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incendiobrock · 5 months

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The Driskill Hotel {Chris Sturniolo}

Summary: fem!reader x bf!Chris go to Austin, Texas with Matt and Nick to film a video for Sam and Colby's channel at the Driskill Hotel. The reader is very sensitive to the supernatural and gets convinced to do the elevator ritual alone... What could possibly go wrong? ;)

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks, ghostly encounters, fear of elevators, language, FLUFFFFF

A/N: I know this video is from awhile ago but I've had this idea and couldn't stop thinking about it. I started my page with imagines like this for Colby x reader and so I wanted to throw it back to my roots and make a Chris x reader (because I'm a die hard Chris girl)

Part 2??

You had been a fan of Sam and Colby for years, enjoying their content and being fascinated with their supernatural findings. There was always a part of you that was convinced you had a special connection with the supernatural, feeling extremely vulnerable and tethered to their world. Maybe it was due to your empathic nature, or maybe you were a undiscovered medium that hadn’t tapped into your powers.

You never tapped into your "abilities" because you were scared of what could possibly come from speaking to the dead. But when Nick, Matt, and Chris (and yourself) got asked to join in for an XPLR video on Sam and Colby's channel, you all knew that you couldn't pass it down. This is what led you all to Austin, Texas where the historic, haunted, Driskill Hotel was located.

The night had started somewhat normal, you all walked through the hotel with a tour guide where she explained the history of the building as well as the ghost inhabitants. Throughout the tour you would catch glimpses of shadow figures on the wall, hearing inaudible voices, and being extra sensitive to smells like cigar smoke and roses. The fear was definitely building inside of you when you observed that none of the rest of the group seemed to be experiencing the same things you were. You did your best to hold it together, knowing the triplets were excited to be included in the video, and not wanting to ruin your own experience of an inner fangirl being on an XPLR trip.

As the tour wrapped up and the night went on, Sam and Colby began to lead the investigation portion of their video. You stayed glued to Chris' side, feeling comfort in his presence, even with everything going on around you. Chris held an EMF reader in his left hand as his right hand was busy interlocking your fingers, running his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. He couldn't tell if you were nervous or if you were just trying to hone in on filming the video since you were all a guest to Sam and Colby's channel.

You and Chris stayed slightly behind the group as you made your way over to the elevators on the main lobby for the next part of the video, the elevator ritual. The elevators had already been acting up earlier in the night, not wanting to take you guys up to the floor you had requested. Elevators weren't necessarily your favorite inventions, a slight irrational fear of being stuck in one or one falling with you inside.

"Matt, the ghosts seem to really like you. Maybe you should be the one to do the ritual." You heard Sam say, observing how the EMF in Matt's hand continued to light up to red as they crossed through the grand lobby. As you passed by the receptionist desk you saw the figure of a tall man dart across the wall, making you subconsciously squeeze Chris' hand out of fright. "What's up baby? You okay?" Chris asked softly, pausing in his tracks to check up on you.

"Did you see that?" You asked him back, hoping that maybe you weren't going as crazy as you thought you were. Chris furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around the rotunda, trying to see whatever it was you were talking about. "See what?"

You let out a shaky breath, your palms becoming clammy as all the supernatural sensitivity was beginning to catch up to you. The hand that was holding onto Chris' disconnected as you rubbed the sweat on your pants, "I keep seeing shadows on the walls..." Chris frowns at your reply, wrapping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. His lips pressed a firm kiss on your forehead, "I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

"Chris! Y/n! You guys coming?" Colby asked, staring at you two from down the hall where they had stopped in front of the elevators. "Yeah we're coming, sorry!" Chris responded, gently pulling away from the hug and instantly wrapping his hand back in yours. As you stood in front of the elevator doors Sam explained to the camera, and to all of you, what the elevator ritual would consist of.

"y/n, will you do the honors?" Sam questioned, pulling your out of your trance and causing your jaw to drop open. "Huh? What?" You stuttered, not registering what he had elected you to do for this ritual.

"Do you want to do the ritual?" He rephrased, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. Your body tensed at the thought, not only did elevators terrify you, but you had already been experiencing paranormal things the whole night. "You don't have to if you don't want." Chris said, breaking the short silence that filled the room, knowing you were already on edge and trying to stand up for you in case you were wary about doing it. "Uh, yeah, I think I could do it... I would just need to write down the order of the floors." You said, uncertainty filling your voice.

"Awesome! I'll text it to you." Sam said, beginning to type up a message to send to your phone. A lump began to form in your throat as you awaited the notification being sent to you. Chris gently rubbed your lower back, doing his best to calm your anxiety without bringing too much attention to your state, understanding that you didn't like when others were aware of your intimate emotions. Your phone vibrated in your hand, looking down to see the message;

12:00AM

Sam: 4, 2, 6, 2, 10, 5, 1

"Okay it's exactly midnight, you have to start now." Colby said, pressing the up button and watching the elevator door open. You took the camera from him, not saying a word as you faced the elevator. You swallowed the lump in your throat, knowing there was no way you could back out of this now. Stepping into the elevator you instantly felt chills run up your spine.

"Now remember, when you get to the fifth floor a lady might join you. If she does then when you try to come back down to the lobby the elevator will actually go up to the tenth floor, that's how we will know it worked. If it comes back down to one then the lady didn't enter and the ritual failed." Sam said, reminding you and the audience how things were supposed to go.

Shakily, your finger made its way up to press the number four, officially beginning the ritual. The door slowly shut in front of you, keeping eye contact with Chris until you couldn't anymore. The elevator rose and the door opened, nobody was there. Floor two, nothing.

Sixth floor.

Second floor, again.

Tenth floor.

Then finally, the fifth floor. Your breath caught in your throat as the elevator door opened unusually slow, revealing an empty hallway. 'This is just a game', 'It's not real', you tried reminding yourself as your heart beat uncontrollably inside your chest. You waited for a couple seconds before pressing the button for the first floor, praying that this stupid ritual hadn't actually worked. The doors shut and the elevator began to descend back to the first floor, allowing you to let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "I guess the ritual failed guys," You lightly giggled talking into the camera, feeling relief wash over your whole body.

"Woah!" You yelped, almost dropping the camera as the elevator slightly dropped, the lights inside flickering. The screen above the door signaling that you were on the third floor. Before you knew it the elevator came to a halt, stopping dead in its tracks on the third floor.

"What? Oh no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered, panic rising inside of you as you dropped the camera to the floor and made your way to the control panel. You smashed the button for the first floor over and over again, hoping the elevator would start to move again. Nothing was happening however, the buttons not even lighting up when you pressed them. You began to reach into your back pocket for your phone, pulling it out to call Chris.

The dial tone played as you dropped to the floor in a seated position, legs shaking beneath you. After three rings Chris' voice filled your left ear, "Hey babe, why did you stop on the third floor? We were waiting for you to come back down-" He said quickly before you cut him off.

"Chris! The elevator is stuck! I don't know what to do, I'm freaking the fuck out!" Your breath became labored as you heaved in and out, feeling like no matter how much air you inhaled it wasn't reaching your lungs correctly. "Woah, woah. Okay, calm down please! Just breath alright? Listen to my breathing!" Chris instructed, knowing you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He let out slow, steady breaths of air while your vision began to blur with tears. Your head started to heat up and your ears began to ring, "I-I can't Chris... I can't breathe!" You huffed, clenching your hand over your aching heart.

"The elevators stuck, somebody go try and find someone to help!" You faintly heard Chris yell to the other boys, holding the phone away from his ear so it wasn't directed to you. "Yes you can, I believe in you babe. Nick is going to get some help, okay? Just hang in there." He continued to comfort you through the phone, coaching your breath back to normal as Nick found an employee. After five minutes, which felt like an eternity to you, the elevator doors where being pried open. The elevator had stopped just barely off center to the second floor, making the door inoperable on your side.

When the doors were finally opened you couldn't help but let the tears you had been containing fall, all the overwhelming fear catching up to your eyes. The employee held out a hand for you as you jumped the three foot distance onto the second floor lobby, landing slightly unsteady as the tears blurred your vision. Chris rushed over to you, faster than you had ever seen him move before, pulling you deep into his embrace.

"There, there, I got you. I got you, don't worry." He said, running his big hand through your hair. Your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, scared that he might disappear if you didn't hold him close. Tears stained his jacket sleeve as you buried your head into his shoulder. You both stayed like that for awhile, the others watching as you crumbled into Chris' arms.

Once you had finally cooled down, you all sat on some couches that were in the main lobby. You drank some water that Nick had brought for you as you stayed by Chris' side, his arm wrapped over your shoulders. "Y/n, I am so so sorry that the elevator got stuck. I had no idea that was going to happen and I feel horrible. I didn't realize you were scared of elevators." Sam apologized to you, feeling guilty that he had put you in this position in the first place.

"Sam, it's not your fault! How would you have known the elevator was going to get stuck?" You said sincerely, appreciating his apology even though he had nothing to do with the unfortunate situation.

"If you guys need to call it a night and go back to your hotel, we completely understand." Colby said, offering to end the night where it was instead of finishing out the investigation. "No, it's okay. I'm good now, really. There's no need to scrap the rest of the video just because of me." You reassured, wanting the boys to finish the video they had put so much effort into already.

"Are you sure?" Chris asked you.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now who's ready for the Estes Method?"

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phoward89 · 7 months

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Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader

Coriolanus Snow was the youngest president in Panem’s history. He was cunning, charming, and very, very smart. Which is why he's the youngest man to hold the presidential office.

But that's not truly the reason why he's President Snow at the tender age of 25.

No….

He's the youngest president because he's a ruthless man. An evil man.

A snake that strikes both friend and foe with poison.

Nobody was safe from Coriolanus’ poisonous fangs.

Well, nobody, except his First Lady.

And you just happened to be First Lady Snow. The president's sweet, innocent wife who never saw his true colors.

Coriolanus, who you often called Coryo and even Snowflake (he'll kill anyone if they giggle, laugh, or snigger if in ear shot of you using the term of endearment for him), made sure that you viewed him as a loving gentleman. He never wanted you to see the cruel side of him.

You met him when you were both kids, before he became tainted and corrupted by the harsh cruelness of the world. You never experienced the cruelness of the world, being a bit sheltered by your family.

You were innocent, like a little dove.

And that's what drew Coriolanus to you. Your innocence enthralled him, memorized him even.

He made it his mission to keep all the horrors of the world away from you, to keep you innocent and naive.

Hell, you truly believed that he helped Lucy Grey win during his mentorship because he cared. You had no idea that he was thinking with his wrong head; wanted to get under her skirts.

You didn't know that he was sentenced to 20 years as a peacekeeper for his crime of cheating during the 10th Hunger Games. You truly believed his bullshit lie of wanting to follow in his father's footsteps (his father, Crassus Snow had been a general).

So, sweet, innocent, naive little you always believed what your Coryo told you. He was your perfect gentleman, your Snowflake, and you had no reason not to trust him.

President Snow, for all his faults and evil deeds, loved you with every fiber of his overly obsessive being. It's why he's done everything in his power to keep you from being corrupted by the world.

It's also why he had, nicely, forbid you from entering his office. Coriolanus gave you the excuse that he didn't want to be distracted from his duties of ruling over Panem, but in reality he couldn't risk you walking in on him while he had business meetings.

Some of which almost always ended with his visitor slumped over a teacup.

Dead.

Today tho, well, you didn't heed his warning and decided to visit him in his office instead of waiting for him to return to the living quarters.

You found out very exciting news and wanted to share it with him right away.

You put on a pretty pink dress, pulled your hair half back into a large bow (the way he preferred it), and picked some roses from the prized rose garden for the special announcement.

You happily made your way down the hall towards his office. His staff ignored you, knowing better to even look at you twice.

The staff wanted to live to see the next Yule season, thank you very much.

When you opened the door, you saw that your husband had a guest in his office. The man, who was stout with black hair; wearing a powder blue suit, was slumped over on your husband's desk.

President Snow wiped at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief (his beloved one that you made special for him, embroidered with a light blue snowflake and his initials in maroon red thread) his icy blue eyes flickering up to the door to see who had walked in. He gave his staff specific orders not to be disturbed. He was ready to chew out whoever had walked it, but any and all retorts he had in the tip of his tongue had died when he saw you.

His precious, innocent, little dove.

Before he could ask what’s wrong (he knew something was wrong because you knew his office was off limits and wouldn't just walk in unless it was an emergency), you pointed to the man slumped over the desk and asked, “Coryo, is he passed out?”

“Oh, my little dove, don't worry about him. He just can't handle his liquor.” Coryo told you, even though the glasses on the desk were teacups and not rocks glasses typically used for liquor.

But of course, you believed your husband. He has no need to lie to you, has he?

Coriolanus stood up from his desk, only to walk over to you. “You know you're not allowed in here while I'm working, Y/N.” He reminded you as he stopped right in front of you. Your husband towers over you, taking in how you were all dolled up and had a bouquet of roses in hand. Arching a brow, he asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, Snowflake, I know I'm not supposed to bother you while you're doing your presidential work, but I was so excited to tell you something.” You honestly told him, a bright smile on your face, as you handed him the roses.

“I'm usually the one who presents you with roses, my love.” Coriolanus chuckled, only to take the offered bouquet. “What's this exciting news that couldn't wait?” He asked, placing his large, calloused hand on your cheek only to caress your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I'm pregnant!” You joyfully smiled up at him.

“That's wonderful news, my little dove.” Your Coryo cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. He grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together, and suggested, “Let's go celebrate this happy news with lunch in the sunroom.”

“Okay, but what about your guest? Shouldn't we wake him up?” You innocently asked, gesturing to the man lying dead on your husband's mahogany desk.

“I'll have one of the staff tend to him, Y/N.” Your husband assured you while leading you out of his office.

Little did you know what he really meant by that. But why would you, your husband's only ever showed you a soft, loving, gentleman. He's never shown you his true nature of being an evil, cruel, manipulative, murderous man.

Coriolanus is a snake, but to you he's Coryo, your Snowflake.

And he'll always be that to you since you'll forever be his sweet, innocent, little dove of a wife.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere ,@savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1

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smileysuh · 2 months

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redemancy TEASER

🌙 staring. Johnny & Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Jaehyun can go dance with you-” Johnny agrees and your heart swells at his innocence, his complete lack of jealousy towards your best friend Jaehyun, who, you’re beginning to realize, may provide a legitimate threat that your previous lovers were picking up on.

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral, masturbation, 69-ing, face riding, soft dom!Johnny, blowjobs, pussy eating, multiple reader orgasms, deep throating, cumming on tits, cumplay, finger sucking, cum licking, breast worship, voyeurism, praise, power dynamics, double penetration, spit rosing/Eiffel tower, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess & baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 11.9k

🍭 aus. uni au, summer aesthetic, best friends to lovers, love triangle, angst, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. redemancy meaning: the act of loving someone who loves you, a love returned in full

“So you’re saying…” Jaehyun looks to Johnny to finish the sentence, but Johnny doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction. He wants to see Jaehyun work it out himself. “You’re saying… you’re… flexible… about… sharing… your girlfriend.”

“Uh huh.”

“And… what did… uh, what did she say about all of this?”

Johnny shrugs. “She’s open to it. Like I said, she’s still a little upset about how this whole thing happened, but you two have history, if you apologize enough, she’ll work through it.”

“And you’re… completely chill about all of this?” Jaehyun asks.

“I suggested it.”

“You did?”

“It’s a two birds, one stone kind of problem, don’t you think?”

Jaehyun cocks his head to the side. “Are we the birds?”

Johnny can only smile. “Sure.”

“So… now what?”

“Now, we try to be friends, you fix things with y/n, and we see what happens.”

“What do you get out of all of this?” Jaehyun asks, and there’s a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “You know I’m straight, right?”

Johnny nearly chokes on his coffee. “Dude. We’re both straight.”

“Okay, I was just checking.”'

☀️ to read the full fic AND 1.6k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday, July 26th, 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

#jaehyun #johnny suh #johnny suh smut #jaehyun smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #johnny nct #jaehyun nct #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun smut #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun smut

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stormgardenscurse · 5 months

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at your service—!

Summary: Maid headcanons for May! When you’re invited into a rich family’s mansion to solve a murder mystery, who will you trust?

Warnings: mentions of death, assassins, poison and murder due to the theme.

Characters: Riddle, Deuce, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Lilia

If you liked this, consider checking out my TWST Isekai Fanbook, now digitally available on my kofi!

Riddle

The maid who you thought hated your guts at first, but it’s only because of how strict he is with both you and everyone else! You’re in the manor of the Queen of Hearts’ descendants after all, so Riddle will not allow you to fumble!

Honestly speaking, you felt like you could be scolded at any moment around Riddle. He teaches you dining etiquette, how to address certain people, how to dance…

...And saves your life, after your investigation ends up with you being chased by a masked assassin. Riddle surprises you with his abilities in horse riding and after a dramatic escape (stealing a horse from a previously wrecked carriage) addresses you informally for the first time (without realising it himself.)

After that, you start to take walks with Riddle in the rose gardens and listen to his explanations of the manor's history. It helps a lot in understanding background politics, and the sound of his voice is actually really soothing.

Could you say that you’re friends? You certainly trust him now, but can you be sure his would loyalties will lie with you and not his superior, if your investigation starts to point fingers in an unexpected direction?

Deuce

Deuce is well-meaning, but you’re warned by the other maids that he has a track record with delinquency. Cleaned up by the head butler when he entered the Rose Manor to work, but rumors are hard bugs to squash.

And when you spot him speaking to some well-known thugs in town, well… You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Deuce has only been welcoming and earnest with you, and now you’re wondering if he might have some ties to murderer.

Some kind of friend you are, huh? But at the end of the day, you’re an outsider who’s been hired precisely because your employer doesn’t know who they could trust.

Your apprehensions have no time to take shape however, because one morning you notice that Deuce is wearing makeup to hide bruises on his knuckles and arms, and you’re overcome by the instinct to help him treat his injuries before suspecting him of anything else.

There’s no way he would hurt someone on purpose, right?

Jade

Prim and proper, Jade is someone who’s often by your side when you’re in need of assistance (as instructed by your employer), yet remains as one of the only people you cannot get a read on.

Just what is he thinking whenever he watches you scribble in your notebook, crossing out theories and names? Does he have something to add? Or might he actually be in cahoots with the murderer, keeping you away from the truth with his convenient position by your side?

As it seems with most things, it takes a serious incident to make the both of you open up. Jade rescues you from a poisoning attempt, but you don’t wake up in your usual room. Instead you’re in one of the empty studies, so that nosy witnesses during the dinner party can’t disturb your rest.

You don’t make sense, Jade tells you. But based on the way he’s calmly giving you another dose of medicine, he finds it fun rather than stressful. You’re glad. And now you know a tiny bit more about him.

He starts off the conversation by telling you he has a twin that works in a neighboring manor. But despite all the trouble Floyd gets into, Jade hasn’t felt as hopeless about a person than when you fainted last night.

Even with how weak you are in comparison to knights or trained assassins, you still fling yourself into mystery with a headstrong manner that makes his mouth quirk up in a smile.

Jamil

Shortly after that, you allow yourself to rely on Jamil for the investigation. He’s quite willing to help, and you can tell Jamil enjoys having something to puzzle out, demonstrating his own strengths and resourcefulness.

Early on, you realize Jamil is one of the only normal people here. In this noble household with its foreign etiquette and social expectations, you’re relieved that Jamil doesn’t expect such things from you, and even offers a space for something familiar to exist.

He brings you lunch once during your investigation of the gardens. And instead of sitting somewhere too exposed, Jamil leads you to a hidden corner with pleasant shading and a safe enclosure of hedges. It’s nice, and you speak casually to one-another. You discuss the town and best shops for food. You feel human again, rather than just ‘the detective’.

…But the more you notice these traits, the more aware you become that Jamil could easily be related to the murderer. The spark of someone forced to lie low in the shadows despite their brilliance can lead to drastic incidents.

But still, you want to believe in the Jamil who brought you out for a picnic because he noticed you’ve been feeling suffocated. You want to believe this friendship isn't a hoax.

Rook

Despite how you were intimidated by his extrovertedness at first, Rook has proven to be a genuinely friendly person and willing to help during your stay here. Which is more than you can say for the rest of the manor—which was nice and respectful, but see your job as a taboo. A ‘what if we get involved and become the next targets,’ type of thing.

You can’t blame them, but it makes you naturally get closer to Rook over the course of your job. You realize one day that despite how much you’ve told him, you barely know anything about Rook.

He’s quite mysterious, as one who sweeps the floors while whistling a tune, always with a smile on his lips as he tells you about how beautiful the building and gardens are. His physique is a bit too toned for someone who only does housework. You suspect he has some other role in the manor too, and wonder if it might be related to the mystery's culprit.

It doesn’t help that Rook seems very knowledgeable about hunting. He helps you figure out where the victim must’ve run and how long it took for the murderer to catch up with them. And sometimes, when you’re caught up in your thoughts and theorizing, Rook surprises you with his soundless steps.

Epel

Epel has always done his best to assist you, despite how he’s only worked here for a year compared to the other maids. He seems to be trustworthy and willing to help, on top of proving he’s reliable.

You find out that before you came along, there were already groups of maids and other staff who tried to piece together the mystery themselves. But in doing so, created distrust between them and rivalries of suspicion. He thinks that the culprit is definitely a staff member, but can’t be sure of who.

You don’t think he’s directly related to the murderer, but there are times when Epel’s mouth purses during a conversation you’re having with another noble, and you feel like he isn’t telling you everything he knows. Maybe out of privacy or because it’s personal—but when both of you seem to be the targets of an attack, you can’t ignore it any longer and are forced to interrogate Epel.

Now that he’s been helping you with investigations however, there’s definitely a target of sorts on Epel’s back. A few of the maids are unhappy that he might be spreading false ideas to you in favor of one theory or another. And he’s too prideful to shrink under their demands, so they haven’t been on talking terms for a while.

You can only hope that he isn’t indeed a poisoned apple placed before you, unknowingly used by the murderer themself.

Lilia

Very knowledgeable about the hidden rooms around the manor, you can’t help but be a little wary about the clever glint in Lilia’s eyes. He’s explicitly been assigned to keep an eye on you for the sake of the manor’s secrets, and you can tell he isn’t trained to be a maid, despite how it's the pretense he’s using to stick to your side 24/7.

You sometimes get distracted by the mystery of who Lilia himself might be. He speaks about knights familiarly, yet none of the ones at the manor seem to recognise him when you both pass by. He’s not very good at chores or cooking (to the point where you took over at some points out of concern for the upholstery and kitchen), so how is he still blending in with the other maids?!

Lilia’s saved your life twice now, and you slowly learn that he has weapons hidden beneath his maid dress. Also that he can scale rooftops and the town in less than a minute, but you don’t want to ponder on his scary amount of agility just yet.

Thankfully however, it seems that Lilia is only hired here on a contractual basis. His true, deep rooted loyalties aren’t close to this manor. Which means when the both of you find some very incriminating evidence, Lilia helps keep it a secret from your employer. The both of you are shouldering the weight of the mystery now, but Lilia promises he’ll keep you safe.

You hope there never comes a time where you have to worry about his safety, or that he’d stick his neck out for you more than he needs to.

#riddle rosehearts x reader #deuce spade x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #twst reader insert #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #storm writings

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razorblade180 · 3 months

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Union

In the midst of going over blueprints for their future home, Jaune’s concentration gets interrupted by flowing petals. He cracks a smile before turning around to see Ruby completely obscured by her cloak.

Jaune:Have you come for my soul?

Ruby:Might as well. Already have your heart.

Jaune:Heh, then I kindly ask for you wait. Your payment will be paid in full down the aisle.

Ruby:How stingy. I’ve already given you both of mine; and a little extra~

Jaune:*red* How was work, you gremlin?

Ruby:Patrol duty was fine. Starting to think crooks know my schedule.

Jaune:Or you threw most in jail.

Ruby:Organized crime calls for chaotic heroism. Anywho, house plans going well?

Jaune:More or less. If all goes well then we’ll be living outside Vacou before our anniversary.

Ruby:Always thinking ahead. Meanwhile I’m struggling with awesome vows.

Jaune:You brought a world together. I’m sure you’ll think of something.

Ruby:Feelings are a little harder than a battle cry or call to arms. Speaking of feelings, I have a little something for you.

Jaune:*looks at cloak* Is that so~

Ruby:*blushes* It’s not what you think! Not this time. This gift is way better!

Jaune:I don’t know Rubes. Last gift that started like this was pretty amazing. *smiles*

Ruby:Just close your eyes and hold your hands out!

The knight chuckles as he does what he’s told. Immediately something weighted and cool to the touch lands in hands. Jaune opens his eyes and stars at a white scabbard. Somehow, this took him by surprise. It had his symbol in the middle and was surrounded by red thorns.

The grip of the hilt was this dark blue with a spiral of fierce red that went up and outlined the golden hand guard that was modeled in the shape of his symbol. He pulled out the gift from the scabbard to reveal cold, shining white steel that had its double edge and tip run red like hilt. If Jaune was being honest, he’s never seen a sword look more like a work of fantasy. Ruby stood right in front of him and put her left hand in the hilt, showing that his symbol had subtle thorn and rose engravings that matched her gold and red on her engagement ring.

The accomplished and proud Huntress then took a step back and started twiddling her thumbs while swaying, finding it hard to meet Jaune’s gaze; so she pulled her hood over her head. At this point it probably matched her face.

Ruby Rose:So uh yeah, that’s a Ruby Rose Original.

Jaune:You made this!?

Ruby:*nods* I’ll be honest. I spent so long shopping for wedding bands with Weiss helping. I’m still definitely getting one! But none of them really… felt like they were saying how I feel. There’s not a moment I want you feel like you’re fighting alone; even when we’re far apart. With this, I’m always by your side ready to help. The scabbard is a shield too but if I’m being honest I’m still a rookie when it comes to that kind of smithing. Consider this my own form of engagement to you.

Jaune:Ruby this is…I don’t even know what to say.

Ruby:*trembly* I uh..it’s fine if you treat this as a ceremonial blade too. After all…there’s history in Crocea Mors and I don’t want to step on that or make you feel like you have to stop wielding it because of m-

Two hands gentle hands pull back her hood and reveal teary, anxious eyes. Honestly, Ruby felt so ridiculous right now. All this effort into a heart felt token of affection and yet anxiety gripped her mind on how he’d take the jester. His thumbs run across her cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

Jaune:Hey, talk to me. What’s with the tears? This is an amazing.

Ruby:I just…Crocea Mors is its own vow. It has been for years and I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty or nervous but I do. Gods, it’s so dumb hehe. Pyrrha would totally give me an earful for being so-

Jaune:Thoughtful? *smiles*

Ruby:..Heh, yeah. Yeah she would.

Jaune:Well, I don’t know if your beautiful brain and smithing skills have noticed, but you’ve really gotten good at knowing my style.

He briefly lets go of her and grabs his sword along with the new gift. Jaune pulls out both and puts them against one another. Yeah the hilt is different but it’s wide enough to work. Without hesitation, Jaune took the scabbard of Crocea Mors and slid it on the new sword easily; right down to the satisfying click in place that took Ruby by surprise.

Jaune:If you really feel guilty, then I can do this! Not gonna lie, I’d feel like shit getting that scabbard dirty in the future. It’s my first Ruby Rose original! Also gives you time to hyper fixate on shield crafting. As for the blade, I know this bad boy will keep me safe and sou-

Once again, petals flowed. Each one danced around him while the rose itself pressed her lips against his with gratitude and overflowing joy that dispelled fears like magic.

Ruby:Jaune Arc, you truly are my fairytale ending. My happily ever after.

Jaune:Hehe, And you said your vows would be hard? C’mere.

He pulled his loving fiancée into a deeper kiss before matching her smile. She was right. This present was the best.

Jaune:Does this engagement sword have a name?

Ruby:The deepest part of my soul wants to call it Bloody Moon but that doesn’t inspire luck as wedding gift.

Jaune:I kinda like what you said a few moments ago.

Ruby:Oh, so Ever After?

Jaune: Tale’s End

Ruby:That’s so- damn I’m marrying the right person. That’s such I good name! When our house is done I think my first order of business is mounting the scabbard with Crocea Mors somewhere nice and proud. Gonna need your height though.

Jaune:Naturally. And who knows. Maybe it’ll protect the both of us in a new way someday?

xxxxxxx

Several years later

Jaune:Alright squirt, ready for your first real sword sparring!?

A foolish question for a young girl waiting to dives out the front door and slide across a sand dune into a wide battle stance, her grin in full bloom with Crocea Mor ready to aid her first step towards greatness.

Carmine:Born ready!

Ruby:Do your best! Show him who’s boss!

Carmine:Ha! With this by my side, I might as well be invincible.

#rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #rwby lancaster #rwbabies #rwby rosebud #carmine arc rose

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melanieph321 · 2 months

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Hi dear how are you? I have a request can you please write a story about Robin Le Normand (smut and fluff) of winning the euros and celebrating with his girlfriend(if possible can you write amelia instead of y/n please)and thank you very much girly🫶🏻🖤

This request was so good, the fic wrote itself. 🙌

Robin Le Normand x Reader - True Champion

Enjoy!

You ran onto the pitch alongside your boyfriend's family. Robin saw you all coming towards him and didn't really know which one of you were going to reach him first. His brother however, had cleared a path through the fallen confetti and did not hesitate to tackle Robin to the ground when he reached him.

"Congratulations bro, champions of Europe!"

It was a beautiful sight, everyone was laughing. While you waited for your turn to hug your boyfriend your attention was drawn to the magnitude that was the Olympic stadium in Germany. Most of the crowd had gone home by now, at least on the English side. But imagine playing football during a full house of spectators. How massive and amazing to be able to come out victorious.

"Pretty cool, eh?"

"Robin!" You squealed, feeling his arms wrap around you from behind. His family were done with him now and instead took turns trying on his gold medal. Meaning he was all yours.

"I'm so proud of you baby, congratulations!" You turned around in his arms, hugging him tight.

"Thanks baby. I hope you enjoyed the show."

"The show?" You chuckled. "Robin, you just made history with Spain, can't you see that?"

It was strange, the way he shied away when you said this.

"Well, I didn't really play until the final whistle but...."

"But what?" You frowned. There were several Spanish players who hadn't step foot on the pitch once during the whole tournament, and still celebrated harder than your boyfriend. Not to mention the Spanish people back home. They were all most likely dancing in front of their TV's right now.

"Why would you say that Robin? What's wrong?" You asked.

"Nothing, nothing." He muttered. "I just didn't play full ninety, that's all."

You got a swift kiss on your cheek before Robin diverged his attention elsewhere, to one of his Spanish teammates, who waved him over for a group pic.

"Hey, Amelia!" Robin's sister called you over, seeing as you were a bit dissoriented, standing by yourself. "Come lift the trophy, it's heavier than you'd think."

You went over to Robin's family who someonehow got their hands on the winning trophy. However, throughout the whole night you couldn't help but to sense some angst coming from your boyfriend. Unlike his teammates and his family, he seemed unhappy for some reason.

"I need a shower." Robin said, once you reached his hotel. You hesitated to look on the clock upon entery, seeing as the sun was already on the verge of rising again. It was that late, or perhaps the right term was early. It was that early.

"Baby?"

"Huh?" You sat on the bed, a bit frozen in time. Robin stood before you stripped of his shirt and a towel wrap around his waist.

"You coming?" He said.

"Coming?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, to shower with me."

"Oh." Slight heat rose to your face. You had assumed that after a day such as this one, Robin would be too tired to do anything, but apparently you thought wrong.

"Or perhaps you're not in the mood?" He mumbled.

"Oh, no that's not it." You stood. "It's just that...."

"Yes?"

"Well...."

"Amelia?" He frowned. "If there's something you want to say to me just say it."

It was unlike him to lash out at you like he did. Something was clearly bothering him.

You took a deep breath. "Robin...baby. I know there's something bothering you about the game tonight."

He put his hand on his hips. "And what would that be? We won."

"Yes, I get that. But when your family and I greeted you on the pitch I could tell right away that something was wrong. You even said so yourself. You're unhappy that you didn't get to play a full ninety minutes. But why?"

Robin sighed. He approached a wall to lean back on, his head knocking against it.

"I'm not Spanish." He said.

"It's alright, you can tell me." You assured. It was something you had come to notice about your boyfriend. How hard he worked to have the world precive him as someone sure of themselves. Hiding the fact that he was not.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I'm not Spanish, but I fought for Spain during this championship."

He was talking about his double citizenship. How he was born in France but through football became a citizen of Spanish. There had been a lot of people giving him a hard time about it ahead of the tournament, and you suspected that every minute Robin played for Spain was a chance to prove himself to the spanish people.

"I got booked in the match against France." Robin said, his voice a bit clogged. "I know my parents would never tell me this, but they would have been so proud to see me out there, playing against our home nation. Where I could've belonged."

"Oh, Robin...." You approached him, taking his face into your hands. "Why haven't you told me any of this before?"

"Because, I wanted to make you and my family proud. But I played like shit today, overthinking the whole game. I'm actually glad that coach swapped me, but I know that the Spanish people back home won't be."

"Robin, baby. Listen to me." You looked him dead in his warm eyes. "I am those Spanish people you speak of and we couldn't be more proud to have you."

"Amelia."

"No, you're one of us and don't you fucking forget it."

He pulled you into a hug. A hug that turned into a kiss. A kiss that turned into a makeout session with slipping hands. Robin's hands, eager to undress you.

"I really need a shower." He chuckled.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Lead the way."

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #robin le normand #spain #real sociedad #robin le normand x reader

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frommybookbook · 4 days

Text

Earlier today, some friends and I were discussing one of those Star Trek captains memes. You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones that pit the captains against each other with pithy descriptions that glorify and champion the men and shit on Janeway. The ones where Picard is describe as the wise teacher and scholarly diplomat; Kirk is the brave trailblazer and lovable rogue; Sisko is the take-no-shit commander and more-than-human uniter; Archer is the quick thinking explorer and the avenging do-gooder; Pike is the empathetic Boy Scout and the quippy everyman…and Janeway is an irrational murderer and erratic loose canon. And, as usual, I went on a bit of a rant. They (looking at you @redsesame, @epersonae, and @emi--rose) told me to share it here so, if you trudge through this whole thing, blame them.

Does Janeway make some questionable decisions throughout VOY (Prodigy!Janeway is a different conversation for another time)? Yes, absolutely. But here’s the thing: every captain does. What I still love about her though and will champion until I'm blue in the face is that Janeway owns her decisions more than I think any other captain does.

Picard and Kirk hide behind the Prime Directive a lot. That's the reasoning Picard gives for not interfering in the drug running in “Symbiosis” and leaving the Ornarans trapped in dependence on the abusive Brekkans. His line, “Beverly, the Prime Directive is not just a set of rules. It is a philosophy, and a very correct one. History has proved again and again that whenever mankind interferes with a less developed civilization, no matter how well-intentioned that interference may be, the results are invariably disastrous." is a cop-out we hear from him time and time again, especially to Dr. Crusher, as she is the one who most often calls him on his bullshit.

Kirk does the same thing. We still this when he leaves Shanna and the other thralls behind in "The Gamesters of Triskelion" and when he forces Elaan of Troyius into a marriage she clearly doesn't want because it's "for a greater good." And all the while, he's got Spock at his side giving him confirmation bias that he's following regulations.

And Sisko, Sisko makes some of the most horrific and destructive decisions of any captain and uses not only the Prime Directive to fall back on, but he's got the Dominion War to blame. He poisons an entire planet to get back at one man he feels betrayed him in "For the Uniform" and don't even get me started on his actions in "In the Pale Moonlight".

Enterprise is so unjustly shat on by the fandom that I almost hate to bring some of Archer's questionable choices into this conversation but I'm going to do it anyway. Similar to Sisko and the Dominion War, Archer has the threat of the Xindi in his back pocket to excuse some of his worst behavior. If Tuvix is the worst thing people can point to for Janeway, then we have to talk about Archer and Sim, the simbiont created solely to be a living tissue donor for an injured Trip, a procedure that will kill the living, breathing, sentient Sim. Archer orders Sim created against the arguments made by Dr. Phlox. He rationalizes his decision with the same argument for the greater good that we see from all the others. He says to T'Pol before Sim is created "…we've got to complete this mission. Earth needs Enterprise. Enterprise needs Trip. It's as simple as that." And it doesn't end there. When Sim is grown enough for the procedure and has figured out what's going to happen to him, he challenges Archer himself, arguing for his own right to live, and Archer sticks to his guns. This exchange directly between Archer and Sim is haunting.

Archer: I must complete this mission; and to do that, I need Trip. Trip! I'll take whatever steps necessary to save him. Sim: Even if it means killing me? Archer: Even if it means killing you. Sim: You're not a murderer. Archer: Don't make me one.

Not only do all of these captains (except Archer, who arguably writes the damn thing himself at the end of the series) have the Prime Directive to fall back on, they also have Starfleet/the Federation/Vulcan High Council right there on speed dial to validate their choices and hear their excuses and give them another commendation. They all know that ultimately, they can turn to someone higher in command to turn to for help.

Janeway is alone. She is alone with her crew 70,000 lightyears from home with only her training and her own moral compass to guide her. Yes, she claims the Prime Directive a lot but she also goes with what she feels is right and she is clear about that with her crew. When she makes the decision to split Tuvix, despite what everyone else says, she sticks to it and more importantly, does the procedure herself. Picard would have forced Beverly to do it, saying Doctor I gave you an order, your conscience be damned, and Archer does the same to Phlox with Sim, but Janeway takes the tool out of the Doctor's hand and says it's my call, I'll do it. When everyone is angry and mad about her destroying the Caretaker's array, she stands up for her decision and says yes, I did it, because it's what my Starfleet training said to do AND because I think it was the right thing and it's on me to make the hard choices.

She also can admit when she made the wrong decision, which isn't something we see from the other captains. In the season 5 opener, "Night", we see her in a depressive state because she's questioning her decision to effectively strand her crew in the Delta quadrant but she comes out of it when she's reminded by her senior staff that the crew believes in her and trusts her, she should do the same for herself. When the Doctor has a mental crisis in "Latent Image" after questioning his own choice to save the life of Harry Kim over that of another crew member, Janeway admits she did the wrong thing by first deleting his memories of it so he could get back to work and then sits with him for days while he works through it because that's what captains do.

And she does all of this without the backup and support of Starfleet. She doesn't have anyone higher on the chain of command. She's 70,000 miles away from the admiralty and her support system. There's no one higher than her to give her a break from making every decision.

To quote my fellow Missourian Harry Truman, for Janeway the buck stops with her in a way it doesn't for any other captain and she is painfully aware of that and owns that and that is why I love her and she's my captain.

#captain janeway #star trek #this got real long #i'm aware #but janeway is my captain #and i will defend her to my death #because so much of the criticism she gets is because she's a woman #we all know this

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bunnycvnts · 6 months

Note

Request for John b: reader finds out she is pregnant and is scared to tell John b because they are still teenagers.

pairing: john b x reader

warnings: teen pregnancy. one mention of throwing up. i think that’s it.

tears filled your eyes and your hands shook, the positive pregnancy test trembling in your tight grip. you couldn’t believe it, you’d done everything imaginable to practice safe sex. from condoms, birth control, and even a few plan b’s. the bathroom felt colder than it had three minutes ago, and goosebumps rose on your smooth skin.

standing in the mirror, you pushed your belly out, trying to imagine what it’d look like when it was swollen—you and john b’s child growing inside you. you loved him, truly, but you guys weren’t ready for a child. hell, you were still children yourselves. both sixteen and living life carefree, only focused on getting the gold, careers and education be damned.

you wiped at your eyes and cheeks, trying to clean them from the spilled tears, and called the only person you could think of. pope.

pope was your best friend, having grown up next door to each other and being in various classes together throughout your educational lives. his family was yours, and vice versa. he even introduced you to john b. the rest was kind of history.

when pope arrived, slightly panicked from your cryptic call, he found you still sitting on the bathroom floor, your back leaning onto the cold tub. his eyes shot around the room, trying to make sense of your watery eyes and distressed breathing. it didn’t take long for him to narrow in on the small test lying on the sink. you watched as he surveyed the situation, and knew when his eyes practically popped out of his skull that he had noticed it.

“pope, what do i do?” your tone was meek, like a small child who was scared to get yelled at.

pope’s mouth opened and shut, searching for the right words.

“you have to tell him.”

this only made you sob harder. you were horrified of telling john b. he was so close to finding the gold, and you didn’t want to ruin that for him. he was more and more hopeful every day, and you just knew that he’d be disappointed in what was now forming inside your womb.

pope sank against the tub, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side.

“hey, it’s gonna be fine, we’ll figure this out. we always do. i mean, a baby isn’t ideal but statistically, it was probably bound to happen. teen pregnancy is far more common than you think.” pope rambling off statistics made you let out a small chuckle, which prompted a smile from the boy.

“i promise, we got this. the first step is telling him.”

you nodded at your best friend, his figure bleary from your watery eyes, but you knew his gaze held nothing but kindness. you talked for the next hour, going over possible scenarios of telling john b, both of you still lying against the uncomfortable bend of the tub.

by the next day, you were ready to tell john b. you’d driven to the chateau, making sure he’d be home beforehand, and that jj or any other pogues were long gone. when you raised your fist to knock on the wooden door, he surprised you by swinging it open before your knuckles made contact.

“are you like … breaking up with me?” a frown sat on your boyfriends lips, hesitation clear in his eyes. a small gasp left your mouth, and you shook your head ‘no’. you pushed past him, dragging him inside the home, and sat on the couch while he sat next to you, a larger distance than normal placed between you.

“i have to tell you something, and you have to promise you won’t freak out or end things or whatever. okay?” your hands shook nervously as you picked at your cuticles, which were now torn apart from the anxiety consuming you the night before.

“i promise. just tell me.” john b was on the edge of his seat, and worry laced his tone. he had no clue what his girlfriend was about to tell him, but her words scared him slightly.

“so, i don’t know what happened, or why it happened. i don’t know, john b. but i started getting sick like a week ago, and im so tired lately. then, i missed my period. and, well, i got worried and took a test and im pregnant.” tears filled your eyes, and you chewed on your lower lip harshly, scared to meet his eyes as he let the information sink in. after lingering silence, you looked up at him and were surprised to find him grinning at the floor. you sat in the quiet for a bit longer before he decided to speak.

“so, i’m gonna be a dad?” you could hear the excitement in his voice, furrowing your eyebrows at him. you nodded lightly, overall confused by his reaction. you’d thought he’d cry, vomit or even throw something, but grinning? that was never on your list.

your thoughts were cut off by john b picking you up and swinging you around, laughing excitedly.

“baby, we’re gonna be parents! little pogues running around ‘n shit! jayj is gonna fuckin’ flip!” his laughter echoed in your eyes and you cried harder, laughing softly as he spun you around. he stopped abruptly and grabbed your cheeks to hold them in both of his large hands, the size of which encompassed the entire sides of your face.

“no, what? what’s wrong, love? why are you crying?” his thumbs reached out to wipe away your fallen tears. your bottom lip trembled when you went to speak.

“i just..i was so scared of how you’d react. i never imagined you’d be happy about it.”

john b’s face softened at your words, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“how could i be anything but excited when finding out the love of my life is literally walking around with a piece of us forming inside her.”

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @mousie101 @cxsmiclore @mirellef2001

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strangeshoepatrolbandit · 2 years

Text

Brotherly Love P.t 2 J.T

Jason Todd x Al-Ghul/Wayne reader(platonic)

Brotherly Love Masterlist <- right here

Gender Neutral

Summary: Time at your father's has broken apart your relationship with your brother, but what about your adopted brother?

Warnings: insecurity, mentions Scarecrow and his toxin, mentions of murder.

~☆~

You were sitting down in the library, reading one of your favorite books, and sipping the tea you had made just a few minutes beforehand. The ache of being alone had finally disappeared weeks ago, you don't even know if Damian has left the Batcave, you wonder if he too missed how things were before you came here.

A sound of footsteps alerted you before the large library doors opened, it was that man that you had seen talking to Alfred, the guy with the familiar eyes. You watched as he closed the door behind himself, his eyes caught your own as he glanced at you with no readable expression. You kept eyeing him as he passed the couch you were sitting on and headed straight for the bookshelves, he reached a hand up before grabbing onto a worn out book.

He turned around and started heading towards the couch opposite of you, you quickly looked away, staring down at your own book as an attempt to look busy.

As he sits down and opens his book you look up again, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar, and notice the book he has is green, and the spine is falling apart, the title has worn away probably from how old the book was.

"Y'know it's rude to stare." The mysterious man across from you commented, snapping you out of your daze making you look back up at his face that was now facing you.

"Who are you?" You questioned, still confused about what looks so familiar about him, the man across from you chuckles, and his face breaks out into a smile confusing you even more.

"Straight to the point huh?" He he chuckled out again, "well I could ask you the same, you came here with that brat didnt you?". You wanted to snap back, defend your brother from this random man that seemingly knew him.

"Yeah...I did" you mumbled out looking back down at your very own book. The change in attitude seemingly left the man a little lost, and not knowing what to do, he shifted a bit and gripped his book a little tighter. His lips pursed and his eyes darted to things around him as he sat in the awkward aura that had taken over the enormous room, his eyes once again looked at you as he thought about what to say to lighten the mood back up.

"My names Jason." He introduced finally answering the question you asked him, his eyes softened and the corners of his lips slightly rose when you looked back at him.

"(Y/N)." You responded, your brain was scouring for anything that could pinpoint why you think you know him, but sadly, no knowledge of 'Jason' had come up.

"Yeah, you're the old man's kid." He stated, somehow knowing you, just like he knew Damian, seriously who was this guy? He must have sensed your confusion because he answered your question immediately.

"Bruce took me in when I was a kid, and I have some history with Talia."......was this guy in your head or something what is going on?

"The library was my favorite place when I first moved in." Jason spoke, talking to himself as he looked back down at the book in his hands.

"Mine too." You mumbled....

~☆~

The two of you sat there until Jason had gotten about halfway through his book, he had then run down to the Batcave and you hadn't seen him since, when you asked Alfred he told you that Jason had come by to talk and to borrow something from Bruce. Later that night after dinner you ran to catch up with Bruce before he got to the Batcave, hoping to get answers to some questions.

"Bruce!" You called out, not really on the term 'father' yet like Damian is. Bruce stopped walking and turned to look at you, waiting for you to catch up to him.

"What is it, Y/N?" He questioned once you finally reached his side, after putting out his arm for you to hold on to he started walking again.

"Is Jason another one of your adoptees?" You questioned, your head turned up to look at Bruce who was looking back down at you with his eyebrows raised.

"Well yes he is, my second....why?" He answered, curious as to why you would bring up Jason.

"Well he came by today." Your statement took the older man by surprise, Bruce hadn't even known Jason had been at the Manor, after their most recent fight that caused Bruce to explode and say some things he didn't mean Jason had cut off his communication with the rest of the family. Surely this visit meant that he's ready to speak again, hope filled Bruce, maybe Jason would forgive him so that he can have his son back again.

~☆~

Before you knew it you and Bruce reached the Batcave, and he looked down at you yet again, eyes holding nothing but love, offering a small smile he hesitantly let go of you. As you turned around to leave, Bruce had stopped you to ask

"Do you know what he came for?". You shifted your body to face the taller man yet again, this time his eyes were holding a look of sadness, begging you to say that he came for his father.

...

"He came to get something from you, then he sat in the library and read with me." You answered, before staring your journey back to the kitchen to help Alfred with dishes.

~☆~

Bruce finally had time away from Wayne enterprises, and Dick was going to be in town for the next week because of a case, seeing an opportunity, Alfred had put together a dinner and invited Tim and Dick. Which lead you to where you are now, sitting next to Dick and Tim, Dick was talking to Damian whilst Tim was talking to Bruce about business at Wayne enterprises.

Conversations were cut short when Alfred had come out with all of the food, everyone had collected what they wanted and started completely new conversations with other people at the table, except for you, you just sat there staring at the food you were eating.

A knock at the door caused everyone to stop their conversations yet again, curiosity got the best of everyone as they turned to look at the entryway of the dining room once two voices were heard.

...

"Master Jason is here." Alfred announced, as he walked into the dining room, and just like he said Jason was there right behind him. The scarred man had taken a seat across from you, where a plate was already sat waiting for him to fill up, you and Damian had gone back to eating, unbothered by the awkward aura surrounding the other men at the table.

Dick was the first to speak, mumbling a "Hey Jason" served with a half smile, The man across from you just glanced up at him and muttered out a "Dick." in acknowledgement, after that the rest of the men around the table started eating again, continuing their conversations from earlier, leaving you to sit there and silently eat your food.

A foot nudging your leg from under the table got your attention, your head shot up to look at Jason who was staring at you with his eyebrows knit together, his face showed a look that silently asked 'are you okay', offering him back a slight nod you went back to eating.

~☆~

Bruce had cleared his throat therefore making everyone at the table look at him, he set down his utensils and brought his hands together to sit under his chin, before looking at you and Damian.

"I spoke to Talia, and we both think it's best if I enroll the two of you into school." He revealed, as if he was just a normal single father, and he looked at each of your faces to catch your expressions.

"We are far to intelligent for schooling with a buch on simpletons." Damian exclaimed, seemingly annoyed that Bruce would even think about putting him in a room of regular kids.

"I know that Damian, but we just think it will do the both of you good." Bruce sighed trying to get Damian on board with the idea.

"But-" Damian started before you interrupted him, "Mother is not coming back anytime soon, is she?" You questioned, school would only mean that you and Damian would be staying here longer than anticipated.

"No Y/N, she's not" the older man muttered out, and went back to his food as an attempt to end the conversation at that.

(Trust me I know Talia talking to Bruce and being like "yeah put our kids in school whilst I hunt Deathstroke" is a little weird but I have a vision.)

~☆~

After dinner Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian had all retreated to the batcave, and Jason had just up and disappeared. Alfred had already came and picked up all of the plates from the table you were still sitting at, your head was hung as you stared at your hands in your lap.

Everyone had willingly left you, they had all got up and left you, that wasn't fair. Why does Damian get all of their attention, why is Damian more liked than you, is it because he has proven himself worthy since he is Robin, is it just because he is more bearable to be around? Talia may have not been the best mother but oh how you wish she was here for you right now, maybe she would understand how you feel, maybe she would spend time with you, even if it was just training. Bruce had been okay at first but as time went on and Damian proved himself worthy Bruce had become distant, spending more time with Damian-

"Hey-."

Your body snapped up and your instincts kicked in as you were pulled out of your thoughts, the hand that was just placed on your shoulder was now behind the back of the body you had bent over the table.

"Jesus, calm down!" The person yelled, as you looked down at the body you identified as Jason, letting go of his hands you backed away from the table, Jason straightened his back as he turned to look at you, slowly he brung both of his hands up to hover around his head in a way to show that he means no harm.

"Calm down will ya." He whispered out, gesturing to your rapid breathing, he slowly brung down one of his hands and reached it out towards you only for you to move away from him yet again.

"I'm fine." You muttered out, looking down at your feet, and trying to steady your breathing. Jason lowered his arms back to his sides and waited for your breathing to regulate before speaking again.

When your breathing finally went back to normal you looked up at Jason who was just staring at you, a smile broke out on his face and you could see that he was trying to hide a laugh. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to guess what he wanted to laugh at, the look you gave him only caused his laughter to finally break out. Once Jason's laughter died down he moved towards you and raised an arm to put around your shoulders.

"Come on." Was all he said as he pushed you out of the dining room.

~☆~

Your enture body was stiff as Jason lead you around the Manor, his arm still residing around your shoulders. The two of you walked down the long hallways, no conversation being made, just admiring the art along the walls. There were various paintings hanging, some sporting random people you've never seen, others looked like younger variations of Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim. You wondered if Bruce would sit you and Damian down to get yourselves painted, Ra's himself had had a couple commissioned of the two of you, but never hung them.

Jason guided you down another hallway, you could feel the warmth from his skin seeping in through your clothes, his arm was heavy, a resuring weight, a reminder that he was still there right beside you. He brought a feeling that you had never felt, maybe it was the fact that you have never been held except by Damian, who's embrace lacked comfort and love, maybe because he himself never experienced that.

You could smell the cologne that he sprayed before visiting, that traditional man smell was on him but the more you focused you could tell that he smelled like Tobacco, Gunpowder, leather, and something earthy, hints of something sweet hit your nose as you continued to breathe, like he had been in a bakery.

~☆~

Jason and You had come to a halt in front of a pair of doors, doors that you're highly familiar with, doors to the library to be in fact. Jason took his arms off of your shoulders to push open one of the doors open, gesturing for you to go first and himself after. Jason walked past you, seemingly heading for the couches in the middle of the room but he soon passed them too, ending up in front of one of the many bookshelves, the very one he stood in front of when the pair of you read in here the other day. Speaking of the other day Jason was now grasping the same exact book that he had the other day, old, green, and missing its title. Jason scoured through the book, seemingly reminiscing, you watched as Jason straightened his back, closing the book and looking directly infront of himself, before looking back at the book one last time. Jason turned around face you, his legs moving towards you, book still in hand, his eyes kept moving from the book and the floor.

"Here, I noticed what you were reading the other day." He stated holding the book out to you with a smile on his face, trying to hint that you would like this book as well.

"What is it?" You questioned, curious as to what the book in fact was, before taking it in your hands and tracing along the cracked spine. One of Jason's arms went to rub the back of his neck, and his eyebrows knit together as if trying to find the answer to your question.

"To be honest, I don't know, book was here way before me." The man infront of you confessed, Jason let out a chuckle before heading towards the door again, opening it and gesturing for you to step out.

"Where are we going?" You questioned him again, first he led you all the way to the library without telling you where you'd be going, now he's trying to get you to go somewhere else.

"The cave." Was all he muttered.

~☆~

Everyone was already in their suits, crowding around the office chair infront of the computer's, you and Jason stood behind all of the boys with curious looks on your faces.

"What is it this time." Jason asked breaking the silence that hung around the room, Damian turned to look at him, if looks could kill, Jason Todd would be a dead man again.

"Homicide." Bruce answered first, never once taking his eyes off the screen. From the looks of it, he was looking at the filed police report.

"Wow, surprise, it's Gotham." You remarked, Jason turned to look at you with a hidden smile on his face, your own face mirroring his after you made eye contact. Damian turned to look at you, offering the same look he gave to jason seconds before. Dick stood up straight and rested his elbow on your head. Quickly, he looked down at you, then Jason, then back to you.

"Not all of the murders in Gotham stem from Scarecrows gas." Dick informed."The infected committed the crime this time." He finished, Jason moved from beside you, heading for the entry from the batcave and back to the Manor, you pulled Dicks arm off of your head and went to follow Jason back up.

Once back up Jason headed straight towards the front door, and fled down the front steps of the Manor.

"Jason, wait!" You called out to him as he hopped onto a motorcycle.

"What?" He asked, putting on a helmet.

"Where are you going?" You questioned him

"work." Was all he said before revving up his motorcycle and speeding off.

...

You stared down at the book in your hands, tracing the faults on the cover with your fingers, honestly in a family of vigilantes you should've known that he's one too.....

~☆~

....

I got so much support on p.t 1 of this and that makes me so happy, I hope you enjoyed this part as well. I don't know when it will be uploaded, but I am going to write another part. <33

(Pt.3 is out now)

Taglist: @sanjanapm @unofficial-jaytodd-wife

@texaschainslvt

@godknows-shetried

@wendds

@celestair

@lorosette

@knoxx-seresinbradshaw

@agent-nobody-knows

@5sos-wdw

#x reader #batman #bruce wayne #batboys #batbros #batfam x batsis #batsiblings #damian al ghul #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fanfic #damian wayne x batsis #batboys x batsis #bat family #tim drake x reader

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daydreamgoddess14 · 1 year

Text

Red Card

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

It's the first time in 135 years that the Premier League has allowed a female referee to official a match... Remaining neutral is absolutely key. Plenty of fluff and smut and flirting 😏

The anticipation was at a whole different level. For the first time in history, a woman would referee a Premier League football game. The FA had played a blinder from a marketing perspective - a local girl from Richmond itself - refereeing a Richmond vs. Man City match - the top two finishing teams of the previous season. Sky Sports, BT Sport, Match of the Day, ESPN… every single football broadcaster or news outlet was on site. It couldn’t get any more high profile. It had been all anyone had talked about for weeks on end. Roy was sick of hearing about it, talking about it, and reading about it.

“New Trent?”

“What do you think about a woma-”

“Reffing the next match? It’s about fucking time. Should have been done years ago. The league might be saying all the right things and making a big deal out of it, but it’s only disguising the fact that they haven’t bothered utilising female referees until now.”

“And what do you think of the referee chosen for the match?”

“Did I offer you a fucking follow up, New Trent? She’s a fantastic ref, and has a great eye. I’ve seen her run some lower league matches and it’s high time she had a role in the Prem.” He looked around for his next victim, “You with the… bald spot?”

“And will you be saying the same thing if she books one of the lads next week or a decision doesn’t go your way?”

“Course I fucking will. I don’t suddenly change my opinion of any of the other refs? We’ve all got jobs to do and roles to play. I don’t think we can ask for anything more than for any of the referees to be fair and equal. I don’t give a shit who we’re on about, that applies to all of them.” He looks around for any other burning questions, “Right, fuck off then you lot. I’m done for the day.” He rose from the desk and left the bustle of the press conference. In the office, Beard and Nate were looking over plans for the next week while the team milled around the gym and treatment rooms.

“Tough presser?” Beard asked.

“No more than fucking usual. All anyone is talking about is the new-”

“Female ref? The news is everywhere. As if the match wasn’t high profile enough as it is.” Nate filled in, a bundle of nervous energy.

“Yeah, well we’ll be fine. Just gotta make sure the boys keep their heads down. The new ref isn’t their problem, they don’t need to even be thinking about that.”

“But they will, because that’s all they’re hearing about. We haven’t had this much press coverage for ages, the match sold out months ago. They may not have to think about her, but the whole situation does impact their whole build up to the game.” Beard declared.

“Right, get ‘em in here.” Roy grimaced. Nate dashed off to assemble the team. “Alright lads?” There were a few murmurs and replies. “I know there’s a lot of noise around this one - some of it is to do with us and the City game, some of it is none of our business. I suggest you steer clear of the news for a few fucking days. There’s no need to watch it at all. No Twatter or whatever you fucking use. Just stay off that shit for the rest of the week, yeah? Any news you need, you hear from us. I want to keep the positivity we’ve got for the new ref, so if you’re asked about it by the paps on the car park, be fucking nice. Otherwise, you don’t watch or listen to all of the fucking fuss about the weekend, alright?”

“Coach.” Isaac nodded in agreement, the other players followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening, the stadium packed to the rafters. You hovered at the side of the pitch with the other officials, warming up until it was time for the meet and greet of the team managers. The two managers were like fucking titans of football royalty. You were about to meet Pep Guardiola for god sake. And if you even think for one second about meeting Roy Kent, you might just pee your pants. Pep is great, wonderful - the boss! But you grew up not twenty minutes down the road, so Roy is firstly, the literal definition of local hero, and secondly, the big crush of your early 20s. You spent many Euro Championships and World Cups in the pub singing his chant and ogling his legs. Fortunately when the Premier League and media ask about your neutrality, they don’t ask whether you’ve experienced sexual fantasies about any of the players or managers. At least you’d only be admitting that about one person and not, like, a whole team. And you would never admit it publicly. The home crowd roars as the Richmond team is announced, you make your way to the space between the two dugouts ready to greet the players. They all shake your hand as they pass you, with a few nods of encouragement and words of support. The same applies to the Man City team, you’re determined not to be starstruck in front of Pep Guardiola so you shake his hand with a big smile and wish his team luck. You turn to Roy Kent and his large hang engulfs yours. You whack on your big smile and offer the same affirmation as you did to Pep. On the pitch, you speak momentarily with the two captains and blow your whistle for go time.

The trouble with Premier League football is just that, it's Premier League. Top flight. The best of the best. Keeping pace with these players was a job in itself, being in the action without impacting it or getting in the way was another, and being the all seeing, all knowing one was… yet another. Your mind (and body) are pulled from goalpost to goalpost, and it's really no surprise that the referee is often blamed for poor decisions. It's impossible to see every single thing that happens on the pitch. You're making good decisions so far, nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly before halftime, one of the Richmond defenders nearly dislocates his shoulder, going in hard on Haaland. It feels cruel to punish him, but it's part of the job, so you have to award Man City the free kick. From the other side of the pitch, you can hear Roy Kent over the sound of 60,000 people screaming the same thing. Haaland scores, of course. You hang back while the teams leave the pitch at halftime, but he's waiting for you in the tunnel.

"The fuck did you give a free kick for?!"

"You shouldn't be collaring me out here, but to answer your question, the tackle was too much."

"Bullshit, it was a fair tackle and McAdoo would have hurt himself more than Haaland."

"Bullshit. Haaland has got about 5 inches and half a stone on McAdoo."

"5 inches is fucking nothing." He smirks.

"Really?” You arch an eyebrow at him, “did you seriously choose today to make a dick joke?" Utter disbelief is written all over your face, you shake your head and leave him cursing himself in the tunnel. Halftime was supposed to be a moment to catch your breath, not waste it on fighting with Roy Kent. You knew better than to get into it with managers. They saw the action from the sidelines and only had so much impact and influence. They took their lack of control out on officials all the time, it was supposed to be your job to stay calm and walk away, not engage. You ignore him on your way back to the pitch, he's just inside the exit of the tunnel and he could be there to apologise but he could very much be there to shout at you some more. The second half is just as eventful, Richmond are pushing hard for at least an equaliser, and Man City are loath to let them get it. When Obisanya has a shot on goal, which goes wide, City are pleading for a goal kick, but it's not. You award the corner, and Rojas sweeps a beautiful pass into Tartt, who sends the ball straight into the corner of the net. City scores again shortly afterwards, and you have to keep your head to make sure no one is deliberately trying to cause injury to anyone else. When Tartt goes down just outside the area, you request VAR footage to aid your decision before calling for a free kick. He scores, but it's an immediate offside and Roy Kent looks like he might explode. When play resumes, Colin Hughes gets a goal straight away. The game ends in a 2-2 draw, but the fans and teams both seem appeased.

~~~~~

By the time the press conferences are over, Roy's had more than enough. He (respectfully) disagreed with your first free kick decision, but praised your other choices and overall declared you "No better or worse than the other pricks." The stadium is starting to clear, and the Man City bus has just left. Richmond players make plans to get food at Ola’s. When Roy sees two of the officials only just leaving, he sends the others ahead and makes his way down to the away team and visitors facilities.

“I hope you’re here to apologise.” She states dryly as he approaches.

“Yeah,” he looks bashful, “the dick joke was a dick move. Sorry.” She looks so serious, he’s not sure the apology is accepted until he spies a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Was pretty funny. In alternative circumstances.”

“Noted. Congratulations anyway, noise from the press has all been good so far.”

“Nice to know my performance will be scrutinised forever while every mediocre male referee gets a pass for another week.”

“I’m sure your performance will only improve.” He inwardly groaned. She was going to laugh in his face. A dick joke and then godawful flirting? It was only what he deserved.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass that direct quote on to The Sun.”

“They’ll have a fucking field day. Richmond manager does shit job at flirting with the only female ref in the league? They’ll probably go and interview the poor woman I called my girlfriend when we were in year 6.”

“Flirting?”

“No,” he scoffed, “no, course not. I didn’t mean that. Just a joke.” You cocked your head at him,

“Should we start again? Hi, you must be Roy Kent, I’m the first female referee in a Premier League game in 31 years. Well, actually it’s more like 135 years but the FA are trying to make themselves look marginally better.”

“Nice to meet you. Great job on the match, I respectfully, completely, disagree with that fucking free kick in the first half but other than that… no complaints.” He steps closer, you’re showered and changed but he can still smell the fresh grass mingling with the citrus and spice of the products you use. The combination is incredible - like summer and sunshine.

“I wouldn’t give a shit if you did have any complaints. Looking after your feelings isn’t in my job description.” You take in his height, broad shoulders and dark eyes and the long dormant crush rises to the surface immediately. You hadn’t taken much notice since you stopped having posters on your walls all those years ago, you’d only caught a few of his appearances as a pundit. He’s gorgeous, despite his surly appearance there’s an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Like he’s having fun with whatever this tension is that bubbles between you. And when he does smile at your commitment to fairness, it takes your breath away.

“Good to know the FA can rely on you staying neutral then.” He says quietly. Anticipation crackles in the air and fizzes in your stomach. You match his playfulness in your response, and step into his personal space,

“I don’t think there’s anything here that could sway me to any team in particular.” You smile, “not yet, anyway.” He waits until you’ve definitely left the room before he lets go of the breath he’s been holding.

~~~~~

You’re dragged out by your friends to celebrate that night, even though your legs ache like you’ve done a 10km run. It wasn’t so much the running, you specifically trained for that, it’s the constant change in direction and the intensity of having your attention focused on so many things at once. If the FA thought they could throw you under a bus by giving you such a high profile game, you’re pleased you proved them wrong. The bar is crowded and noisy and you’ve already spotted a couple of the Richmond players - it was bound to happen in a relatively small town if they couldn’t be bothered to go right into the city. You’re at the bar ordering when you feel a hand on your hip and someone standing very closely behind you, a hand raises above you holding a credit card, and gestures to the barman. You’re about to lose your shit when you hear his voice rumble behind you,

“I’ve got these, mate.” He steps to your side when the person next to you moves, but his hand lingers, “I hope buying you a drink doesn’t make you question your bias?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid you’d have to work much harder than that.” He looks even better than he did a few hours ago, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Your drink is put on the bar next to you and you lick your lips before taking a sip. Neither of you has broken eye contact. You hear your name from a few feet away at the edge of the dance floor.

“Excuse me,” you raise your glass to him, “thank you for the drink.”

“Bruv, is that the ref from today?” Isaac steps up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah that’s her.”

“She’s fit. You gonna ask her out?”

“Dunno Isaac, bit fucking old for that shit now.”

“Nah man, I just seen the way she looked at you-” he shakes Roy’s shoulder, “ooooh! Get it boy!” Roy rolls his eyes and smirks, watching you get dragged to the dance floor. He knows he must be old because he’s only been standing pitchside for the match and wouldn’t be caught dancing. You’ve run your legs off and then still managed to get them into that sequined mini skirt and up dancing. You can feel his eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, if you turn around you know you won’t be able to stop staring. At least with your back to him, you can ignore him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place. With all the running and training you do, you’re conscious of your strong thighs and hips but sometimes, just sometimes, they make you feel powerful. Eventually, you have to duck out of the dancing - mimicking a timeout to your friends. Roy is exactly where you left him at the bar and the alcohol makes you bold. You squeeze back in next to him and take a sip of his drink, yours is long finished.

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods and finishes most of his drink, offering the last of it to you. Outside, word has gotten out that half a football team is at the bar and everyone is out for a glimpse of Jamie Tartt. You push past the photographers with Roy’s hand at the small of your back and into a nearby taxi.

~~~~~

“Please tell me there aren’t any fucking rules about this,” Roy mumbles somewhere in the valley between your breasts.

“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t really care right now.” You gasp, breathless as he leaves a mark on your soft skin.

“No? No danger of a red card?” You laugh and it’s musical and magical and neither of you have had this much fun in ages.

“No red cards for Roy Kent. Probably makes a fucking change.”

“Oi, cheeky. I never got that many.” He’s moved down again, unzipped your skirt and thrown it behind him somewhere.

“Fucking liar. They literally use you as an example of trouble players. Oh, fuck-” he bites your thigh.

“A good example or bad example?” His tongue sweeps over your clit and you nearly rocket off the bed until he hooks his arms over your thighs and pulls you back down to him.

“Oh god, bad example,” You feel him hum against you as he works you to your peak,

“Shame, I’m a changed man.”

“Uhuh, ok,” you whisper, unable to think or speak any more coherently.

“How's your neutrality holding up?” Your hands tangle in his hair,

“Fuckkk, sooo good.”

“I’ll have to fucking try harder then,” he chuckles. You’re about to beg for mercy when he pushes two fingers into you and curls them to just the right angle that has you seeing stars. When he comes back up to kiss you, you rock your hips against his and he helps roll you both over, sitting up so he can still kiss you. His kisses are rough and needy, making you grind down against him. When you nip his neck, he pulls gently at your loose hair, whimpering and god, you’d do anything, anything to have him make that sound again. It only makes you rock harder against him, desperate to feel him inside you. When he finally pushes into you, your body clenches. You rise and fall onto him over and over, grateful for those powerful thighs he can’t keep his hands off. When he brings a hand between you both and circles your clit, you drop your head into the crook of his neck and bite down to stifle your moan. You feel his hips stutter under you as you both come, making you drop your own rhythm. You collapse in a tangle of limbs and sheets against him.

“If you ask me again if you’ve swayed me yet, I’ll bite you.”

“You’ve already fucking done that,” he laughs. “Still need to try harder?”

“Hmm, there’s no harm in trying again. You might win me over.”

“And over and over?” He kisses you again, so slowly it’s intoxicating.

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of his phone ringing. He tears himself away from where he’s curled behind you, the length of his legs against yours, his chest against your back and his arms around you.

“Yeah,” his voice is low and rough with sleep and it’s enough to have you roll over and press your body back into his. You can’t hear the other person, but he hangs up quickly and opens a link they’ve sent. It’s a picture on Twitter of the two of you leaving the bar together with his hand on your lower back with the headline “RED CARD FOR KENT?”

“Told you you were fucking trouble.” You laugh.

FIN

#roy kent #roy kent fluff #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent smut #roy kent imagine

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cherienymphe · 1 year

Text

When The Party’s Over XXV (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, breastfeeding kink, toxic relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

This is it! My longest Rafe series is complete and I had a lot of fun writing this for you all. Enjoy!

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @silkholland

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

You were rocking him to sleep, soft hums leaving your lips as you did so. He still seemed so small in your hands, something that was hard to believe. It was a nice day out, and you’d taken advantage of the sun and light breeze, opting to sit outside for a while. It was good for him, for both of you really. Rose’s paranoia about the one-year-old getting sick had more influence than either of you wanted to admit.

You looked down at him in your arms, hair simple and pulled back out of your face. Your lashes fluttered as you gazed down at him, a look on your face like he was your favorite thing in the whole world. It was a sight, like you two were the only ones in the whole house…the whole island to be exact. The dress that Rose had bought you clung to you, some baby weight lingering, the top of it straining across breasts that were much fuller than they used to be.

Rafe had done that.

The glow in your face, the extra softness in your frame, and the mewling baby in your arms was all because of him. He knew that if you’d had it your way, your son wouldn’t be here, at all, anger bubbling up in his chest at the memory of what became of his first child. He tried not to linger on that or think about it at all if he could help it because it would send him into a blind rage all over again. He was trying to be better. He was trying.

He'd told you that, and he meant it.

…but you had a way of getting underneath his skin.

You always had.

From the first moment he came across you on the side of the road like some hapless prey ripe for the picking, the sight of you had stirred something in his chest. You’d looked so unsure, so nervous, and what had started out as a ploy to get a pretty girl into bed had turned into something more the second he realized who you were.

To say that he and Pope had an ugly history would be an understatement. They’d left their mark on each other more than a few times, and staring into the face of the Pogue’s sister, having you completely at his mercy, had him smiling in a way that was less than friendly. He’d wanted you then because it would be fun and would eat at Pope better than any punch could.

…but then…

He’d wanted you because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

You were sweet—too sweet—and kind—too kind—and where Rafe would normally have the desire to squash someone like you, all he’d wanted was to have you all to himself. You were just too trusting, letting Rafe touch you and talk to you in ways that he could tell you’d written off as nothing. You were too naïve…and too caring.

He hadn’t lied when he found himself at your window all those months ago, knuckles bruised from the force behind his punch. The concern in your eyes was almost enough to make Rafe feel bad, a genuine fear for him in there that he’d never seen in anyone’s eyes before. It had almost been enough to make him turn around, or at the very least, just leave you alone after that night.

However…

The thought of you looking at anyone else like that had made his chest tighten. Rafe didn’t want to imagine you letting anyone else climb through your window. He hadn’t wanted to think about you sitting on your bed like some rapt student, listening to some other asshole go on about whatever dull family problems weighed him down. He didn’t want to think of some other guy being on the receiving end of that soft voice and those expressive eyes and gentle hands.

No one had ever apologized for the relationship between him and his father before. The most Kelce or Topper had offered up was a halfhearted ‘that sucks’, and Rafe got it. They dealt with the same thing from uptight parents who expected too much, so what else could they really say? Sarah had only ever given him smug looks accompanied by some variation of ‘I told you so’, but you?

You’d been genuinely sorry. You’d looked at Rafe like being at odds with Ward was the worst thing you could imagine. You’d been so bothered by the thought of the older man making Rafe so angry to the point where he needed to take it out on a wall, hurting himself. You’d listened to him, comforted him and actually tried to make him feel better.

…and that was the moment that Rafe decided he had to have you.

You were just too good to be true, too good to pass up, and he hadn’t cared how he achieved it, only that he knew he was going to have you…for good. The slight guilt that he’d felt at taking advantage of your drunken state was quickly swallowed down by the feel of you underneath him, so tight and so warm. It was almost like he just didn’t deserve something as sweet as you, but if that were the case, you would’ve never been in his arms to begin with.

“Where are you going?”

The sight of you coming back inside pulled him from his reverie, and Rafe evenly gazed at you as you came up short at the sound of his voice. He hated the apprehension that seemed to live in your eyes now, knowing that he’d done that, but what was the alternative? Let you get comfortable enough to try and leave him again? Let you get bold enough to actually fight him off? Rafe was happy with your fear of him if it meant staying by his side.

“He’s been asleep for a while, now. So, I’m just going to put him down,” you told him, a look in your eyes like you wanted to mockingly ask him if that was okay.

He felt his lips quirk up into a small smirk, and he waved you off.

His eyes followed your every move as you breezed past him, gaze lingering on the way your dress hugged you as you climbed the stairs. There was a time where Rafe didn’t have to corner you and hold you down to have sex with him. There was a time when you initiated it just as much, happy to roll around in his bed and sneak around behind Pope’s back, and even though you were at a place where you could barely stand the sight of him, Rafe knew you’d get back to that once again.

It was only a matter of time.

You’d be raising a kid together for the next eighteen years. Not to mention however many more Rafe planned on having with you. Your only other option was to be completely miserable, and you were a lot of things, but stubborn wasn’t really one of them. It was solely your fear that drove you to keep your relationship with him a secret for so long. Not stubbornness.

He wouldn’t lie.

Rafe did feel a little bad about how it all came out, but in the end, it didn’t matter how everyone found out really. All that mattered was that the whole island knew you were his. This whole island would look at you and that baby in your arms and know that you both belonged to Rafe Cameron. He wouldn’t have to deal with assholes—both rich and low-class alike—hitting on you, and he wouldn’t have to keep arguing with you about it.

That was one aspect of your former relationship that he didn’t miss.

The secrecy was fun at first, so much so that Rafe could ignore how much it bothered him to keep you a secret and be a secret. Rafe was nobody’s secret, but it got old fast, and it was solely because of the horny fuckers that couldn’t put their tongues back in their mouth to hear you turn them down. He hated having to watch them run their eyes over you, tracing every inch if you with no effort to hide what they were thinking.

It was enough to drive him crazy, and he had let it.

What drove him crazier was your inability to see it. You’d treated him like he was silly, and all he’d wanted was to not have to sit back and swallow it down as countless guys approached you with every intention of doing to you what Rafe did every night. That was the only thing that kept him from losing it completely.

Knowing that when the party was over, it was his bed you were climbing into and his cock you were wrapping your lips around.

Not theirs.

Looking back, that was really all that mattered, and maybe he should’ve done a better job of remembering that. Hell, he’d even allowed his mind to run wild with the possibilities of you and Topper. It couldn’t be helped. Despite Topper’s own history with Bunny, Rafe saw the way the other blond looked at you sometimes, and even without Rafe in the picture, you weren’t the type to cavort with your friend’s sloppy seconds. That still didn’t stop Top from imagining what it’d be like though, and his fear as Rafe had confronted him only confirmed what Rafe knew he’d been thinking.

He recalled the way his best friend had seemed to trip over himself, stuttering to deny what they both knew was true. After all, if Rafe was threatening him over some girl, then it was serious and he’d been close to crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. Rafe knew you would never, but you’d been angry with him that night, and when he came back to the party to find you gone, only to track your phone, his mind had jumped to the worst.

You weren’t the vengeful type, that was more Rafe’s style, but he hadn’t been able to stop his imagination from getting the better of him.

He’d fucked up.

Bad.

He knew that that same night when it was just the two of you on the water, and you’d been trembling underneath him. He’d been determined to right his wrong, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. You had to see how messed up he was. You had to see how stupid he’d been to let his paranoia get to him. He hadn’t meant it, and he thought that he’d made you see that.

He thought you understood how sorry he was for that mistake he’d never be able to undo.

He hadn’t anticipated you leaving him. Not really, anyway. After all, Rafe loved you, and he was shit at showing it properly yeah, but did that really matter? He knew he loved you, and he thought you knew too. If he didn’t, would he really have gone through so much trouble just to keep you? To protect you from assholes that’d had the same intentions he’d had?

Rafe had gone above and beyond to keep you at his side, and as he leaned against the doorway, staring at you as you peered down into your son’s crib, none the wiser to his gaze, he wondered if you really knew just how much you meant to him even if he sucked at showing it.

“If you’re going then I’m going.”

Rafe heard you huff, a tired sound that clued him in to the fact that he was going to get what he wanted either way.

“Rafe…”

He didn’t respond, lightly bouncing his son and smiling back at the cherubic infant as he tried to grab at his face.

“Pope’s home for the weekend, and I just want to spend some time with my family. I want them to play with him and bond with him-.”

“…and you can’t do that with me there?”

“I don’t want you there!”

The rise in your voice gave the infant pause, and Rafe cooed at him before his face had time to scrunch up in preparation of a wail.

“I just want it to be us,” you continued.

“Not happening,” he replied with no room for argument.

There was a brief pause, one thick and filled with tension. He could feel your eyes on him, and Rafe was unbothered, only lazily looking towards you after some time. You were sitting on the bed, as beautiful as ever, face pinched into a frown. He took great care to ignore the tears in your eyes.

“You have to know that I’m not going anywhere by now,” you told him, voice cracking. “I can’t just want a few days away from you?”

“That’s not very healthy,” he sarcastically told you, slowly walking around the room. “We have a family, now, beautiful.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled.

The insult merely rolled over Rafe’s back.

“You can go wherever you want, you know that, but you’ve lost it if you think I’m not going with you,” he said, sitting next to you.

You both watched as your son reached for you, and Rafe happily handed him over. He couldn’t swallow down his smile as the infant made himself comfortable in your arms, a happy sound leaving his tiny lips at the sight of you. Rafe loved how much he loved you, and he loved how much you loved him in return. The sight made him happy, and you only gave him a scathing look when he reached out to gently touch your face.

“You tried to run from me before…and you tried to take him with you…”

His voice was soft as he reminded you of this.

“I’ll never put it past you to do that again.”

He watched you lick your lips, tongue darting between them as your eyes flashed, memories of that night going through your mind.

“You didn’t really give me much choice, Rafe,” you whispered. “How could I not want to be away from you?”

Rafe looked away at that, hating how much that affected him. He knew it was his own fault, he recognized that, but how could he right his wrongs when you didn’t give him the chance?

“I…messed up,” he said, catching himself after a glance at his son. “I know that…okay? But I love you and-.”

“You can’t really believe that, Rafe,” you whispered, not looking at him. “You don’t treat someone the way you’ve treated me if you love them.”

“I’m shit at showing it, alright?” he spat. “You don’t…you don’t need to tell me that. I know.”

He looked towards the empty crib, swallowing.

“You don’t…”

He trailed off, letting his words die in the air. How could he explain it to you? How could he make you understand that he was so terrified of losing you that it made him go overboard to make sure he didn’t?

“I just can’t lose you,” he finally murmured. “…and…it just makes me so desperate to do anything to make sure I don’t.”

Your scoff had him looking at you.

“Do you hear how messed up that is, Rafe?”

You blinked at him, looking at him like he was crazy, and of everything that happened, he hated that the most. Unlike everyone else, you’d never look at him like he was crazy or horrible or the problem.

“I should be able to leave if I want to,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be trapped into a relationship, threatened into staying with you. That’s not right-.”

“I know it’s not right,” he spat, breathing through his nose as he looked between your eyes. “I know that. I know that it’s wrong and doesn’t make sense and every other bad thing in the book. I know that, okay?”

He pushed himself off of the bed, taking a deep breath.

“…but I’d rather that than not have you, at all.”

When he looked at you, he couldn’t place the look in your eyes, but you were staring up at him with parted lips. His son squirmed in your arms, and it was almost like you didn’t notice.

“I’d rather you be dead than not with me.”

You flinched, and he watched the way a lone tear escaped, skipping down your cheek. You shakily exhaled, looking away from him with a shake of your head. As Rafe said it, he realized that it was the truth. He’d set out to have you, he got you, and he wasn’t going to settle for losing you. It didn’t make sense for both of you to exist and not be together. It didn’t make sense for you to be alive and well and not with him.

Let alone with someone else.

He watched you look down at the infant in your arms, his son much quieter now.

“You terrify me, Rafe,” you finally said.

When your eyes met his again, he could see how true that was, and his own gaze found the floor.

“You’re not who I thought you were, and you terrify me,” you went on. “…and even if I was some dumb broad who wanted to just pretend like nothing happened and forgive you for everything you’ve done to me, you terrify me.”

When his eyes met yours again, you were glaring at him.

“You’ve hurt me more than anyone ever has. You hurt me in ways I never thought I would be, and I can’t be around you without wondering when you’re going to hit me again or hold my head under water or-.”

“I told you that I’m trying!”

Your words were getting to him, making his chest tighten and his jaw clench. His son squirmed and made a small noise of protest, and you held him closer. Rafe forced himself to take a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as you just…stared at him.

“I’m trying my best.”

“Well, your best sucks,” you whispered, swallowing. “They’ve put men in jail for less.”

Rafe didn’t really have anything to say to that other than an apology.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’ve said that before, Rafe. Some things you just can’t fix with an apology.”

You told him that in a tone filled with finality, and even though it wasn’t the first time you’d said it, it was still something he didn’t want to hear. Rafe knew that he’d wear you down eventually, even if it took years, but as long as you’d wake up next to him with a smile on your face, it didn’t matter how long it took.

Your nails pressed into his shoulder, and Rafe hissed. The sting added to the heat that was already coursing through him, and he tightened his free hand around your wrist. The other was digging into your thigh, his mouth buried between your legs, tongue laving at your folds. Rafe was sure that he’d never get enough of you.

Truth be told, Rafe never liked going down on any girl much. He much preferred them going down on him, but his ego was too big to resist a chance at hearing some faceless bimbo moaning his name and clinging to him like her life depended on it. It was always a means to an end.

…but with you…Rafe loved the taste of you.

He loved swiping his tongue over you, sliding it between your folds, thrusting it into you as best as he could. He loved the way your breath would catch, and the way your thighs would press into his head, almost suffocating him. He liked to look up and see your parted lips, eyes wide and on the ceiling or half-closed and lashes fluttering.

Rafe had once thought that he could stay between your legs forever if it was possible.

He pressed his hand into your stomach when you came on his mouth, letting your leg go and reveling in the feel of your thighs tightening around his head. You were twisting your arm, trying to get him to let go, but Rafe was having none of that. You were still fighting to catch your breath when he kissed his way up your body.

Your bundle of joy was sleeping in Ward and Rose’s room tonight, something Rose was happy to agree to when Rafe had brought it up. You seemed to be just on the precipice of sleep when he’d made his way into the bed, his lips on yours before you had an understanding of what was happening.

Despite your verbal protests, and the hands pushing against him, your body greedily clung to his when he pushed himself into you. You were so wet, a simple and smooth intrusion, and Rafe groaned at the feel. He heard your sharp intake of breath and felt your nails press into his skin. His forehead lightly rested against yours as he just held himself there, basking in the feel of you wrapped tightly around his cock.

It was a feel he’d never get tired of.

He pressed his forearm into the pillow beside your head, leaning over you as he pulled his hips back. The action made you gasp again, and your chest arched up into his when he pushed into you to the hilt. His thrusts were slow at first, taking his time, and Rafe pressed his lips to your neck.

Rafe did love you.

At least, he thought he did.

He knew that the thought of never being with you drove him crazy, drove him to terrifying lengths. He knew that you were the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing before he went to bed. When he wasn’t with you, all he wondered was what you were doing. Your smile alone was enough to calm him down from any violent high, and sometimes when he thought about how badly he hurt you, it hurt him.

He would think about the frown on your face when he held you too tight or the fear in your eyes that day on the yacht. He remembered the way you shrunk in on yourself in his truck that night, clutching your cheek and wanting to be as far away from him as possible. It hurt Rafe to think about those things, some of them necessary, some of them not.

Sometimes you just made him so angry that he lost control, and while he never cared in the moment, the aftermath always had him feeling bad. He always wanted to hold you and tell you how sorry he was. Always wanted to kiss it better and beg for your forgiveness. Rafe had never wanted to lose control with you, and he’d failed at that so many times.

Your sharp moan brought him back to the present, and he curved his hips into yours, plunging into you without abandon. Your nails were drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the feel, the pain, and his teeth grazed along your shoulder before his lips traveled to meet yours. You jerked your head away, but Rafe followed, covering your lips with his own.

He deeply inhaled, breathing you in and tasting the inside of your mouth. Every thrust had you shuddering beneath him, and Rafe felt like he wasn’t going to last for much longer. Against what you probably wanted, you clung to him, wrapping your arms around him and lifting your hips to meet his every thrust. Under the cover of darkness, you seemed to lose yourself, and it reminded Rafe of the early days in your relationship.

He missed waking up to the feel of your lips wrapped around him or your hand sliding along his bare skin in the middle of the night. No matter how much you might’ve wanted to erase it all, your body would never forget, and it was so evident in the way Rafe played you like an instrument, knowing exactly what to pull and what to stroke to make the sound he loved.

“I miss you,” he whispered into your mouth. “I miss you so much.”

You didn’t respond, pausing for half a second, and Rafe kissed you again.

“God, I miss you.”

Being with you was the only time Rafe felt…heard. Seen. You had never dismissed his problems because of however much money he had. You had never just placated him. You’d always genuinely felt bad for him and had always been open to listening to him and trying to make him feel better—whether that be with your words or your body.

In truth, you’d been way more understanding than he deserved at times.

…and that was how he knew you’d come around one day.

You had to.

There was no other choice.

When you came around him, he held you down, still pushing into you and fucking you through it. Your head was thrown back, and one leg was hooked along his waist, and Rafe didn’t want to look away. You were fighting to right your breathing, and Rafe took the time to kiss along your chest. His son was the greatest thing you’d given him, and despite your silence on the matter, Rafe could tell that you weren’t all that comfortable with the changes in your frame.

Rafe had never been happier, to be honest.

The fullness of your breasts were addicting to look at, even more addicting to feel, and knowing that it was to nurture his pride and joy turned him on so much. His teeth grazed over the rounded flesh, and his palm pressed over one, massaging it and squeezing it, and Rafe didn’t miss the mewl you let out. Nursing him before bed was something you hadn’t done today, and he both felt and heard your sigh of relief when he wrapped his lips around a hardened bud.

The pressure from his hand and mouth eased the pressure in your chest, making a mess on your skin and eventually the sheets. Rafe wondered what it felt like, that relief combined with the feel of him inside of you. When it was Rafe’s turn to come, he did so inside of you, jerking against you and rutting into you until he was spent.

You yourself were completely spent when he pulled away from you, resting on his back beside you. The only sound in the room was that of your combined breathing, and this was the part where you beat yourself up and allowed guilt to force you into more isolation. Rafe refused to let you, reaching over and pulling you closer. You didn’t react, and he’d take that over a fight any day.

“I love you,” he whispered after a while.

When you didn’t respond, Rafe continued.

“I know you don’t believe that, but I do. I-.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” you tearfully mumbled. “That’s not the same.”

Rafe swallowed, frowning.

“You want to possess me. You only care that I’m with you, never mind if I’m happy or not-.”

“You were happy with me before-.”

“…and that was before!”

You pulled away from Rafe, sitting up and wrapping the covers around you.

“That was before I knew what you were really like and before you tried to drown me and before…”

You trailed off, hurrying to your feet and quickly looking for something to put on. Rafe watched you with a frown, huffing to himself.

“Where are you going?”

“To be with my son,” you spat out.

You were moving out of the room before Rafe had time to respond, and he only stared after you.

Rafe knew that getting to where he wanted with you wasn’t going to happen overnight. Hell, it might not even happen in two years, but Rafe was patient when he knew what he wanted. He was patient the morning after you had sex with him, calm as he told you he wanted more from you, knowing the kind of girl you were and the pressure you’d feel to be in a relationship with him.

He’d been patient before that, content to orbit himself around you until he was a regular part of your routine. Patient until he’d made the decision that he wanted you all to himself. He was patient when he’d tampered with your birth control, knowing it was only a matter of time before your worry drove you to seek out a pregnancy test.

He had not anticipated the abortion.

That had shocked him, and it was only then did it click for him just how badly you wanted to cut ties with him.

Rafe had been patient that day he and Ward pulled into your yard, relaxing in your living room as his father talked to your parents and he waited for you to arrive. Rafe was impulsive, this was true, but he was patient when he needed to be. He’d been patient in tracking you down, following your every move until he had you right where he wanted you, alone on the side of the road and at his mercy.

…and Rafe could be patient with this too.

He fingered a familiar box in his hand, taking it from its place in the nightstand. The ring was ostentatious and shiny and perfect—fit for a Cameron woman. Fit for the wife of Rafe Cameron. He was unsurprised to find you in the other guest room, leaning against the headboard with his son in your arms as you nodded off.

It was a sight that warmed Rafe’s heart with pride, and he gently sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake either of you. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, a contrast to how you looked whenever you were looking at him these days. You were beautiful and the kindest person he ever knew, and you’d given him a healthy baby boy.

How on earth was he expected to just let you go?

He grabbed your free hand, your left one, brushing his own fingers over your own. You hated him, now, but you wouldn’t forever. You were afraid of him, now, but you wouldn’t be forever. Rafe was confident that a day would come where he’d hear the sound of your laughter mixed in with his son’s, and when you’d look up at him, it wouldn’t disappear.

He knew you’d probably scream at him in the morning and probably hurl it at him, but that didn’t stop Rafe from slipping the heavy ring onto your finger. It looked like it belonged, and Rafe brushed his finger over the solitaire. It wouldn’t be tomorrow, and it probably wouldn’t even be next year, but a day would come where you wouldn’t take this ring off, and while that day couldn’t come fast enough…

Rafe loved you just enough to wait.

Fin.

#rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction

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bluexiao · 2 years

Text

#kunikuzushi, how do you love?

—rewritten relationship headcanons (from “scaramouche, how do you love?” )

THEMES. (pre)relationship, fluff, domestic, character analysis, love languages, use of his real name

NOTES. okay, just a little bit of storytime on how i was so tempted to write this (albeit again) is that recently my mom got fractured and as i am an only child and away from home since i’m going to uni and in a dorm, it’s my dad who’s taking care of my mom. and oh my god. both scara and my dad are capricorns and their bdays are even next to each other,,, and i just cant help but like compare their love languages a bit (it may sound weird but trust me this will be good)

WANDERER / KUNIKUZUSHI

He knows love—knows its meaning, knows what it does, and knows what its consequences are. Love is but a rose with thorns, pricking whoever chooses to admire its beauty and immerse them in its pleasure. Love is a danger, and far too humanly him.

It will not be long until he recognizes this disgusting feeling since he met you.

But as he was his own person, he chose not to identify it—to call it by its name. Out of fear? No. Out of instincts.

He who didn’t have a heart suddenly felt love? Preposterous. Absurd. He wasn’t human, nor will he stoop so low to pretend to be one.

Yet he underestimated you far too much—your… charm… so to speak, along with the unpredictability of your actions. How you show up and how your lips curl up in a gentle smile and how his name slips out of them ever so… gentle. Everything about you is gentle, and kind, and so… so-

“Good morning, Kunikuzushi”

His jaw tightens and he dreaded for the sudden presence almost immediately as it had appeared.

“It’s you.” It’s always been you—the only one that actually makes him want to run away from. But he won’t, no. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure to know, not ever.

“It’s me,” you smiled, “hey, I haven’t seen you for a while. You even changed your outfit! Blue looks good on you.”

He scoffs, almost out of instinct. It is true that it has been a while since he last saw you and yet, it felt like it was just yesterday. And with that thought, he couldn’t bear to look directly in your eyes that with a hand on his hat, he looks away.

“There’s no need for pleasantries,”—like usual, he replies, and he adds on, “but it’s not much of a surprise to see you again, Y/n.”

Which actually translates to “it’s nice to see you again”.

The only time he will actually “confess” with such feelings in mind to you is never—not outrightly or with words, but rather by his actions.

The indication you may want to look out for is when he himself attentively seeks you out, if you see him often, and if he actually stays with you for a long time, almost the whole day—actually, even if he spares you just a bit of it would be a good indicator.

When he places an arm over your form whenever there’s an incoming enemy, muttering a “Move back” and makes sure you would actually listen before he proceeds to atack and defeat anyone on his way—both of yours.

When he offers his hand every time there’s a steep slope that you had to pass by, scoffing at your surprised look and says “Couldn’t have you fall down and whine all the way back. Now, come on, lend me your hand before I change my mind.”

When he waits for you until you finish your work—you’d almost think he wouldn’t since it took you a while, only to find that he’s still there, arms crossed over his chest as he’s leaning on a wall on a far corner, yet it’s still enough to have you visible from his view. “What? Why are you looking at me with that face? I’m not tired, is that what you’re thinking? I don’t tire easily, human.”

And whenever you’re sick or you’re injured, he will be more silent than he ever was, by your side with pursed lips, nursing you back to health. Even without him actually saying it, you will know how affected he was just by seeing your state. If he told you of his history, you’d know right away that seeing your fragility, vulnerability, your mortality… it can trigger memories that were not really the nicest to him.

“What happened?”

For a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes, struggling to find the right words even if you knew you could explain the situation very well only to falter right in front of him. With this side of him.

“Kuni, I… I just-“

‘How can you be so careless?” His voice was weaker, much more gentle despite its usual tone still laced with it. Yet the Wanderer finds himself unable to change his disposition, not with you like this.

“Humans…” he mutters under his own breath, and you are unable to speak any more.

But despite everything, he only knows love, he spent most of his lifetime seeing it as a nuisance, a danger. He did not want to love, did not want the desire to flow in his mechanical and heartless body.

And yet, it seems that even a puppet without a heart like him can. Love—whatever it is.

“I love you,” it was you who confessed, “Kunikuzushi.”

Despite already knowing it deep down, the crease on his brow was visible despite how he tried to look calm, but as you didn’t see such a tiny detail with your head bowed down, you continued on.

“It’s getting… I mean, I don’t know if you really like me the same way, or you’re just too bored on your own or just treat me as a friend, but… but I don’t think I can go on without being honest to you.”

Only when you looked directly at him did he feel it—a pang in his empty mechanical chest and a pressure on his shoulders.

“I don’t like you as just a friend, Kuni.”

A minute or two passes—that’s what you felt like anyway as you melt under his gaze, awaiting for his answer or just… anything!

“Ugh… why…”

Then his facade fades, all by a bite on the lip as he looks away for a moment with a hand on his hat. And even if he tried to retract his face away from your view, you could still see enough to notice the pinkish red hue on the skin of his face, all the more so with his exposed ear.

And as if the pressure in the air gives up to gravity, that same weight on your own shoulders eases up, eyes widening at the sight in front of you.

Then he peeks from his hat and glares at you, “Why… why are you doing this to me, Y/n?”

The transition to dating wouldn’t even make much of a big difference, actually. That was what he realized when you two were already “dating” so it seems. Frankly, he was confused by it, only to come up with the conclusion that it is better this way anyway. You and him… are just you and him, there was no need for extravagance and grand changes.

But really, it was because you two were already comfortable with each other. And the only thing that changed was…

You blink your eyes open and you welcome the sight of him right in front of you, his soft laughter enveloping your ears as he grins at you. You didn’t know what amuses him so much that he can smile like that, but…

“What? What is it, Kuni? Did I…”

“You fell asleep just from reading a couple of books. To think you’d be this lazy in studying, darling.”

He then leans in and presses his lips on your forehead, not before swiping his palm on them and scoffing afterwards. “Overworking doesn’t make you more intelligent. How about falling asleep on an actual bed so you can have an adequate amount of energy left,” he crosses his arms, “Actually. Sleep on the bed now, or I’ll have to carry you instead.”

He scolds you more… and also kisses you too. A lot of it consists of pecks here and there, it doesn’t really matter to him when or where. He doesn't care if people saw or not—if they did, it’s a good thing anyway, they’d know who they’ll come up against if they ever mess with you.

He’s with you most of the time but in times that you’re not and he’s having his own travels alone—which happens quite rarely, actually, he would always go home immediately. He’s not that privy of having to part from you for so long—not that he’d admit that outrightly, but you’d notice it straight away.

And if he does part with you for a while, he will make you give him your handkerchief or anything small that belongs to you, something that reminds him of you and the home he will go home to. That he’s not just a wanderer now.

He’s just… him with you.

And that’s how he loves. He loves slow, but he loves with just… himself, his entire being. Even without a heart, he knew of love. He knew of you.

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!!<3

taglist on reblog!

#yaepublishinghouse #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin wanderer #blue's works

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

warning: brief reference to attempted SA

part one can be found here

Yours - Part Two

Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.

“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.

But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.”

Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”

“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.

It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon.

In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended.

Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it.

Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.

Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as.

“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”

Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”

And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.

Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”

Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”

Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”

And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.

Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.”

It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”

Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”

At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”

Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”

Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible.

For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.

Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”

In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first.

That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page.

“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.

Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.

The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.

“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter.

I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like.

Come and see.”

The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.

And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.

The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.

And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.

Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last.

And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.

Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.

At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.

“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.

And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.

It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.

“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.

Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.

“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.

With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.

In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious.

“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.

“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.

“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep.

A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.

Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.

The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.

Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.

Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.

“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again.

And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes.

Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain.

For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed.

“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”

Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.

“That was all he took from me, you know.”

Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.

Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”

Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.

“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.

Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.

“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.

“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.

Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy.

Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”

At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”

In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.

Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his.

“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.

“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.

Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”

Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”

It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”

Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”

You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.

Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do.

“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.

“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.

Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.

“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list.

“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.

“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.

Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.

“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.

All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.

Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds.

Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water.

“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.

Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”

Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”

And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.

“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.

He clears his throat. “Hm?”

“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.

Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.

“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.”

You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him.

“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.

The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile.

“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.

Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.

“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”

And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.

Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze.

“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”

Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”

Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”

“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.

“Your faith in what?” He questions.

“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is.

Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this.

Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.

“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”

And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”

For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.

But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.

Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new, clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.

Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”

Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”

Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.

“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.

“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.

“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.

Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”

Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”

Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground.

Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”

Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”

You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from.

“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.

“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.

When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child.

Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.

Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile.

“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.”

The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”

With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains.

Falling against the mattress, you groan.

“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?”

At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.

Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”

You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”

Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”

Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”

Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”

Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you.

Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now.

“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.

“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.”

Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”

Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again.

“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.

Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.”

Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”

And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt.

——————

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yourdoorisunlocked · 3 months

Text

I'll Never Meet Another You - Part Four

📺 【 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑽 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑽 】📺

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: Boss x Employee, power imbalance, manipulation, obsession, Yandere!Vox x Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Since I haven't posted anything here for a damn while, I'm gonna catch ya'll up to what's been happening over on A03 😭 And yes, we have a new update schedule, now!

The moment you stepped into the meeting room, directed there by the irritable receptionist – clearly exhausted by whatever tasks higher-ups had shoved onto her plate - that crushing feeling of not belonging, and the weight of all your decisions had crashed down onto your shoulders.

As you were shoved into the waiting room, instructed to take a seat in one of the navy-blue armchairs and wait for him to interview you, you’d scrunched up your nose, wondering whether just everyone working in the Vees’ district was that snide and unbearable.

But a simple glance around the general area at all the tech-themed demons told you that, yes. Yes, they were. And of course they were miserable beyond belief. They – just like you, soon enough – didn't work in just any district, nor could they escape their binding contracts with whichever Overlord they were working for.

That fact cast a grim reality upon the rose-tinted fantasy you somehow managed to build around working at VoxTek, no matter how you attempted to distract yourself as you sat at the interview, fiddling with your nails under the piercing scrutiny of a camera that seemed to never swerve away from you.

But now, in the frigid, monitored silence, you were beginning to ask yourself the sensible questions you should’ve been considering before you even thought about filling out that application.

For starters, what in Hell made you think you were qualified for a job that was bound to be as grueling as that of an Overlord’s assistant? And how did you even expect to land a such prestigious position as that with your criminally unqualified job history? So why the fuck were you still sitting there like a simpering idiot?

You had just been debating rising from your seat, about to abandon the idea of building something new for yourself before you even picked up the tools, when the doors burst open. Cold electricity tickled the air, running pulses of shivers up your spine and down again as you laid your eyes on your future boss.

The door to the meeting room automatically slammed behind Vox, blocking out the crowd of employees. With a soft, irritated exhale, his smile finally dropped, and he laid his eyes on you.

Almost immediately, you stiffened, shooting up from your chair with a hasty greeting. “G-Good morning, sir,” you attempted to keep yourself from squeaking the words out, bowing at the waist before rising to see the Overlord’s dumbstruck expression.

You didn’t notice how Vox’s fingers twitched by his sides as a soft crackle elicited from his claws, how his sensors were on overdrive, nor the way his eyes lavishly caressed each curve of your body as you bent over in a bow.

He almost couldn’t believe that you were right there before him – perfect, beautiful, sweet little you.

Every cell in his being raved at him to snatch you up, that you were right there within his territory, his own little darling ready to be rescued from your terrible situation. He wasn’t a demon prone to letting his own imagination wander from the present, but all he could think of now was your bright future together.

And although you seemed so unsure now, glancing between the door and him with uncertainty, Vox would be sure to correct your hesitation. You had absolutely nothing to fear from him, after all.

“Good morning!” He adopted a warmer expression, unable to help the enthusiasm from brightening his voice. He paused, looking you over one more time, as if he were mentally taking a picture to remember this moment. Before you could question it, however, he swiftly carried on, summoning a device with the VoxTek logo engraved upon the surface.

You relaxed your shoulders and managed a steady smile in return, introducing yourself with a bit more confidence. Although Vox clearly held the power advantage here, if there was anything you picked up from dealing with obtusely powerful men, it was that they respected backbone, more than anything, and the ability to easily placate one was the sharpest tool in your arsenal.

“Welcome to VoxTek. I’m sure you already know my name,” he chuckled, reaching over to shake your hand.

“Well, who doesn’t?” With a small, fake laugh, obvious in how pitched it was, you hesitantly shook his hand. The way his smile widened, and how his hand fit so perfectly against yours, secure and grounding, shot pleasant sparks through you.

“Now, you’re here for an interview for the assistant position, correct?” Vox leveled a stare with you, laying on the most stern, no-nonsense attitude that he could keep up around you.

“I’m eager to begin, Sir.” He shivered. Oh, he liked that, coming from you. What other names would you call him? What expressions would you make while he forced you to choke them from your pretty lips? How would you utter them to him, sweet and submissive, his good little wife?

The entire time that Vox interviewed you, you were unable to look away from his eyes, too intimidated to trail your gaze up and down seven goddamn feet of sharp, pristine attire, skintight and taught around a wall of lean muscle that easily towered over you.

Though, as the questioning went on, what was supposed to be a rigid interview had miraculously evolved into simple banter between you two, and surprisingly, he even managed to make you laugh a few times. And how he reveled in those bursts of joy he elicited from you. Just beautiful.

This was perfect. So far, you didn’t even take notice of how Vox barely glanced at the list of standard questions he was meant to be asking you, nor did he even ask for your application or resume, nothing.

“And why would you want to work here, my dear?” Ah, the first real question that didn’t involve your personal life – or more specifically, your love life.

To his question, you gave an honest shrug that felt rather light on your shoulders. A strange, persistent buzz in your mind told you that you could trust the demon before you, that you could tell him anything. “I’m just tired of the same old routine of being beaten around, being given abysmal pay, before collapsing in some shitty apartment in the worst corner of Hell.”

Vox blinked at you, before bursting into a fit of laughter, a smooth, velvety sound broken only by soft glitches. You didn’t find anything very funny, however, as you raised your hands to your mouth, thinking you’d already blown it. “I-I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Doll,” he interrupted, chuckling softly as he wiped a pixelated tear from his eye. “Nothin’ I haven’t heard before.”

He could’ve melted at the way you relaxed, and how a wobbly smile made its way to your face. Yes, yes, this was ꝑēɍӻēȼⱦ. Everything was going according to plan. All the strings he’d pulled, and here you finally were, at ease with his presence, freely smiling and laughing with him, every fiber of fear and apprehension gone from your expression as you leaned even closer to him.

Temptation gnawed at his wiring, but he held fast. Like a predator circling its prey, Vox would have to observe your every move to figure out just how to ensnare you. If he treaded carefully enough, he’d soon have his prize.

And yet, there he sat, his patience running thin as his claws itched to seize you, mind and heart begging to kiss you with every breath he could possibly offer, to watch you entangle yourself in his web and in his bedsheets.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for you not to leave him, ever. But Vox couldn’t afford to scare you away. Not yet, not when you were in his grasp, so close to being captured, being truly his.

And so, he sat back, attempting to relax himself whilst calming the lovesick ideations that he wished to project onto you.

“Now, you must know how we usually do things around here, what with Soul Contracts, and all...” your pulse nearly halted at his words, the air growing just a bit tighter.

You were a bit too attached to your soul to part with it yet, and he could tell from the way you immediately went on the defensive. But that was no matter. Soon, you’d be too attached to him to care for such a silly, mundane aspect of your mortality.

Your soul would inevitably belong to him, sure, but such a venture was insignificant, in the face of possessing something as precious as your heart, something he had only ever dreamed of.

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking for it right now.” You deflated with relief. “But... it is the company policy, my dear.” Vox’s brows furrowed for a moment, almost regarding you with pity. “I’m afraid we don’t manage loose ends, here.”

“Oh...” your eyes flickered to the door once more as you bit your bottom lip in deep thought. So far, he’d being nothing but a gentleman to you, absolutely nothing like the frigid, ambitious, pretentious asshole that both himself and the media portrayed him as.

That pretentious, stilted persona that you’d grown so used to hearing and seeing behind the silver screen was long gone, and such an alarming facade raised several red flags, now that you thought about it. Vox could very well be manipulating you into giving him my soul, for reasons that oblivious little you couldn’t seem to pinpoint.

Overlords, you reasoned to yourself as you gathered your bearings to politely decline the job offer. Perhaps there were other business ventures you could pursue, now that you thought about it. Maybe you cast the line just a bit too far, this time, and it would’ve been in your best interest to draw it in.

“I understand that you’re apprehensive,” Vox quickly amended, keeping desperation seeping through his voice. Though he could’ve easily kept you in his little kingdom through whatever means necessary, however violent or depraved, he’d truly rather not force you into anything.

He knew that if he did force you and wrench you away from all that you once knew rather than letting you slowly leave your old life behind in favor of being with him, your feelings for him would sour and spoil, leaving no place in your heart for him. And that was the only place Vox had ever wanted to be.

It was time to cast out his own line. “Perhaps... we can make an arrangement of sorts. It’s rather unorthodox, but nothing that anyone has to know about,” he offered, and you perked up.

“What kind of arrangement?” Hook.

“Think of it as a trial period! You work here for a few weeks, full time with full pay, and if you like it enough, you’ll stay here in exchange for one small thing.” Line.

You raised an eyebrow. While that did sound rather appealing, it seemed a few stretches too generous. And not even you could bat away your doubts with empty excuses, this time. Little did you know, he could expend any amount of money he wanted with no qualms nor glance at the cost, as long as the gamble had a chance of winning you.

“Excuse me for asking, Sir, but what exactly would you be getting out of this?”

More than you could ever know. “Oh, please. Besides, I can spare a few expenses for a charming little doll like yourself.”

“R-Really?” Sinker.

“Of course!” A row of sharp neon teeth shone in the pale neon lights, gleaming with temptation as you eyed them warily. “Take it or leave it, darling. The choice is yours.”

But it really wasn’t, since there was no way that you’d ever say no, though he didn’t blame you for taking the bait. The strings of manipulation were easy to learn, as long as one wielded them delicately. It was simply pure coincidence that he just happened to mean every word he spun to trap you.

“Well... I suppose I could try it out,” you smiled with an uneven shrug. And finally, finally , Vox relaxed his shoulders for the first time in hours.

“Perfect!” With a snap, a soul-binding contract was summoned – simply a reassurance that Vox would keep his end of the deal, he quickly explained to you – and he signed his name without hesitation, looking over at you with expectant eyes. You blinked, checking over the details of the contract before signing your name. Smart girl, always reading the fine print.

Placing your hands to your cheeks, you squeezed them to make sure you weren’t dreaming. The both of you stood, and he immediately took the opportunity to stand even closer to you. “I-I can’t believe you’d do something like this for me,” you smiled as Vox gripped your shoulders, steering you out of the meeting room.

“Of course, my dear! You’re special.” He grinned, opening the door for you whilst further pulling you against him, being sure to send a venomous glare towards anyone who dared to interrupt this moment with you.

A giggle tickled your lips, and the very depths of Vox’s heart. “Special, huh? You know, I’m getting the distinct feeling that you’re flirting with me.”

He raised an eyebrow, before leaning closer to you, so that you could feel the heat radiating from his interface. One glowing, crimson eye whirred erratically as it stared into yours. “And just what would give you that impression, my dear?”

Almost immediately, you swerved your head away from him, cheeks burning. With a low chuckle, Vox retracted his hand. His claws clenched around your shoulder, tugging you closer towards him as the two of you took tentative steps forward into your future.

And thus, began your shiny new career at VoxTek. An eternity of commitment.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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