”

Dion had gone pale, sallow, the colour seeming to just leach from his face. He dragged a hand through his hair, swallowing hard. Willow sidled closer to him.

Guilt sliced at you unflinchingly. Because you knew there was no love loss between Lucien and Beron, but…was there some between him and Dion? Was the information you were throwing at him chipping away at what tiny morsel of respect he may have for his father? From his expression, you honestly couldn’t tell. The preternatural stillness of his body was chilling.

And then he looked up, his eyes zeroing in on you. The contempt in them almost made you flinch.

“Be all of that as it may,” he said, “why would you be so stupid, Y/N?”

A justified question — but it still stung. You glanced down, opened your mouth to say…something, anything…but Lucien stepped forward, his jaw set.

“Watch your tone, brother.” He warned, a lick of darkness to his voice.

“Somebody needs to tell her, Lucien.” Dion snapped. His attention returned to you. “What is actually wrong with you, Y/N? Is this just pushback because you never wanted this arrangement? Because you’re angry at the situation you found yourself in and you won’t rest until you drag us all down with you?”

“No—”

“I know full-well what my father is capable of, thank you very much. I know he was behind that damn fire and I know he’s done — and will do — far, far worse. Because you seem determined to push him to do so!”

Lucien stepped closer, slightly shielding you. “You can’t blame father’s behaviour on Y/N, Dion. He’s always been a piece of shit. He cares about nothing and no one except himself and his power, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

It was as though Dion hadn’t even heard his brother as he stared past him, right at you. And you knew you deserved the cutting hostility in his eyes, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You may just be the best friend I’ve ever had, he’d said to you. How could that be true, when you brought him so much grief?

“I warned you not to push him.” He said coldly. “I told you I was going to find a way to make this arrangement work for all of us — for all of us to be happy — and I asked you not to stir up trouble in the meantime.” His eyes flicked over you like he didn’t even recognise you. “But I’m not sure you’re even capable of being happy unless you’re spreading chaos. Is it any wonder, really, that you—”

He cut himself off abruptly, seemed to swallow his words. But they still hung, unspoken, in the air. Like tiny little arrows flying at you. Words hewn from unquenchable anger that hit their mark. You knew what he’d stopped himself from saying. So did Lucien. And Willow.

Lucien, suddenly taut as a bow, looked like he was ready to launch himself at Dion. But you stepped in front of him before he could. Shrugged at Dion.

“Why don’t you just say it?” You asked, your voice not sounding like yours. “Is it any wonder that I’m the only unmarried sister? That nobody ever wanted me?”

Dion shook his head. Grabbed Willow’s hand. “I won’t lower myself to that. What I will do is protect the female that I love.”

You stared at him. At your sister. And even though you’d known…known that they fiercely wanted each other…it was as though it hit you only then that this — them — was their end goal.

But it made sense. Willow was sweet and kind, untroubled and untouched by the poison of anger. Bitterness. Fear. The kind of female who deserved to be loved. Deserved the happy ending.

Your voice was scratchy, raw, as you rasped. “How? Do you mean to take her home?”

“Fuck no.” Dion said, turning to her, his eyes now firmly on hers. “I’m not risking anything. Not letting you out of my sight. When my father gets back, we’ll figure out how to play this. But right now, we’re going back to the estate.”

Willow barely uttered a word, seeming to have been left entirely speechless by the whole ordeal. Dion’s hand enclosed around hers, and he turned to you only once more.

“When I’ve calmed down.” He said. “We need to figure out how the fuck we’re going to fix this.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You and Lucien lingered at the lake a while longer, and then rode back to the estate in silence. Night had truly blanketed you, and the fact that Beron and Barric were still gone was only the slightest reprieve.

You couldn’t help glancing at Lucien as you returned your horses to the stables. Wondering whether his anger had set in, and he was preparing himself to give you a piece of his mind. You would take it, if he did. Embrace what it made you feel. You deserved it.

Still, he said nothing as you strode towards the manor. You could hear the vague sounds of Jareth’s and Rian’s voices reaching out to you from inside. No sound of Dion or Willow; you wondered what they might be doing. But the thought of facing any of them right now made you want to turn on your feet and run.

Before you reach the steps that climbed up to the manor, Lucien’s warm hand landed on the nape of your neck. He gently guided you past the huge house, taking to the path that wended its way to the outbuildings. You followed without protest.

You wondered, for a moment, whether he was expecting you to give him proof of what you’d discovered. Whether he wanted you to show him that hatch in the floor and back up your claim. But his gaze was firmly set on his outbuilding — the one he sought solace in — and he quietly led you over to it and opened the door, gesturing for you to enter.

Perhaps this was where he’d unleash his anger on you.

You stepped in, wandering to the middle of the room. Turned to watch Lucien shut and lock the door behind him and hang the key on a hook on the wall. The entire thing seemed torturously slow, and yet he was unhurried, shrugging his jacket off, tossing it aside. He turned to face you.

You stared at him, your face wan. His face gave away nothing of what might lay behind those russet eyes. They churned and swam as they studied you. Searching for what, you weren’t sure.

“Just do it.” You croaked, your voice sore.

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Yell at me if you want to. It’s what I deserve.”

His frown seemed to deepen, and he slowly strode over to you. As he stepped past you, aiming for the armchair in the corner, he tugged you with him. Slumped down and pulled you into his lap.

“I don’t want to yell at you.” He sighed deeply, tucking you against his chest. “I just want to hold you.”

The words squeezed uncomfortably at your heart. The effort to blink away your tears was a mammoth one — but if you cried, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Lucien rested his chin atop of your head, and his arms came around you, fingers brushing at your skin as he rocked you. Far more comforting than you deserved.

“My wild little fireling.” He mumbled against your hair, pressing a kiss to the strands. “What am I going to do with you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “You shouldn’t be so kind to me.”

“Of course I’m going to be kind to you. I love you.”

So, so freely he spoke the words. Unguarded and uninhibited. He meant them — ferociously meant them — and he was done holding them back.

You couldn’t bear it.

One tear slipped free, rolling down your cheek. You snivelled.

“Dion’s not going to forgive me.” You whispered. “Not this time.”

Lucien’s hand fell to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles there. “He will. What he said — he didn’t mean it. He’s just scared and worried. In almost three centuries, he’s never had the gall to stand up to our father. And then you come along and have the bravery to do so multiple times in a matter of months. You’re brilliant.”

You pulled back just slightly. Just to stare at him. “What if I’ve pushed it too far this time?”

“We’ll deal with it.”

“Lucien—”

“We’ll deal with it.” He repeated, pulling you back to him. “Whatever it is. We’ll face it.”

You sighed into his chest. Such wistful, fanciful words. You weren’t brave — you were stupid. And you couldn’t…you couldn’t win this. No matter how much you wanted to. No matter…

No matter how much you loved Lucien.

The thought, the word, had a sob forcing its way up your throat. You loved him. You loved him. You loved him. So fiercely, so profoundly. You loved everything about him and you wanted everything about him. And you couldn’t possibly have it.

“If you need to cry — cry.” He murmured soothingly against the top of your head.

Another sob slipped out. “I’m scared I might never stop.”

“I will kiss away every tear until you do.”

The onslaught of emotions, of tears, crested and devoured you like a wave, dragging away the last remaining dregs of your resolve, your strength. You broke — utterly broke. Your body shuddered with sobs as you collapsed against Lucien’s chest.

He rocked you through it, stroked your hair, whispered soft words, and you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t take having him like this when it was doomed to fail, to be ripped away.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. We’re going to figure this out together.”

You couldn’t. There was no together in any of this. Not for you and him. Your tears continued streaming as realisation truly overwhelmed you — of what this meant. What you needed to do. Your tears continued to fall freely as you buried into his neck, breathing in his scent; the last time you would be able to. Your fingers twined within his hair.

“Shh, my love.” He hummed obliviously.

So gently, he lifted your head, forced you to look at him. Both hands came up to cup your face, and his thumbs brushed your tears away, his lips sliding over yours in a brush of a kiss that swallowed the tears there, too.

Too gentle. Too much. You couldn’t allow it, couldn’t have it.

“Why won’t you just stop?” You choked against his mouth. “I need you to stop.”

His body froze, and you could see the worry in his eyes, the questioning. Wondering if he’d overstepped the mark, done something wrong. “Stop what?”

Another cry tore from your throat, and you were utterly inconsolable as you let the words tumble from your lips, “Stop making me love you.”

The hand that rubbed the small of your back stilled, Lucien seeming to stiffen even more beneath you. And then you felt it — felt the shudder that wracked through his entire body.

His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke back, eyes searching your face, “I’m far too selfish to stop.”

His eyes were intense, searching for…something. Perhaps for some indication that you’d misspoken, hadn’t meant it.

He, of course, found none.

You loved him. Gladly, wildly. Just as he loved you.

His rough hands gripped your face, and he pressed another kiss to your wet, salty lips, this one firmer, harder. You were incapable of reciprocating — and it wouldn’t have been right to. Just a cruel glimpse at what you knew, absolutely, that you couldn’t have. Not without risking everyone else.

You tore your mouth from his, burying into his chest once more, unable to meet his gaze. You just…needed to smell him. Needed to remember what it felt like to have his body wrapped around yours before such a thing became no more.

He melted into it, totally unaware of the decision you’d come to. He rocked you with him soothingly, stroking your hair with heartbreaking gentleness.

“We’ll work this out.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll fix it. I don’t care who I have to fight or how. My father will never, ever hurt you again.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Forced the last of the tears out before steeling yourself.

“You’re right.” Your voice wavered. “I won’t give him a reason to do it again.”

It was then that you prised yourself away from him. Lucien watched every movement you made, the way you sat up straight, hardened your expression, wiped your tears away. You made to climb off his lap, to put distance between you, but his arms tightened around you.

He knew. Could sense the colossal change that had just cleaved your relationship in two.

You stared at him. Forced your gaze to meet his. “I am marrying Dion—”

His eyes shuttered, voice barely a whisper as he croaked out, “No.”

“—that is what I was sent here to do, and that is what I’ll do.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“I thought…I thought I could have this with you, Lucien. But I can’t. We can’t.”

Those deep, russet eyes filled with tears as he stared at you. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“I’ve put my own sister in danger.” You swallowed down another threatening sob. “I won’t do it to anyone else. Especially not you. Never you.”

His warm, firm arms squeezed you tightly, and he attempted to tug you closer once more, teary eyes devouring yours. His voice was raw, raspy as he said it again — that word, that name he’d called you earlier. “Fireling—”

And then, if possible, his body went even more stiff beneath you, taut as a bowstring. He tensed, the word cutting off abruptly, and whatever he saw on your face, in your gaze, as you stared back at him — it made him flinch. His lips parted on an intake of breath, his arms loosening from you and slackening at his sides.

He just stared at you.

It was your only opportunity to get away before you talked yourself out of this.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, easing yourself off his lap. Your legs shook as you rose to your feet. “You have to believe me, Lucien, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t bear it — you getting hurt. It would kill me. You have to let me go.”

He didn’t stop you this time. His arms remained at his sides, and he merely watched you, his lips still slightly parted as you righted yourself and willed indifference into your face, your heart.

There were no further protests from him, no further words. He said and did nothing as you hurried to the door, your trembling fingers scrambling to unlock it, open it.

You looked over your shoulder once more as you stepped out. And he…he was still just gaping at you, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Perhaps he’d finally seen you for the pathetic, cowardly mess that you were. Perhaps that was what had knocked the thoughts from his mind, the words from his mouth.

None of it mattered anymore, anyway. You couldn’t have Lucien Vanserra, whether you loved him or not.

It was with that thought slicing and hardening your heart that you walked away.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Lucien tags: @brekkershadowsinger @sillycrownlady @ruler-of-hades @lectoradefics @lucyysthings @littlemoonashes @janzquu @carmelalikestoread @cathyac @tasha2627 @elkessecretplace @inkyvelvet @acourtofthought @zazite95 @antisocialcookie16 @sehalpha25 @fuckthatfeeling @adamgetawaydriver @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @lostpirateinwonderland

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astral--horrorshow · 1 year

Text

Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs.

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

《Chapter 1》

Chapter 2: Juice-Induced Short-Circuit

Characters: Donnie, Leo, Raph, Mikey

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! I'm going to try to write a bit more to get chapters out faster, (dw i'm not burning myself out, i literally sit around at home most days) so ya'll have that to look forwards to!

Tbh I did my most productive writing while listening to video game fan music, maybe it just has magical tendencies from good it is.

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Stalking, kidnapping plans, toxic relationships, Donnie has a bit of an ego, ruining of clothing

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Please Reblog writer's work!

Chapter Summary: Donnie gets rid of a tracker in a way that Leo doesn't like very much, and Raph goes over a plan with his brothers.

Word Count: 1176

☆~☆~☆

"Don't let me hear the robins sing above,

What good's their song if I've no one to love?"

You leaned your head back against the porcelain of the bathtub, watching the steam from the water curl up towards the ceiling. The silky-double vocals of Leslie Gore crept beneath the door and echoed throughout the tiled bathroom.

You leaned forwards and pulled the plug to the drain, watching the water swirl into the pipes.

"Don't let that dreamy moon come out, come out tonight,"

You lifted the needle off of the record, slipping it back into its case and strolling back to your bedroom. You snuggled under the warm covers, your wet hair dampening the pillow. Your eyelids were getting heavier with each second, warm water always did make you sleepy.

A hand landed on the outdoor windowsill, pulling the body attached to it upwards, revealing Donatello. He froze for a moment when you stirred in your sleep, but relaxed again when you merely turned your sleeping face to the wall.

Donnie pulled open your window, and slipped inside almost silently. He scanned around the room, before the spot of red light he was looking for pulled him to the jacket it was coming from.

He plucked the tracker the Purple Dragons had planted and glared at it with distaste. How dare they disrespect your privacy like that? He knew that they didn't care about you, not like he did. He wants to protect you, they want to use you. He wouldn't let that happen, over his dead body. Donnie's trackers are for protection purposes, so you need them. You need him, you need the rest of your new family to protect you from people like Kendra.

Now, what to do with the tracker? He obviously couldn't bring it back to the Lair, but he didn't want to leave it on you. He couldn't place it somewhere else, there were still things to prepare for your arrival and they would still see you at school, much to his displeasure. He thought it over, finding no good options even within the deepest depths of his intellect.

Suddenly, he thought of the most intelligent idea. He would spill something on the jacket, so you would throw it in the wash! The tracker would be destroyed! Those horrible, deceiving nerds wouldn't suspect a thing! He applauded himself in his mind, basking in his own intellect.

He was so busy praising himself in his mind that he didn't notice the electric blue portal materializing out of thin air behind him until Leo was right behind him. Donnie jumped nearly a mile out of his skin when Leo's hand landed on his shoulder.

He jerked around, expecting you to have woken up somehow and discovered his presence, but deflated when he saw that it was just his brother, and glared at him.

"What are you doing here, Leo?" Donnie said, crossing his arms with an annoyed look on his face. He could believe that his brother could do what he was doing, but he really wished he wouldn't.

"I'm visiting, of course," Leonardo flipped the ends of his bandana over his shoulder like it was hair, "Also, Raph sent me to look for you. You didn't come back after you left."

"That's none of your business."

"I think it is. If you're here, then it's all our business."

"You'll just do something rash."

Leo put on a half-mocking, half-serious pout, "Nuh-uh!"

"Scoff."

"If you don't tell me, I'll tell Raph and Mikey something is wrong."

Donatello clenched his fists and teeth, glaring even deeper at Leo. "Fine. The Purple Dragons placed a tracker on them, and I'm going to get rid of it."

Leonardo brought a hand up to his chest and gasped dramatically like a woman in a black-and-white movie, his eyes widening. "No!" He said it less like an exclamation, and more like a woman gossiping with her friends.

"Yes. Like I said, I'm going to get rid of it. Now go away."

Leo sassily put a hand on his hip, "No. I'm going to stay here and look after them."

"Fine," Donnie snapped, "But if you wake them up, you're going to regret it."

He walked to the kitchen, taking a carton of juice out of the fridge before returning.

Upon re-entering the bedroom, Donnie gritted his teeth yet again upon seeing him sit on the edge of your bed, his three-fingered hand gently petting the top of your head.

“What are you doing? Get off of there before you wake them up!” Leo pouted at his brother’s demand, but sat up anyway. He cocked his head in curiosity upon seeing the juice in Donnie’s hand.

“Juice?”

“Yes. This is how I’m going to get rid of that awful tracker.”

Leo launched forwards, attempting to grab the juice. “Don’t do that! You’re going to ruin a perfectly good jacket!”

Donatello jerked his hand back before Leo could grab it. “The whole point is that they’re going to wash it, dumb-dumb.” Upon hearing his brother’s plan, Leo didn’t try to grab the juice anymore, but put a hand on his hip again. “And what happens if it stains?”

“I’ll buy them another one,” Donnie turned back to the jacket, screwing the cap open.

Leonardo made no further attempt to stop his brother, but looked away as Donnie poured the liquid over the fabric. In his refusal to watch him disfigure clothing, he looked over to you, still sleeping soundly even with all the noise they were both making. You really were a deep sleeper, how cute.

“Done,” Donnie announced, interrupting Leo’s thoughts. He turned back to him, trying not to focus on the stained fabric on a hanger behind him. “Let’s just go,” Leo said, sulkily. He didn’t want to leave you so soon, but he couldn’t stand another minute in the awkwardness of the moment. They both walked to the kitchen, checking on you one last time to make sure you were still sleeping soundly. Donnie put the juice back in the fridge, then stepped into Leo’s portal.

☆~☆~☆

The Turtle Tank sped throughout the backstreets of New York City, leaving scattered papers and humans in its wake. Raphael pulled the tank into an isolated alleyway, beckoning his brothers to join in a circle.

"Okay," Raph said, putting his arms on the backs of Leo and Mikey, who were next to him in the circle, "We have everything prepared? Donnie, you have the tranq gun?"

"Of course I do, Raph," Donnie said with a slightly exasperated tone, "We've been over this."

"Okay, fine. Everyone knows the plan, right? We sneak in, get them, and take them home, like a boss!" Upon saying his catchphrase, Raph pumped his fist in the air, hyped up.

His energy spread to his younger brothers, and they put in their words of excitment and encouragement. Raph drove the vehicle out of the alleyway, and sped towards your home.

☆~☆~☆

A/N: Apologies if this chapter drags on a bit! I wanted to focus more on staying on one scene because of all the jumping back and forth in the first chapter! Also sorry that Raph and Mikey aren't very active in the story right now! They'll be a lot more starting in chapter 3! The first two chapters are more focused on the stalking aspect, which I tend to assign to Leo and Donnie. Raph and Mikey are more caretaker-esque, which you'll definently see very soon!

Taglist <3: @yandere-toons @yanteetle @ssak-i @oleander-nin @averagerottmntsimp

#yandere rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #yandere tmnt #yandere rottmnt #yandere #yandere tmnt 2018 #yandere leo #yandere leonardo #yandere donnie #yandere donatello #yandere raphael #yandere raph #yandere michaelangelo #yandere mikey #yandere rottmnt donnie #yandere rottmnt mikey #yandere rottmnt raph #yandere rottmnt leo

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aelinschild · 7 months

Text

Paradigm; side by side

˙✧˖ March 8th: Sweater

Main Masterlist | Paradigm; side by side Masterlist |

A/N: Huge apologies for missing the post yesterday (March 8th), life is busy :) But, the post for today (March 9th) will be out shortly following this.

SYNOPSIS: Carry my heart. WORDCOUNT: 1.4k (whoops, ignore that.) WARNINGS: Cursing(?), Lustful roommates (theyre both guilty)

Huge thank you to @throneofglassmicrofics for organizing! Make sure to check out other works over on their account!

Its worth a shot. “Rowan, uh, where do you keep the towels?”

He paused. The ample expanse of his back pushing ridges and dips in the fabric of his shirt. Something worn and tired, a breathy material that probably had molded to his shape. If Aelin had to guess, most of his clothes had. Or would have to.

He had yet to show a penchant for nudity, but there was still time.

Twirling the hem of her cover-up between nimble fingers kept the current of energy burning through her at a gentle hum. A buzzing inside bones, just under her C1 vertebrae. Target and switch, a noise she could flick off…if she wanted to, of course.

“Are you out in your washroom?” He gruffed out. Muscles assuming their previously arrhythmic movements.

“Not out. I was just wondering if you kept towels for the beach…?” She layered the question in a politeness, consideration lining every word. Had evaluated her grounds, found herself lost in the unsaid dance of the days.

“For the beach?” Swiveling on his spot, eyes like magnets to he being. “Why, are you-”

She wanted to make a joke, some sort of dig at his proclivity for repetition. Something to ease the brute of silence. But it had dripped from fists like a fine sand, slipping out of her mind when the force of direct seeing struck her. A breathless conclusion from moments of buildup. Green; deep fern and new life, no longer a smokescreen of skepticism – mistrust, but a telling. Seven days in close quarters had somehow drained the oxygen from her atmosphere, sharing noxious gases that toed the knife edge of ruination.

Back and forth, a game of shared breaths before the final gasp of air. Suffocating and final.

She would ignore the burning path of his eyes, would ignore the clenching of jaw muscles or the tightening of fists. Pulling at tendons in forearms that she had felt against her neck- Let her roommate collect his thoughts, simply a shock. A lapse in judgement. “Outdoor cupboard, by the stairs. Check for spiders, though. The bites sting.”

It would be like snuffing out a flame, maiming its burn until it failed to exist. But in its darkness, grew life from a form of other worldly exoticism.

“Thank you, Rowan.”

“Wear sunscreen. And try not to drown again, yeah?” She laughed.

When she had made the leap – most definitely by her own choice, no financial incentive or anything of the likes – to take up residence with a complete stranger, she hadn't expected the result. This result. At the time, getting away from a place where the traffic had permeated her internal monologue like a cursed whispering was conceivable only in dreams. The space between consciousness and not. Woman-Rowan had been a respectable option for a half crazed Aelin needing an escape for metropolitan life. Man Rowan was not.

She needed the baggage that men carried like she needed more debt.

It was possible that the exorbitant distance between where she was now and who she was not too long ago had shaped her, relaxation and unrestrictedness, into a pacifist. Sensation and thrill were closer to ones closed hands, just footsteps across the hall. Eyes like new growth incurring reactions so deeply chemical she could have described the shift as primal. A knee jerk reaction awaking a piece of herself she had tucked in so long ago.

And… Rowan was different. Nothing like the men she had found herself in company with. This strange man, isolated and admittedly stunted, was a balm and a surge at once. Just talking to him hours ago had set her rationality aflame.

She could not help but toe the line, jump over an invisible edge with every moment and find his eyes, his gaze, to gauge the reaction. Just to see. Desire and shame played like a record lowly in the background, inching further and further into some unparalleled mistake, or something else.

Ultimately, though, it was only a game. Life would resume; this lapse would come to an end, and Aelin would be erased from the land like the drawings she was toeing into the sand. Nothing is forever, and she was not delusional enough to believe so. But, just enough to soak up the incredulity of every moment and lean into misinterpreted glances and burning touches.

So as the sun began to set, the last washes of colour bleeding from the sky in a way that could only remind her of the man himself, she stayed on clear sand. Surrounded by whispering grasses and mumbling waters. On a towel – shook and beaten to assure that no pests would be biting her ass – borrowed and dirtied from sandy footprints. Skin still pulsing for unrestricted sunshine that left a golden luminosity to skin, highlighting the silvery scars on hips and bruises still healing over. Her novel and journal a quiet company. It was peaceful and healing.

But, the March winds washed over with the final dregs of winter, chilling and nipping at the great areas of exposed skin. Gooseflesh, much different from how it appeared yesterday, rose to her skin. Nipples stiff with the chill. She could only laugh, of course she forgot suitable clothes. The sheer dress – appropriate for beach settings, would not warm her.

“Aelin!”

Good gods.

Sound was heard differently on sand. This, she had learned. Weight played a part in the muffle of footsteps. Heavy strides were lower, less sound noise from the redistribution of sand. An unusual thud from the immediate compression. Being dropped resounded that way. A run often echoed in the movement of sand elsewhere. Spraying up and landing metres behind. But it was nearly impossible to silence ones own footfalls; sand would find a way to warn ever the most prepared creatures.

Except for, of course, Rowan.

“Couldn't hear me, huh?” He chuckled. “Cooked up some dinner, wanted to know if you were hungry.” Throaty and…shy? She had scrambled up to sitting at the first shock of his voice, body nearly exposed. Hidden behind fabric masquerading as a swimsuit. Tan lines aren't needed with the proper preparation. The sheer cover-up in her lap, balled up between fists. She had let out a hum of acknowledgement.

“Oh, yeah I would love that. Uh, thank you.” Rowan. Thank you, Rowan.

“Right.” He mused, hand scratching at the length of his forearm, over fading tattoos. She had yet to notice, but his gaze was anywhere but herself.

Gathering her novel and notebook, Aelin made to stand. She could feel the tension in her legs from the horizontal position of the day. Residue of lactic acid and tranquility. Pinpricks of chill, the gusts sweeping her hair over her shoulders and twining it into a mess. In a curious way, his presence before her had warmed her core. The offering, his kindness, gruff and untried.

“Here,” snapped the suspended introspection, a offering of cloth was jerked forward. Aelin only looked up, snagging her gaze on his. Blown out pupils and dancing hair. Swept across his forehead, ruffling the strands that begged for her touch. Following down, to his body now unclothed with the sweater she was so sure he had been wearing. To the fabric in outstretched arms.

“No need,” she laughed. A little shocked at the boldness. “I’ll just change when I’m inside. I’ve got to get used to the temperatures somehow.” Moving to pull her shift on, the hand that had haunted her sleep last night was wrapped around her wrist.

“No.” Shaking the sweater out, with one hand, Rowan maneuvered it so it would be easy to pull over. “Put this on.”

“Rowan. Thank you for the gesture, but truly, I am fine.”

“Just… please. Please put it on.” It was strained, like it hurt to push those words from the recesses of his mind. “No need to catching a cold, yeah?”

For a moment, his hand still tight like a vise around her wrist and her with the sheer dress in clenched fists, Aelin faced off with him. Staring directly into eyes dwarfed by pupils. Indignance seeped from her pores. She didn't acquiesce easily, but usually there was solid ground for her to stand upon. Stone formed from a life lived, hard to push over or redirect. But… it was like toying with fire. He didn't care about a cold or her frigidity. Curious, indeed.

“Sure. A cold, yeah.” He dropped her wrist and she pulled on the sweater. Curious, indeed.

Taglist: @mariaofdoranelle , @leiawritesstories , @renxzs

Let me know if you would like to be a part of the taglist :)

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sports-on-sundays · 6 months

Note

OMG!! run away part two please?

run away / Marc Guiu / PART 2

Summary: Marc x girlfriend!reader - Things have gone wrong, but searching for a solution seems difficult. Angst.

Warnings: getting drunk to ease pain, mention of sex, smoking, censored swearing, mention of being touched sexually by strangers, vomiting, headache, despair, mention of suicide

Requested?: Uh huh

Author's Note: Gosh sorry this kind of looks really dark. Link to part 1

Yes. It's like how everything was, years ago.

It's like how everything was before him.

Your Marc, who now you're avoiding like the plague.

You're a wreck, and you know it, and you'll admit it. But you've been here before, so no matter how terrible it is, and how much you hate it, at least you know you can make it through.

Hopefully.

You blocked Marc's number, and everyone else's and you're alone.

Literally.

You have no one to rely on, and nothing to get you through but alcohol.

Well, you do have a new friend, but not a real friend. She's just the kind of person who has sex with every guy who's half hot and smokes cigarettes to look sexy. The kind that will tell you to indulge, let loose, calm down. Try something new and risky, and stop caring about what your conscience says in the morning.

Now she stands, arms crossed, leaning against the cold outdoor wall of the club you hate going to but still end up at anyway, covered in sweat and glitter, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

You don't even ask about the glitter.

"I saw I guy you might be into in there. Come on. I know your cash for the week is out, but I'll buy you a couple more drinks. I think you'll have fun with him."

You frown. "I don't want to mess with some guy."

"You'll feel f*cking better. Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't know," you murmur breathy, hitting your head against the back of the wall.

"Well either have some fun and wash your tears down with alcohol or actually get your life in order, because clearly you're miserable in this in-between place," she comments casually, blowing smoke out through her mouth.

You swallow. You know it's not right, but you let her take your hand and drag you back in the club. You let yourself drink all you want. You let yourself lose your mind like the idiot you are. You let men touch you that you would never, ever let sober.

But it's all in the name of fun, right?

Maybe you're choosing to run away from your problems, but maybe it's more fun that way.

And having fun is all that matters.

Right?

You stumble out of the club, not even aware of how used you've been, how disgusting you should feel. You don't even know where you're going, because your "friend" left you when some creep was touching you however he liked, and there's no way you're getting a taxi now, even if you could, since all your money is out.

You can't go to your parents like this, and you've sworn off ever seeing Marc again, which means the only thing you can do is either fall asleep in some alley or somehow walk yourself back to your one room apartment.

You trip on the curb and bend over, practically mindlessly vomiting into a storm drain, and are about to keep walking when suddenly, there are strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

It's nighttime. You're drunk. You're in a bad part of the city.

You gasp and scream, aimlessly thrashing, tears that constantly threaten to fall beginning to stream down your face, "Let go of me! Help!"

But suddenly you freeze, when you hear a familiar voice practically shout in your ear, "Calm down! It's just me!"

You breathe a little slower and calm down, putting your hand on the strong around wrapped around your middle. You know that voice. It's someone good, you think. Someone who wants to help you.

The person gently turns you around, and you freeze when you see who it is.

"Marc... Let go..." you breathe, your vision wobbly.

"No..." he breathes, and the last thing you remember is the horrified look in his glimmering eyes.

Your eyes slowly blink open, and you know you've been here before.

You're laying on Marc's couch, in his living room, in his home.

Emotions hit you like a bullet train. Guilt, fear, regret, anger, despair.

You groan softly as you sit up, becoming aware of your pounding headache. You're still wearing the tight, uncomfortable clothes from last night, and as those cursed memories come flooding back, all you want to do is tear off the wretched clothes and wash off all that shame in a warm bath.

But the first thing you have to do is get the f*ck out of Marc's home.

You can't admit to yourself that Marc is the answer. After how much he hurt you? He can't be.

You don't know what the answer is, and you know it's not what you're doing right now, either.

You're starting to think there is no answer.

And then you look up, to see him walking in. He's so strong and perfect. Literally no blemishes. Perfect body, perfect hair, perfect, face, perfect everything.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Nothing like you.

But not a perfect personality, you remind yourself.

But just being in the presence of him, and knowing how he saw you last night- the shame is almost too much to bear.

Marc sits down next to you and takes your shaking hand, which you don't like.

"We never officially broke up, you know. We just had that argument, and you left, and cut me off completely. You disappeared, Y/n. Not even your parents knew where you were..."

You look up, and see the pain in his eyes.

Oh God.

"Y/n," he says softly. His voice quivers slightly. "I didn't know if you were alive... And..." You're surprised to hear his voice crack. "I thought that could have been my f*cking fault."

You stare, mouth hanging open. On the first few tries, you can't even speak, before you manage softly, "You thought... I killed myself?"

He sticks his thumb and pointer finger in his eyes seeming to be pushing the tears to stay inside as he slowly nods. "I didn't think it... I just worried... maybe..."

He swallows hard, and you see the tiredness in his eyes now.

Suddenly, just like that, you break down. You bury your face in your hands in start crying. About how terrible you've been, and about how terrible you feel, and about how much you still can't imagine staying with Marc.

It's not like you don't cry often. But you never run out of tears, either. You're not sure if you love Marc's hand slowly rubbing your back or hate it.

Finally you swallow gaining more control of yourself, and Marc gives your back a little pat, saying, "Those close don't look very comfy. I'll get you some."

So soon you sit, staring tear-stained and vacantly ahead, warmed by Marc's clothes on the outside, but cold as stone in your heart.

"You're the one who started this all, anyway..." you breathe, barely a whisper, hating the words coming out of your mouth. "What if I had killed myself? Maybe you f*cking deserve that pain."

He holds his face in his hands now. Sits next to you silently for a few second, before saying, his voice cracking, "Oh, God..."

"Well?" you stare, face hard.

He swallows and says, "I'm sorry... I love y-"

"If you did, you wouldn't have-"

"I do love you! In a relationship, we're going to have to work through things! If you refuse-"

"Shut up!" you suddenly scream, plugging your ears and letting out a dry sob.

When you unplug your ears, you can hear Marc breathing heavily. He keeps his face buried in his hands, but you're not stupid. You know he's crying. Then he mutters through tears, "I don't want to hurt you. But you'll be harmed even more if we don't work through this. We can't pretend it's all okay. And running away won't do you any good, either."

You stare ahead, silent.

"I know I'm in the wrong, too," he breathes, his voice cracking. "Y/n, I thought you f*cking killed yourself. That's what I was worried about. Panicking about. That because I was a bad boyfriend, you killed yourself. I've thought about what I've been doing wrong. I have. I'm too harsh with you sometimes. A lot. I start discussions at the wrong times. Instead of arguing, we should be discussing. I should be gentler with you. You're delicate."

"No I'm f*cking not," you whisper.

"Yes, you are. And it's okay. You've been through a lot. We're all f*cking fragile. I just want to take care of you. Help you. Keep you from cracking, breaking more." He swallows. "But not discussing anything isn't how to do that. Discussions will help us grow. Facing problems will help them be fixed. Ignoring them, turning your back to them, will just make it easier for them to catch us off guard when we're not looking. Then our relationship really will be ruined." He hesitates, before finishing with, "Don't you f*cking see we need each other? You're a wreck without me, and I'm a wreck without you. We both need f*cking therapy, but the first step is communication."

You nod slowly, hesitantly, before whispering, "Why do you still want me?"

"What do you mean?"

"After seeing me so drunk and disgusting and-"

"Because I f*cking love you."

Just those words hit you like a shot to the heart.

You breath in sharply.

But then you stand up, murmuring, "Can- Can I get going now?" You start heading from the door.

"No!" he suddenly says, rushing to grab your arm. He turns you around and buries you in the biggest, warmest, most loving hug you've ever felt.

And he buries his face in your shoulder.

His voice cracks again as he murmurs into you, in pure desperation, "Please, Y/n. Stay. For your own good. I need you."

You swallow, slowly, awkwardly, weakly wrapping your arms around him back.

What other option do I have?

What good am I really getting out of the stupid clubbing? Every night I have fun, but every morning I'm sick.

"I just want to wake up content and go to bed content," you whisper.

He squeezes you tighter. "If we work on it, someday, we can reach that. We can. Together. Please."

You swallow.

He's my last and only chance.

You swallow and nod. "Alright, Marc," you breathe. "May- Maybe. Yes. Just, please... don't break me."

"Not in a million years," he breathes, and you feel like he might never let go of you.

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