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astroboots · 1 year

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 9

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You and Steven finally reunite. Or alternatively: Marc is a dummy and makes questionable decisions as always.

Content: some angst, serious talks, so much talking.

Word Count: 8,400

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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"Sorry that I've been gone so long, love."

He stands in the dimly lit hallway, perfectly framed in the open doorway like a still-life portrait, and for a second it makes you doubt that you are looking at the real thing in flesh and blood.

The novelty print shirt in bright mismatched emerald green and cream is a sight for your sore eyes, as is the familiar oversized grey jacket over it. It’s Steven’s favourite, soft-worn and starting to fray at the cuffs.

But despite the familiar clothing, he looks... different somehow.

You’re not quite sure why at first. Something about the way he’s holding himself. His shoulders are held back, chin up, and for the first time since you've met him, he’s no longer hunching into himself trying to take up less space.

It's enough to give you pause, and make you doubt that it's Steven who is fronting at all. Is this Marc on your doorstep in Steven's oversized clothes?

No. His hair is loose and softly tousled, raven curls messily crowning around his head and falling into his eyes in a way that would have Marc obsessively trying to wrestle them into submission. And there's no mistaking those wide brown eyes or the South London accent.

It's definitely your Steven. Or… well, Steven at any rate. Whether or not he’s still yours remains to be seen, doesn’t it? All you have to do is open your mouth and ask, but... you can’t.

You’ve imagined this moment hundreds of times in his absence, endlessly rehearsed your apology to make quite sure you cover every mistake and wrongdoing, but now that he’s here, standing before you, you’re paralyzed. Your throat has closed up, feet cemented to the carpet, and the only thing you're capable of is staring at him in silence.

Steven isn't moving either.

Cold air blows through the empty hallway, wringing out all the warmth inside your flat. The chill settles into your bones, nipping at your toes.

Dropping your eyes to the ground, you measure the distance from your bare feet across to the toe caps of Steven’s sensible black trainers. You're barely more than a foot apart, yet the gap feels as unbreachable as a bottomless chasm.

You know the only way to bridge it is to say something. But your mouth refuses to cooperate. Your tongue is as heavy as lead, and you can't budge it.

All you need to do is say something. Anything.

Welcome him back. Say hello. Invite him in. Just bloody well say something!!

“Do you want to–”

“D’you mind if I–”

You blurt the words out at the same time, both stopping mid-sentence as you catch yourselves.

Then you're staring at each other again.

God, the two of you together are a comedy of errors, but right now you can’t be sorry for it. The familiar ridiculousness steadies you, and you find yourself smiling just a bit despite your nerves.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Steven apologises, a small matching smile blooming on his face, “You go first.”

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to come in."

The smile on his face spreads, and your heart catches at the warmth in his eyes. Suddenly the gloomy hallway and your situation both seem a little less foreboding than they did a moment ago.

"I'd like that very much."

You step backwards, and Steven follows you into your flat, taking off his shoes before closing the door behind him.

"Would you like to sit down?” you ask, “I can make you a cuppa?"

It feels a bit cringy, offering such British platitudes to him when it's the first time you've seen him for weeks. The unfamiliar tension is eating at your nerves.

Thankfully, Steven takes your awkwardness in stride.

"Actually, I was hoping you and I could talk," he says, still smiling at you reassuringly.

You nod dumbly, making your way further into the room. In the last few weeks, all you’ve wanted was to know how Steven’s been. If he’s okay, and how he’s felt about everything this whole time. But now that he’s here and you can finally ask, a part of you is scared to find out, because the answer might not be what you want to hear.

"...If that's alright, that is?"

In front of you, Steven tilts his head, brows knitting in a concerned expression, and that, finally, is what gets you moving.

"That's– I mean yes, of course. I'd like for us to talk too."

Steven walks over to the sofa, and makes himself comfortable. He looks so polite sitting there, calmly waiting for you as he's looking up at you expectantly.

He settles one hand on the seat next to him, patting it as an invitation for you to join him. He does it with the gentleness of someone trying to coax a nervous stray when it strikes you that you've just been standing still gawking at him silently this entire time.

This gentle calm is not what you have prepared yourself for in any of the imagined scenarios. Somehow, his kindness makes guilt spread like wildfire in your gut. There are so many things you could have done better if you could have a do-over.

"I'm sorry," you say.

It slips out of you without forethought, and Steven's eyes widen. Your stomach sinks to the floor at the way the smile slides off his face.

"Come sit with me,” he asks, and when you’re still not moving, he continues, “...please?"

You look down at your feet, still frozen to the spot. You take a deep calming breath, and finally take a step forward, closing the distance between you, step by step until you finally reach the sofa and sit down next to him.

"I should never have lied to you," you say, looking down at your hands and scrape nervously at your cuticles. "I shouldn't have told you the way I did that night. It was insensitive and stupid, and it must've been upsetting and confusing."

Steven's expression is, for the first time you can ever recall, inscrutable to you. He's chewing at the inside of his cheek, no smile, no frown, just… listening. Your nerves are fraying under the sleeves of your sleep-shirt, but you press on regardless.

"I should have told you much sooner, as soon as I realized something unusual was going on. That day you came to my office after the first trip to your flat — I should’ve told you then. You deserved to know about something this important, something that affects your life and it wasn’t fair of me to keep it a secret. You deserved better from me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m —"

You never get to fully finish your spiralling loop of sorries. Steven's arms wrap all around you, pulling you into him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest like he never means to let go.

"It's all right, love. It's all right," he murmurs warmly against your temple.

It’s exactly what you’d been longing to hear from him, but it feels surreal. Like it's all just too easy to earn his forgiveness. There's no rage in him. No shouting. No judge with a gavel, finding you guilty and sentencing you to a lifetime in jail to atone for your sins.

"But I lied to you for months, Steven. How can that possibly be 'all right'?"

“It’s okay. I’m not upset, I’m…” He pauses, loosening his grip around your sides and you chance a quick glance up to find him looking off to the side, brow furrowed. “Or, well– That’s not quite right, is it? I mean, it was devastating to hear, honestly, and I’m… not mad, exactly, but…”

He turns to look back at you, and you nod, encouraging him to continue even as you swallow down the sudden tightness in your throat.

“It’s just…” Steven continues, “You knew. Marc knew. It makes me feel a bit left out, I suppose? Being the last to know.” His head dips down, eye glancing off-site against, at the blank surface of your telly, before turning back towards you. “I feel like a right bloody idiot for not being able to figure it out on my own.”

"I'm sorry," you repeat. You don't know what else to say, how you can possibly make it up to him.

Steven’s hand comes up, settling warm against your cheek, his thumb rubbing against the apple of it before he tilts your chin up, silently asking you to look at him.

"You don't have to keep apologising."

Maybe it's the British compulsion in you, but you have to bite your cheek to resist apologising for apologising too much.

Instead you focus on Steven. Ready to ask the question you’ve been dying to ask while dreading it all at the same time.

“Are we… I know ‘okay’ is a bit of a stretch but… do you still want us to be together? As a couple I mean.”

He must see fear in your eyes, because he leans closer, wrapping his hand over yours reassuringly. “Yeah, I’d like for us to still be together. I love you. I'm here to stay. In it for as long as you'll have me, and this isn't going to change that. But I do need…”

Steven trails off mid-sentence, and looks down towards his feet as if the end of his sentence is etched there. From the slight frown on his face when he looks back at you, he most probably didn't find it, but he tries again anyhow. “I would like some reassurances from you though. That… um… well.”

He's still frowning, the struggle visible on his face.

“I know that this was a fairly”—Steven grimaces—“unique set of circumstances, and that you were under a lot of stress and doing what you thought was best for me. I understand that, but I... I need to know that you won't hide something from me like that again.”

“I won’t,” you blurt out immediately, shaking your head so forcefully you almost give yourself whiplash.

“From now on, we tell each other the truth, yeah?,” he presses, eyes wide and solemn, “Even if the truth is ‘I can't tell you that right now.’ Deal?”.

"Yes, yes, of course, Steven." You nod slowly, matching his seriousness, meaning it to the depth of your soul. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he says simply, then he smiles at you, and your breath catches.

It’s one of those smiles—the kind that seem to light up the whole room—and relief bubbles up in your chest, washing away some of the tightness that’s made its home there since the last miserable time you saw Steven almost a month ago.

You’re not sure who initiates it — if you’re the one to lean up and close the distance, or if it’s Steven’s hand cupping your cheek that draws you closer — but, you kiss. A soft press of your lips together, but it feels like so much more. Like forgiveness. Like turning the page, starting a new chapter in your favorite book.

It feels like coming home.

The two of you stay like that for a long moment, you half-seated in his lap, Steven draped uncomfortably against the arms of the sofa, grinning at each other.

"And next time Marc says it's for my own good, just ignore him, yeah? Man isn't exactly an authority on what's good for anyone."

You laugh at his cheeky remark and a sense of relief rushes through you. It feels good to be able to laugh again without the constant anxiety coiled tight in the pit of your stomach.

You're amazed by how with the simple return of Steven, that dreaded knot has vanished. It's like it never existed and this happiness between you has always been here and never left.

It feels natural somehow, to be sitting on your sofa, cracking jokes, and with Steven's oh-so-casual tone, you almost forget, that tonight is the first time the two of you have ever mentioned Marc by name between you.

You lift your head up to meet his gaze, but Steven is still looking at you like nothing's wrong, like it's just another Saturday night.

"You called him Marc," you bring up as diplomatic as you can under the circumstances. "Does that mean–" you hesitate, not knowing how to phrase this without opening a can of worms for Marc if you had completely misread things.

Steven must know what you mean because he gives you a half smile and answers your unfinished question for you. "That I know about the little American man living inside me? Yeah, it does."

You nod, glad that some things seem to have been resolved at least. Though you know from experience that knowing about Marc, isn't even half of the battle.

Because Marc is Marc.

The man isn't exactly known for being loose-lipped and eager to share information. It strikes you that even with being forgiven, there’s still so much you and Steven need to fully share about what's taken place between the three of you since you first got entangled with each other.

"How much do you know?" you ask, and you shift your weight in his lap to make sure you're not crushing him underneath you. "About Marc. About what happened? About any of it?"

“He and I got to know each other pretty well. I wouldn't say he poured his soul to me... at least not voluntarily but–” he blinks rapidly as if rousing himself from a memory.

“He didn’t tell me much about what happened between you and him though. I know he made you promise not to tell me. But beyond that… not much,” Steven pauses as he searches for your eyes.

“I guess he thought it would be best if I heard it from you, and I’d like that too… Will you tell me about it? Fill me in on what I missed the first time around? I'd like to know what it was like for you.”

So you do. Steven tucks you in close to his side as you talk, watching you with those big puppydog eyes as you tell him about his disappearances.

The worry, the confusion, the fear.

About how the worst part was not knowing if he was safe. About the hours you spent imagining every awful thing that could have happened to him, terrified he had been taken hostage or that he was hurt and alone, unable to call for help.

"Is that– Was that why you were so upset that morning with the croissants? When you said you had a bad dream, was it really...?” Steven doesn’t finish his sentence, just looks to you for an answer as the word hangs in the air between the two of you, and you give him a small nod.

“How long was I gone for?”

“A little over a week.”

His mouth compresses in an unhappy line, eyes closing for a moment as he processes that.

“I'm so sorry, love," he says, taking your hand in his, fingers gently tracing the lines of your palm.

It’s clear that it hurts him to hear about how affected you were by his absences, but he doesn't try to stop you, and you don't sugarcoat it. You don't want there to be any more lies between the two of you this time around. Not even those of omission.

You hold tight to that ideal as you tell him about your encounters with Marc, how you got to know him slowly over months of text messages, short conversations, and shared breakfasts. Steven listens attentively as you confess your ploy with Marc to replace Gus and every confusing, sordid detail of what followed—your attraction to Marc, the near-miss of a kiss, even the mortifying sex dream you had in the taxi.

Steven’s eyes widen at your admission, the arm around you tightening convulsively, but he doesn’t interrupt or look upset, just surprised. Just listens attentively until you finish talking.

Once you do, he murmurs a soft, “Thank you for telling me, love.”

As terrified as you had been, all this time, of telling him the truth, it’s nowhere near as difficult as you’d imagined it would be. You feel better—lighter now that everything's out in the open, dragged into the light.

“So many things make sense now,” Steven utters, giving a slightly disbelieving shake of his head. “I was thinking that things kept being put away in the wrong places, but I just figured this place was haunted, not that I had a compulsive neat freak living in my body.”

You laugh at that and Steven reaches over to brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen into your eyes. “I had no idea I was gone that frequently. No wonder Donna has it out for me. It's a wonder she hasn't just fired me and been done with it.”

“I think there are employment law protections about those sorts of things,” you joke.

Steven lets out a quiet laugh of his own at your poor attempt at humour. The tension and weight that you have been holding all this time slowly lifting as you watch his expression. Relaxed with a sweet half-sleepy smile. He must be exhausted from wherever he and Marc have travelled to make his way to you.

“Can you tell me about… what happened between you and Marc in the time you were gone?”

Steven nods, then he settles his back against the armrest, shifting down until he’s lying down against the sofa cushions.

"After I... blacked out that night, I don't remember much. I was sort of conscious, but also not. Just seeing flashes and images. Like– Like looking out a window. Or watching something on the telly. I couldn't control my body, but I could see what’s happening. It felt like an out-of-body experience. It was strange.”

You shift down on the sofa to join him as he speaks, until you’re both lying down on your sides, squished together.

“And Marc and I– We didn't get along very well at first. Fought a lot, mostly, because well… Marc's not exactly the most forthcoming guy, and I didn't understand what was going on. But then somehow the next thing I know, I wake up, and we're in Egypt, and all sorts of crazy things are happening."

"Egypt!?" you ask, surprised.

"Yeah, it was amazing!!" he exclaims, darting upright on the sofa so suddenly that you nearly go sprawling arse-over-tits onto the floor. He catches you absently, barely pausing as you clutch at him, and helps you to steady yourself as he continues, "We got to go inside the great pyramid at Giza. A dream come true, that was! And that was just the beginning of our adventures!!"

His eyes are glittering. At the mention of Egypt, there are no more pauses in his speech, and the words race out of him a mile a minute.

"We chased people on the rooftops, we met up with a dodgy art dealer who had a mummy with a cartonnage that I got to decode. It turned out to be a coded celestial navigation map that led us to the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great, and– and–"

It all sounds like a grand adventure, and your mind is boggled by the idea that Marc would put together a treasure hunt in Cairo for Steven's benefit. It's quite sweet really, even if you can't possibly even begin to imagine Marc putting together the travel itinerary.

"And then–" Steven stops mid-sentence, the shimmering excitement in his eyes dimming as if he's getting lost in the replay of his memory. "Well... uhm... the next part, I'm–" he looks down at the floor, suddenly looking much more unsure of himself than he has all evening. "I'm not so sure, I can tell you the next part."

He shoots you a sheepish expression as he repeats the very same phrase he had made you promise him moments earlier.

"At least, I can't tell you right now."

You nod in understanding, even if your curiosity is disappointed. But instead of letting the disappointment fester, you pull Steven back down, snuggling into his arms.

He tucks his chin against the crown of your head as he continues to murmur apologetically into your hair.

"It's really more to do with Marc's… um… business. Wouldn't feel right for me to tell that part of the story without him here."

“So Marc’s not–” you hesitate, unsure of the terminology to use, and Steven shakes his head filling in the end of your question.

“No, Marc’s popped out. Or well… in, I suppose. He’s left us alone for the night. Said he wanted to give us some privacy so you and I could catch up,” Steven says as he runs the outside of his knuckles along the line of your arm.

It continues against the inside of your wrists before he finds your hand and interlaces your fingers together, squeezing your palm tightly in his. “We’ll tell you everything in the morning," he promises.

"It's okay Steven. I'll wait", you say, shifting your leg until your limbs are tangling together in an attempt to have your bodies touching as much as possible.

Right now you’re just happy to have this moment, with him here with you. It’s something you couldn’t imagine just twenty-four hours ago that waiting until morning to hear Marc’s side of it seems like such a negligible small sacrifice to make.

"I still can’t believe I get to have this,” Steven murmurs like an echo of your own thoughts.

“That first date we had…” His eyes are warm and crinkle at the corners as he lets out a small huff of laughter. “God, I couldn't believe someone like you was interested in me, you know? When you didn't show up at the restaurant, I thought for sure you'd realised how far out of my league you were. That wasn’t it at all though, was it?"

"No,” you let out a laugh of your own, relieved and vindicated to set the record straight at last. “You were the one who didn't show up! It was humiliating! I’d never been stood up before in my entire adult life."

You're still laughing to yourself as your fingers wrap around his golden chain, fingers tracing the outline of the golden David Star pendant, re-familiarising yourself with the comforting shape of it.

“Why did you come out at all then? When I called you on the wrong night after already standing you up. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told me to get stuffed and blocked my number after that.”

“I almost did,” you admit, “but I didn’t have anything better to do. And besides, I thought you were cute.”

An image of Steven sat down in the corner of a small table, glum and small, flashes before your eyes. You see it play out in slow motion, the memory of it as vivid as ever as he spots you, with an ever-so-precious smile, lighting up the space around him makes your heart flutter in your chest all over again.

“I’m so glad I decided to come," you tell him.

“I’m glad too. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you. Or well– I can, but I don’t want to. This is so much better.” The corners of his lips curve, eyes warm, and just like in your memory, it seems to light up the whole flat and you with it.

Looking up into those big gorgeous brown eyes, you feel starstruck all over again. If someone told you Steven had single-handedly affixed every star in the constellation of the night sky, you'd believe them without a single doubt.

“I really love you, Steven.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I finally see that, love," he says as he tips down his head closer to you, eyes ever so soft. His voice is tender, earnest. “It means a lot to me, you know. That you knew about… well, everything, and still chose to stay with me anyway.”

For a long moment, you stay like that, holding each other in silence as you run your hands across his back, up and down his arms, along that sharp, beautiful jawline. His stubble prickles at your palm, and you cherish the tiny irritation because it reminds you that this is real. That Steven really is back, safe and sound, and still yours.

You’re lying on your sides in the cramped space of the sofa with barely any distance between you. Noses brushing, foreheads pressing up against the other’s as you refuse to let go of his hand. You ignore the fact that it's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, even as your jaw cracks wide open with a gaping yawn. Even as the morning light is starting to seep through the blinds, splashing golden light across the walls of your flat.

Instead, you smile at him, sleep heavy in your eyes as you squint them open so that you can still observe him. Not ready to let this night end.

“Sleep, love. We have all the time in the world to talk,” Steven murmurs softly, one thumb brushing up against the apple of your cheeks. “Not going anywhere, remember? And I can promise that for real this time.”

You wake up on your sofa.

Steven isn't there, limbs squished between yours in the position you had fallen asleep to last night. There are no folded clothes next to you, because you'd fallen asleep still wearing them last night. All you have is the quilt from your bed that has miraculously been moved on top of you.

It's also quiet. No running tap, no clinking of porcelain being put away, no crackling noise from the frying pan.

Digging your elbow into the cushions, you sit up and the quilt that's tucked to your shoulders, slides down to your waist. The cold draft of the room sweeps over you and makes you shiver. You survey the remaining space of your flat. No one else is here.

You frown, as you scoot out of sofa, wincing at the biting cold of the floor that eats into your toes. Barefeet, you pad over to the loo, knowing damned well that neither Marc nor Steven will be standing by the sink. Still it doesn't seem to stop the disappointment that sits like lead in your stomach at the sight of the small empty room.

There’s a part of you that’s tempted to ransack your own home. Search every corner, flip every cushion on the sofa, and get down on your knees to look under the bed. You don't, because you've been here before.

That first night when Marc was in your flat and had evacuated the premises by morning. He hadn’t left you a sign of life then, no breakfast, no clothing, not even a note.

It's probably why you don't spot it at first. Perched on cushion of the ottoman, waiting for you.

A small nondescript gift box that fits neatly in the palm of your hand as you pick it up, it feels heavier than you had expected given how small it is. Shaking it gently, you try to make out what it is, but there's just a faint rustling sound that doesn't give away any hints of what's inside. You look under the box but there's no note.

You kneel down on the carpet and scrape off the scotch tape with your nails as you open it. There is soft tissue paper inside and it crinkles with a pleasant sound when you unravel it to reveal a small metallic box.

Holding it in your hand, you inspect it a bit closer. It’s a kitschy jewellery box of cheap brushed brass. The box is etched with generic hieroglyphics that are often slapped onto the tacky souvenirs Steven sells in the gift shop. Except this one does not carry any museum branding. Given the professional pride Steven takes in the accuracy of Egyptian trinkets, you can’t imagine that it's a gift from him... which leaves only one other person that could have left this for you.

You crack open the heavy brass lid. A malformed shaped figure, half dog half man, springs up from the box. It's a little banged up, with its long snout and dented face, that must be depicting Anubis, as it slowly starts to spin around almost like a ballerina.

There's a lovely tinkling sound coming from the box. A melody.

It's a music box.

Something pleasant unfurls inside of your stomach. It sneaks up on you, travelling up your chest to the tip of your nose and you feel warm all over.

Sad and melancholy, you recognise it as a slightly off-key rendition of Moonlight Sonata. Whether the melody is wonky by design or simply shoddy manufacturing you can’t tell, but the imperfection only makes your heart fonder as you find yourself staring down at it with a dopey smile.

You're so caught up in your bubble, it’s almost enough to make you miss the commotion in the hallway outside your flat.

"Mate, watch where you're going yeah?" Someone grumbles outside your flat.

It's followed by mumbled apologies before your lock is being manhandled to the jingle of keys and the front door swings open. Then Steven walks in, hugging two large paper bags to his chest.

"Morning love! You're up already."

Your lips pull into a wide smile as you watch him precariously balancing the bags in his arms. They are tall enough to obstruct his line of sight as he makes his way towards your kitchenette, and he’s relying on muscle memory alone to navigate.

"Did Marc say good morning before he left?” Steven asks, as he starts setting down the bags on the kitchen counter. “I woke up in your hallway downstairs just now. Dunno why Marc dumped me there instead of coming up, or what is in these.”

He’s reaching into the bags to pull out containers that you know from the sweet breadlike scent of flour and butter wafting over the space of the flat, must be your breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say as something in your stomach flutters, and Steven looks up at you confounded.

His head tilts down, eyeing the styrofoam box in his hands before opening the lid. Even from this distance, you can see the browned fluffy pancakes stacked inside.

“Oh wow, how did you–” he picks the container up staring at the bottom as if looking for a label or a text that would explain how you knew (even though the distance would have made it illegible even if there was one).

“It’s Sunday,” you explain, but it only makes Steven even more puzzled, his eyebrows knitting closely together on his forehead. “Marc always makes pancakes on Sunday.”

At that, his expression softens into a warm smile. He turns back to the bags and pulls out a second styrofoam box and a handful of plastic cutlery. Carrying them over to you, he settles your breakfast on the ottoman before joining you on the sofa.

“Oh hey! That’s the music box," Steven exclaims when he spots it, unwound and now quiet, still perched in your lap, "I wondered why Marc insisted on hauling that thing along with us. I told him the hieroglyphics were gibberish, and music boxes weren't invented until the late 1700s in Switzerland. Not historically accurate at all."

Steven opens the styrofoam box labeled ‘Vegan’ and empties the included container of maple syrup over the pancakes inside as he keeps talking.

“Still insisted on getting it from that tourist stall though. He argued with the vendor for a good half hour even though they’re a dime a dozen and carried that little box with us the whole time. Protected it like it was a precious artefact."

Picking up the takeout box, he moves to place it in your lap, but his eyes linger at the music box already there. "Guess I know why, now.”

Your fingers curl around the music box, the soft glow in your chest, growing with every beat of your heart as you imagine Marc, haggling with a local vendor for this cheap little trinket. Your cheeks warm at the idea of Marc, keeping this thing with him, in his pocket, close to him, through the weeks that have passed, and you brush your fingers over the etched markings, imagining him doing the same and whether he was thinking of you as he did.

"I'll have to remember to thank him.”

"Why don’t you do it right now?" Steven asks you.

Your eyes dart up, and see Steven smiling down at you. Caught off guard, you stare at him blankly, it takes you a few to puzzle together the meaning of his sentence, still unused to the new reality that Marc and Steven know about each other now.

"Yes," you say, then you nod, your pulse beating excitedly at the prospect of seeing Marc again after so many weeks. "Yes, I'd like that."

Steven returns your nod, still with that soft expression painted across his face. He crosses his legs to sit upright in a more relaxed position as if to prepare himself. Then he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for a long moment, deep in concentration, and then they open again under drawn brows.

It’s been so long since you’ve spoken to Marc that it takes you a moment to work up your courage. You feel oddly nervous like it’s the first school day back from half-term and you haven’t seen your mates all summer and you’re worried about how much you’ve all changed, what they’ll think of you. That same jittery feeling you get when you’re early at a restaurant and are seated by the table first as you’re waiting for your date, nerves alight anxiously looking out through the window to see if they’re arriving yet. Except, you’re in your flat, not a restaurant. And he’s not really your date, he's– he’s– the alter of your boyfriend, and now he’s sitting right in front of you.

You can’t seem to settle on anything clever or heartfelt to say, and in the end all you manage is a tentative, "Hi, Marc."

His eyes are soft brown and kinder than you ever remember seeing them. No longer stern and grumpy like you recall, instead his features scrunch up apologetically.

"Whoops, sorry."

That's not right. The South London accent throws you off.

“Still me, I’m afraid," Steven says, as he shoots you a quick nervous wave to prove it.

Biting down on his lower lip, Steven looks around himself. He seems bewildered as if he's looking for Marc and expecting him to pop ‘round from the corner of your fridge. "I swear this normally works," he mumbles.

Steven's eyes continue to roam around the room, darting from the fridge to your bed to the telly, until they finally settle on the short hallway that leads to your front door.

“Wait just let me– gimme a second will you?” Without any further explanation, he gets up to his feet and walks over until he’s standing in the hall in front of the full length mirror hung on your wall across from the door to the loo.

You watch in confusion, as you see Steven close his eyes and take a deep calming breath. You wait with a suspended breath, as Steven opens his eyes again, waiting for something to happen. You're not sure what, but what you don't expect is for him to proceed to have a staring competition with himself in the mirror.

"Uhm... Steven, what are you--"

At your question, he turns his head over his shoulder towards your direction, then flits back to the mirror. His expression turns sheepish as he realises how confusing this must be to you.

“Mirrors help,” he explains. “Or anything reflective really. Reflections lets us communicate with each other more efficiently when we’re not in sync. It’s a bit hard to explain, but it’s almost like having a window to the outside, yeah? Sort of a visual aid for whoever’s fronting to speak to the other. I’m not sure why that is but it’s worked for us so far.”

You're still a little bit confused, but you think you understand the gist of what he means. So you nod, and that little nod seems to be enough reassurance for Steven who turns back around, facing the mirror to finish what he started.

From the sofa, all you see is Steven taking deep calming breaths, staring intensely at his own reflection in the mirror. It reminds you a bit of those youtube videos of cute puppies who are staring at their mirror reflection thinking there’s another puppy in there.

Before long, Steven is vaguely gesturing towards the mirror with a small awkward waving motion and his reflection self mirrors the greeting.

“Hiya. So I know you might be a bit knackered from the trip and trying to catch a snooze, but if you want to come out and have a chat, now would be a good time.”

There’s a small, silent pause during which the line of Steven’s mouth purses to one side almost like a small pout, and then he tries again. “Any minute now, Marc.”

More silence. If anything is happening, then you’re not privy to it. But judging from the exasperated expression on Steven’s face. He isn’t privy to any changes either.

Another moment goes by, then another. Then Steven is grabbing the sides of the mirror, leaning in closer as if for privacy as he loudly whispers to his reflection in an agitated tone. "Stop being a child. You're embarrassing yourself. Embarrassing both of us, in fact. Making me look like a right knob, you are!"

Steven's mouth drops open, eyes narrowing like he's hearing something you aren’t. After several long moments, his shoulders stoop. He takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes briefly in resignation before he turns back to you with a small frown.

"Marc is... Uhm... He doesn't want– He's being uncooperative at the moment."

"Oh..."

You don't know what else to say. It feels like there was a balloon in your chest and someone walked up with a needle, pricking it. You let out a long breath you didn't know you were holding as the whole of your chest cage deflates with it.

Disappointment. That's what you feel, you realise. You hadn’t realised quite how much you were looking forward to seeing Marc again.

"That's– That's alright,” you say, trying to convince yourself, “He must be tired after everything. We can talk later. It's not like he's avoiding me or anything, right?"

Steven's eyes flicker away from yours, down to the floor and it stops you short.

"I'm… not exactly sure," he says bluntly, honest as ever. "He's resisting me. Refusing to take the body, which he hasn't really done before."

"Oh," you repeat again because you don't know what word can adequately convey the sudden pang you feel in your ribs out of seemingly nowhere.

You don't understand why Marc wouldn’t want to talk to you. Is he mad at you?

No that can't be. He left you on good terms. Holding you, comforting you when you were in shambles. You still remember the weight of his arms wrapped around you, when you were crying your heart out. The warm tone in his words as he comforted you and told you he was going to 'fix everything'.

Oh. Oh fuck.That bloody wanker!!

He wouldn't.

Except you know that idiot, and he definitely would.

Your fingers tighten around the cold brass of the music box, and you realise they’re trembling slightly.

"Steven, did Marc say anything to you before you came here last night?"

Steven tilts his head to the side, like a confused golden retriever. "Uhm... I don't know what you mean–"

"You said Marc was going to leave us alone last night. Did he tell you that? What exactly did he say?"

"Uhm..." Steven glances at the mirror, then darts his eyes back towards you. "He just said he wanted to give us some alone time. Wanted to let you and me talk properly and that he didn’t want to be in the way."

That seems innocuous enough, but if your intuition is right... If you know Marc well enough...

"Steven, what were his exact words?"

Steven shifts on his feet, staring up at the ceiling as if he's trying to replay the memory in his head. Whatever he's remembering is causing his forehead to crease.

“He said… he was going to give you and me time alone together. That he…” Steven's mouth presses firmly together until it’s compressed into a thin line as he starts to frown. “Wasn’t going to interfere anymore.”

Your stomach sinks.

It might seem innocuous.

But you know Marc. Know him too well now, to not know what exactly he is planning.

He was going to 'fix everything' by removing what the considers to be the problem from yours and Steven's relationship. Remove the 'interference' that he believes himself to be.

For fuck’s sake, Marc.

"Is everything okay, love?" Steven asks gently.

You shake your head, and there's a sharp sting that prickles behind your eyelids as you try to find the words. "I think Marc might not intend to front anymore."

"He wouldn’t,” Steven huffs, “that’s silly!” He shakes his head, but his expression bleeds into one of worry.

You let go of the music box, as you continue.

"He thinks that by avoiding me, giving us time alone together then everyone will be happier that way," you say, settling your hands on your knees as you grip tight enough that it hurts. "Because he thinks that he's interfering with our relationship. I think that's what he meant last night."

“But surely, he just meant for the night. That he wanted us to be able to catch up because we’d been away from each other for so long. I don’t think he…” Steven’s sentence trails off, and his gaze drops from your face before he turns back to the mirrored reflection.

“I don’t think he means permanently? That would be ridiculous wouldn’t it?” He looks at the silvered surface and his own form in it, almost accusatory, as he speaks.

“What– Is he just supposed to hide from us for the rest of our lives? That’d be absurd. We share the same body. He can’t seriously think that’s possible to keep up. Or that it would make us happy, would he?”

Except this is Marc the two of you are talking about. The same man whose grand plan was to hide from Steven for the rest of his life to ensure his happiness, and they share the same body. It is definitely something that Marc would seriously consider possible to keep up.

Steven lets out a disbelieving laugh then his eyes widen with concern, the laughter dying in his throat.

“Oh god,” Steven says. “He means it permanently. Marc is going to hide from us, permanently.”

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockle x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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klausysworld · 1 year

Note

hello can you make a one-shot for yandere klaus mikaelson where elijah discovers klaus's obsession with y/n, after finding thousands of portraits, paintings, drawings, photos taken secretly, stolen belongings (perfume, panties, clothes, keys his home), Elijah confronts him about it.

Niklaus what have you done?

Klaus’s obsession had been going for months, he had rooms which were once empty, hidden from his family due to his design plans but now they were full of her face, her belongings just her. Canvases were everywhere, paintings, sketches, charcoals, chalk, any medias he could use.

There were boxed of her things, all organised accordingly, labelled and colour coded so that he may never struggle to find what he needed.

Now these things were secret, his eye’s only, he wanted it kept that way and so he tried to make sure he was private about his…tendencies.

———————————————————————

Elijah was becoming concerned. Niklaus was always missing, leaving in the middle of the night, not picking up his phone for hours, always returning in silence and sneaking around the house. It was odd to say the least.

So naturally he decided he should just take a little look through his brothers things like a any good father figure brother would do.

Elijah understood that Niklaus liked his privacy, Elijah did too but this wasn’t to harm his brother, he was worried for him, he wasn’t his usual…murdery self, naked girls weren’t all around the house and he wasn’t purposefully pissing everyone off. Now this should be a good thing apart from the fact that Elijah knew his brother. This was not a good thing. Something else was going on, something that had Klaus’ entire attention.

Finding the secret rooms weren’t much of a shock, he was often aware of them through the centuries.

What was inside was what was shocking.

He walked around silently as he looked at as many different portraits as he could. All of her. The same girl in different outfits, hair styled differently, facial expressions slightly different, the lighting positioned differently. They were all so different and yet the same.

The next room he got to had his hand covering his mouth, she was painted and sketched naked everywhere. The floor was scattered in her naked body. Her back arched as she touched herself clearly painted across a large canvas. His eyes darted around as he saw an array of boxes.

Hesitantly he picked the red box. Underwear.

Many pairs of panties, some bras too. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he put the box away, making sure to position perfectly the way it was.

The purple box. Pictures.

Thousands. All of her.

Park, grill, home, walking, running, shopping, sleeping, changing, showering, masterbating, having sex with other guys.

There were pictures of her in both Mystic falls and New Orleans, how long has his brother been following this girl?

Images of her at the mikaelson ball, home coming, prom, the party Marcel threw so long ago, the factions peace agreement party, she was everywhere, she was always where he was, no he was always where she was.

“Niklaus what have you done” he whispered to himself as he checked the next box

Blue. Belongings.

Jumpers, jeans, shirts, skirts, bracelets, necklaces, hats, scarves, teddy bears, books, a phone? Dream catchers, cards, fake flowers, perfume, a face wash, body wash, everything she had owned in a box.

Green box. Information.

Notes, so many notes.

She’s afraid of the dark

She still owns her childhood bear

When she was 5 her mother made her join a dance class

She can’t swim well -get her lessons

She had a birthmark ____

Favourite colour

Favourite food

Favourite band

He had her preferences ok just about everything. Her fears, her goals, he had her everything known. He had been studying her for years.

So much information on when she moved to New Orleans, which college she got into, how far away from their home. Maps of New Orleans to find the best routes to her house. Everything.

And then a little black box. He opened it to find keys. Keys to presumably her home, her car, a storage unit?

Elijah carefully out everything back and made his way back to his room only to bump into his brother.

Klaus’ expression dropped in an instant.

The silence was deathly, almost as much as Klaus’ stare.

His eyes darted to behind Elijah, then to his hands checking he hadn’t taken anything

“Niklaus…” he began quietly

“Why were you in there” he cut off

“I was worried about you-“

“You shouldn’t be, I’m happier than ever” he told him

“Niklaus this isn’t right- this girl-“ he tried but Klaus was quick

“She is my girl and that makes it right”

“She doesn’t even know you exist does she?” He asked almost softly as to not anger him but it appeared his attempt failed

“Of course she knows i exist! She’s mine, i love her, I wouldn’t love someone I don’t know Elijah!” He yelled roughly shoved his brother away when he placed a hand on his shoulder

“Yes you know who she is but she has no idea-“

“No. No. She knows. I’ve talked to her multiple times, you should see her Elijah, the way she smiled at me, she loves me i can tell” his voice grew quieter, calmer, scarier.

“She’s just being polite” he reasoned

“Then why does she leave so much for me? She wouldn’t leave her curtains open unless she wanted to be seen, i see her, and i love her for everything that she is” he whispered while nodding convincingly

“No Niklaus, no she doesn’t know that. She’s young and doesn’t understand the consequences of her own actions-“

“She is not stupid Elijah! I know her, she is bright and smart, she isn’t too young and pathetic, she’s perfect”

“She’s just a girl, an innocent bystander, she has nothing to do with our world do not do this to her” he urged

“She is already in my world, she may aswell be my world and id you for a moment think that you can try to take her from me do not doubt the thought that i will dagger you so many times that you never wake back up”

Elijah swallowed thickly, his next move would have to be careful. It wasn’t safe when Klaus was like this, obsessive. Possessive.

“You shouldn’t be watching her like that” he whispered

“It’s just to see her, so she’s safe” he argued

“Not when she’s..vulnerable. She’s not meant for you to use as a source for your..satisfaction or whatever your perverted mind-“ Klaus cut him off with a hand around his throat, his grip so tight he feared his head would detach from his shoulders

“How dare you? You-you looked at those? You went thought the photos? You saw her? Did you fucking look?” His hybrid face came into play as the image of his brother seeing her naked body entered his mind

“Ni-kl-aus” he struggled but there was no use now. Klaus had snapped his neck in an instant. He needed his dagger now. He was either going to have him in a coffin or stab his eyes out

“You should really mind your own business Elijah, it’s rude to pry.” He uttered as he dragged his body to the dungeons. On the way he past that room

The room he had for her. The room that one day, not too far from now, he would be able to bring her to, convince her that their love could finally come together.

After dumping his brothers rotting body he went back to check on his love, he couldn’t bare the thought of someone else seeing her the way he does, that’s why he must always be on standby, ready to kill anyone who looked at her for more than a second.

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bizbat · 3 months

Text

Pretty Like This

~ Utahime Iori x Reader

~ Mature content alluded to but nothing explicit

~ Reader's appearance is not described

~ Reader can be read as any gender

~ Wc: 1.030k

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🦇Batman Masterlist🦇

~ You can find more of my works here.

Thank you to @pterodactyl-hater for requesting something with my glorious queen, my eternally loving goddess, my beautiful, gorgeous wife, Uthime Iori!

~ She looks so pretty like this.

"Pretty" doesn't seem strong enough a word to describe her.

No words truly do. There's not a phrase in any language that fully encapsulates everything about her. How a simple glance your way can make your heart squirm and writhe in your chest. How even thinking you've heard her voice down the hall is enough to make your entire body stop, make your limbs freeze mid air. How, when she talks, all you can do is sit there stupidly as she talks, her sweet voice making your brain shut off, preventing you from forming a competent sentence.

No, "pretty" isn't nearly enough. But for some reason, when you see her like this, it's the only thing that comes to mind.

She's laid out in your bed, her long, inky locks of hair spread across her pillow, framing her face in a way that's, frankly, angelic. Her skin, softer than any silk you've ever felt before, bare and exposed to the warm air of your room. Her strong, delicate arms, perfectly laid across her stomach. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume she was a portrait come to like, nigh perfect in every aspect.

She's so powerful, even in her sleep she wills you to wait for her, to observe her soft chest rise and fall with every deep, slow breath. She compels you to study the way her elegant lashes rest across her porcelain cheeks. She pulls you in, grips you by the throat and gives you no other option but to focus and obsess.

You try not to breathe too loudly, try not to move too much, try not to disturb her slumber, anything to keep her like this.

Not that she isn't as breathtaking when she's awake, when you see her exercising, sweat dripping down the side of her neck, a glowy sheen coating her every muscle, you have to physically force yourself not to gawk. When she has her hair tied back, absentmindedly watching TV, your head in her lap as she plays with your hair, it's hard not to gaze up at her with sheer admiration and adoration.

And, like last night, when she's laid on her back, her face flushed the most vibrant shade of pink, and her usually collected voice reduced to little more than choked gasps and moans, it's enough to bring tears to your eyes.

But you think this is still your favorite version of her. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach out and stroke her face, or fix her messy bangs, but you don't have it in you to disturb her in the slightest. You worry you're doing it now, just by staring at her so intently. If she were awake, she'd laugh at you, a soft, airy noise that would make you feel like an idiot in the best way.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see her lashes flutter, her eyes slowly peeking open and getting used to the light pouring in through the window. She moans, warming up her voice before turning to lay on her side to stare right back at you. Neither of you say a word, a warm silence permeating in the air between the two of you.

Eventually, when she notices the awestruck look in your unblinking eyes, she speaks. "Why are you staring at me?" Her question is spoken with a smile on her face. That damn smile that got you here in the first place, that stole your heart the minute she flashed it your way. Taken off guard by her confrontation of your admittedly creepy behavior, you blink for the first time in what must've been at least five minutes.

Your lip trembles, your brain once again melting in your head at her words, as your mouth opens and closes, several answers being born and dying on your tongue. And just as you thought she might, she does indeed laugh, a musical giggle bouncing around between your ears as she reaches out and brushes her thumb across your face.

You finally form a real thought when you feel her soft, albeit slightly chapped, lips press against your nose. "You just . . ." You begin speaking, getting lost in those deep, wise pools of golden, honey brown that make unwavering contact with your own eyes. "You look so . . . pretty like this, Utahime."

It's such a simple sentence, something so soft and innocent whispered to what you think might be the most beautiful woman on the planet. Yet, the minute it leaves your lips something heavy settles in your chest, something thick, something so cold it freezes every drop of blood rushing through your veins, yet so hot it sends a wave of hot, red heat throughout your body.

Her eyes crinkle at your words, her hand moving to fix her wild, messy, gorgeous hair. "Think so?" She says it like she doesn't believe you, like she's used to hearing it, but not used to it being meant. And it shatters your heart like glass. You push yourself up, careful not to move too fast, careful not to startle her, as if she'd see your desperation and immediately leave, tell you to forget anything had ever happened between the two of you.

You hold yourself above her, looking down at her with stars in your eyes, before lowering yourself down just enough to press the gentlest kiss in the world to her pink lips. You hope she can't hear how fast your heart is beating in your chest, can't read your mind and discover just how in love with her you are, as you try to make her see how wonderful she is with every movement of your lips against hers.

You don't even realize how deep the kiss had actually gotten until you pull away, breathing heavily as blood rushes to your face. Your eyes drop to Utahime's face, her eyes as bright as yours usually are in her presence. Suddenly, you lose every bit of confidence, dropping back to lay in bed beside her.

After a few more moments of silently staring at each other, you finally manage to choke out an answer.

"Y-yeah . . . I think so."

#bizbat #jjk #utahime x reader #utahime iori #utahime iori x reader #gn!reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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werezmastarbucks · 8 months

Text

2. Look what I have under the cloak

barry allen x Y/N

part 2 out of 8

word count: 1216

At the graduation, Barry begged you to be there. You'd finished a week earlier and got your useless diploma, and could now barricade one window with it. It was important for him for you to be there, because, well, you were his only friend. He also crushed into you, hard, like only Barry Allen can. With the thought, swirling in his head, and the reinforced feeling of admiration turning almost into obsession. But you didn't know about it.

The ceremony was prudent, quick and sweet. At least they have acknowledged his genius, that mr Barry Allen excells at all subjects he takes onto, and there were many. They saw his bright future as talented lawyer, and shook his hand, and forgot his name the next day. Barry looked funny, like a schoolboy, in a long black robe and a graduate's hat; he beamed with pleasure as he took off the stage and went back into the audience. You nudged his shoulder and nodded, and gave him a short hug.

It's been weird, pretending like he's not the Flash, when he was the Flash. Every time he skipped College to go someplace, he now didn't even invent any excuses, and you didn't even ask. He'd just return the next day, or a couple days later, a little beaten, a bruise here and there, and you'd casually talk about the news to tease him. You were glad he wasn't trying to distance himself from you. The Flash or not, you wouldn't have anybody else to talk to if he decided to stop being friends with you.

You went to lunch and the library as usual, chatted about physics and literature, and films, and food. All the while a huge yellow lightning sign hung between you like an elephant in the room. You didn't know why it pissed you so much, that he wouldn't confirm. You guessed there were reasons, but it was so, so painfully clear.

Now, as the ceremony was over, you two started to get going. Talking about the future, and the plans, and the doom that was awaiting you. The job market - oh, don't mention it, it's a nightmare. Should we go out for a pizza? Of course, I thought that was by default.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hand as you entered the inner yard. People were already making themselves scarce, all flowing straight out of the gates. Barry pulled you over, concealing you two behind a brickstone niche with a little fountain.

"Look what I have under my cloak", he said, quickly.

You pulled your hand away.

"Ew, Barry, fuck off!"

"No, it's not what you think. It's the other thing you were thinking".

You looked into his face, into his impatient dark eyes, talking to you. You stepped towards him with the feeling of anticlimax approaching, and he opened up his black ceremonial robe.

The dark-red costume with the huge bright yellow lighting on his chest, like a Christmas present.

You opened your mouth, a mixture of triumph and annoyance brewing in your mind.

"We been knew, friend. But that's still... very cool".

"I finally got the approval. Bruce-"

He slapped himself on the mouth so hard he moaned softly. You bit your lip not to roar with laughter.

"I mean Batman, he really didn't want me to share with anyone, I am so sorry".

"You're a really bad actor, Barry, and your mask doesn't hide very much".

"Yeah, I know. I know. But I am so relieved I can tell you now, I mean..."

"Do the Flash!" you urged.

"Hm?"

"Do the thing, when you're standing here, and the next second, you're standing there!"

He smiled happily at your childish impatience for wonder. He started to move. In the slow motion of moving matter, among the golden threads of atoms of the air, he watched your face, like a portrait, and how your hair, ruffled by his sudden jump, flew across it. He wondered why he hadn't done it earlier, because this way, he could stare at your beauty without seeming like a creep. Oh, he was a creep, was he? Fantasizing that one day, he'd be able to catch that expression on your face, that other people usually provide: the look of admiration, and astonishment, the smile of being on a rollercoaster for the first time.

He took off his robe and hung it on the bench, took off his hat, put in on the bench, then, put on the mask, ran around you to create a little vortex of whirlwind, and stopped.

Instead of delivering the smile, you fell, picked up by the gust of air.

"Oh yes!" you yelled, very loud, "that is so badass!"

He picked you up.

"I need to change back", he said, unable to stop grinning, like an idiot. A fraction of a second - and he was in his cloak again, looking at you and your open mouth.

"How could Batman forbid you to tell anybody? Is he your boss or something?"

"Umm... he, like, he's, like a leader. So, yeas, kinda... like a boss, but you know, I am my own boss, of course".

"Of course", you said, laughing.

"And he uh... so, he said... you know, it's generally forbidden for metapeople to disclose their identity, so..."

"I won't tell anyone, Barry, you know that".

"I know, but... well, we gotta live together".

Astonished silence fell on the yard, filling it with the sound of the little fountain.

"...why?" you asked, carefully.

He bit his lower lip.

"Well, so... so that I can monitor you, he said".

"He said?"

"Yes".

"Bruce? I mean Batman?"

He looked at you, suspicious whether you already figured out who Batman was.

"Sometimes he makes my life very difficult, and dictates his own rules, like a tyrant. When I'm supposed to skip college and everythig. But it's for the good, you know".

"No offense, Barry, I really like you, but I don't want to live with you. I just don't want to live with a dude, why would I".

He nodded energetically, almost hysterically,

"Yes, I get it, I ge-e-et it one hunch".

His felt his heart sink. Not that he expected you'd be so smitten with him by now, that you'd be thrilled to move in together. But he expected somewhat of a more ambiguous answer. Good news was, Bruce wouldn't change his mind no matter what. He told Barry all these stories, of dead wives and brothers, and even casual friends and neighbours. At the moment the little, tiny voice of consciousness told him he doesn't appreciate the seriousness of the situation when a civilian knows who he is. But you smelt so good, and you laughed so rad, and was always the softest, the bravest, the smartest person in his every day, and he wanted nothing more than spend every minute with you. Ideally, running into each other in the corridor in the morning, or stumbling in the bathroom, or meeting in the kitchen in the romantic light of an evening lamp.

You were still talking about how you didn't want to live with him; with such eagerness, such disdain towards the idea, that Barry started to think, you suspected something about him. He got a little hurt but let it slide for now.

#the flash 2023 #the flash imagine #the flash 2023 imagine #ezra miller imagine

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melikeygot7 · 2 years

Text

DRABBLE FOR LIM JAEBEOM:

(there might be a part two, not quite sure yet)

You’re drunk.

The kind of drunk that has you so self aware you’re embarrassed of every move your body makes. Even the slight rise and fall of your chest with each breath makes you flush red.

You didn’t plan on getting drunk.

It was cocktails with some girlfriends.

A catch up girls night so you could all get re-acquainted and gossip about coworkers and recent hookups. There’s a few questions about him, but you brush them off and wash them down with each mouthful of flavoured vodka.

You don’t want to talk about Jaebeom, not now.

But he invades your mind after the fifth drink.

You can’t stop thinking about the way he smiles. How his eyes slip into crescent moons and his teeth are fully exposed, that little half-chuckle echoing in your memory.

You can’t stop thinking about his hands. How warm and soft they were when wrapped in yours or clasped around the back of your neck, guiding your lips to his or just ushering you under the protective layer of his arm.

You think about how his voice drops into a low, comforting baritone when he croaks out his “good morning baby” or the little niggle to his voice when he talks to his cats like babies.

You can’t stop thinking about how you’re never going to hear, or see, him like that ever again:

You call him after the seventh drink, mumbling into the phone about how much you miss him, about how much you wish he was still here with you. His voicemail is a familiar greeting but it never stops you.

He never picks up your calls anymore.

It makes your heart ache and stomach freeze.

“I miss you Beommie,” you near sob, smearing some snot across your upper lip and cheek as you wipe your face, your knees creaking as you park yourself on the curb outside the cocktail bar, shivering at the wind blowing you frozen, “I don’t know what I did wrong Beom but I want you to come home, I want you to be here.”

You plead the same thing into his message bank once a month and you never hear back and you suppose that’s what he wants, that leaving you was a finality and not a “see you later angel.”

You cry most of the way home.

Stumbling slightly on each shift or crack in the pavement, eyes shuddering under the neon lights of the night life. He always liked walking through the main streets at night, obsessed with trying new foods and taking portraits or landscapes of the people and places around him.

Some of them were of you, illuminated by bright purples and bleeding reds like a techno beauty from the future.

“Blade Runner,” he exclaimed clicking his fingers and curling over you a little more, bare chest pressed to your side and lips brushing your temple, “that’s the name of it!”

You miss him.

You don’t think he misses you.

You’re sliding your key into your front doors lock, forehead balanced on flat wood of your door to push it open, your disoriented limbs your worst enemy.

Your phone buzzes but you don’t check it immediately, too busy toeing off your shoes and trying to will yourself not to cry any more. It’s probably just your friends making sure you get home okay.

You just want to sleep.

You finally make it to bed, makeup and outfit stripped off and one of his old shirts tight over your shoulders and hips. It still smells like him, soap and something musky like cloves, ever the most calming scent you’d ever smelt.

You pick up your phone, ready to take a snap of you blurry eyed and in bed to your girlfriends, but it’s a text message that gains your attention.

“Stop calling,” it reads, your heart sinking and twisting, “you need to leave me alone, okay?

You want to cry, so you do.

You sniffle and shake under your covers and will your mind to just pass out from the vodka instead of thinking of every moment you two shared.

“Okay,” you message back through fogged vision, fingers hesitant with every word spelt, “im still sorry, I love you.”

You don’t get a response.

You don’t get closure.

He’s just gone. Touring the world and singing for thousands and performing and making his dreams come true, excelling and dazzling in every shape of form possible. You watch him through screens and interviews, face pinched and sadness swelling your throat up. He doesn’t want to know you anymore, he’s figured out your flaws, figured them out way to fast and booked it before you brought him down.

You don’t blame him.

You’re fucked up. You know you are.

“I was getting better,” you think quietly to yourself, not lying even in your not sober moments, “what did I do wrong?”

You never find out what “you did wrong”.

His mum still sends you cards and flowers on your birthday, despite knowing he wants nothing to do with you anymore and it makes your throat feel like cement. She still writes a little card, “happy birthday beautiful girl, we love you!”

You don’t know what it means, but you put them in a vase and make them survive as long as you can just so you have something to wake up to and make you smile for a while.

You still don’t know what you did wrong, even when your girlfriends tell you that it wasn’t you, “how could it be you, huh? you’re funny, smart, beautiful, considerate and kind. for whatever reason, it was him babe, it was never you.”

You stop mulling it over everyday and focus on work, on seeing your friends and yourself. You find a happy slice of life for yourself outside the realm of him and slowly, that constant questions about your faults and what he saw that you didn’t slowly dwindle into anger and aggravation.

You never would’ve done this to him. You wouldn’t of up and left with no explanation and hurt him like this. You love him, respect him and cherish your relationships.

This his him, his faults, his stupid, unknown reasoning and not yours.

You find your rhythm after that realisation.

He wants to leave, sacrifice you and your relationship and the future of it?

Fine, you were going to succeed and be happy without him, to spite him.

Fuck Lim Jaebeom.

#defsoul #got7 #got7 imagines #got7 x reader #im jaebum #jaybnow.hr #kpop imagines #lim jaebeom #lim jaebeom x reader #choi youngjae #kim yugyeom #bambam #park jinyoung #jackson wang #mark tuan #mark tuan x reader #jackson wang x reader #park jinyoung x reader #bambam x reader

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kyriolex · 2 years

Text

Kawaki Academy Arc: The Not-So-Haunted School

I wasn’t expecting much from this so-called horror episode, but it was a lot more entertaining than I predicted. Not because it was scary, but because it was hilarious.

So we open with Sosha telling the other kids on cleaning duty about the Mysteries of the Academy. Himawari gets the idea to have a ghost hunt, and we quickly get our horror movie roster:

Sosha, the lore master

Himawari, the kid with plot armor

The twins Ran and Suzu, who keep teasing each other about who will run away first

Kura the cat hoodie girl, who has absolutely no relation to Wasabi or cat summoning. Her specialty is scroll summoning and weapons (like Tenten), and she loves horror movies.

Ehou, who screamed and leapt into Himawari’s arms after the first story

Yuina, who is still searching for a solid personality

Kae, who doesn’t believe in ghosts but is still super stoked for a hunt

Kawaki, who is too grown-up for this but will come along if he HAS to. He’s going to scoff and roll his eyes the entire time though.

As they are planning, Shino comes in with a mop and asks the kids to please finish cleaning. The kids whine that they should be given scientific ninja tools to clean with (valid), but Shino says cleaning the school is part of training. I’m not sure if he means chores are character-building or if they’re practice for cleaning up blood and corpses after missions. Given Konoha’s culture, it could be both.

The kids dismiss Shino, and he overhears them making fun of his name and how forgettable and boring he is. Kawaki, surprisingly enough, is super polite to Shino and offers to take care of everything. (I guess Boruto told him the story of Terminator Shino and warned Kawaki not to mess with Aburames.)

Later that night, the kids meet up and walk boldly into the abandoned school building. Kawaki spots Kae sneaking away from the group and finds her plotting with Batora the butler, who is dressed as an anatomy dummy.

She tells Kawaki her not-so-evil plan: To enact the fake mysteries for the other kids so they have a fun ghost hunt. Kawaki isn’t interested, but Kae says he needs to help her to “preserve Himawari’s innocence.”

(FYI, the screenshots get super grainy from here on out. Sorry.)

So Kawaki, Kae, and Batora sneak around pretending to terrifying specters such as:

The moving anatomy dummies who will only chase you out of the room and no further.

The bathroom ghost that overflows with red paint blood (The writers repeatedly specify that this is the boys’ bathroom - otherwise that “blood” would have a very different horror to it.)

The autonomous kunai in the training room that fly around with no user

Pacman Hiruzen, whose statue floats around and races through the shrubbery like a video game

Iruka’s portrait, which opens its mouth to show an Orochimaru-like tongue that licks you. Yes, really.

The mirror that transports you to the shadow realm.

Halfway through the night, Kawaki complains that he doesn’t understand why Kae is so obsessed with making these ghosts real. Batora reveals that Kae never got a proper childhood due to being a princess, so she’s living vicariously through Himawari and the others.

Kawaki then decides to be the best ghost he can be. He and Batora hide in the shrubs and carry the Hiruzen statue on their backs while Himawari gives chase. But Himawari’s Byakugan senses plot relevance and finally decides to turn on. She realizes Kawaki is the ghost, but lies to the other kids that she couldn’t see anything.

So by the sixth ghost, the only kids left are Himawari, Ehou, and Yuina. The rest of the kids ran off like cowards at various points in the night. They check out the mirror, and suddenly a floating sheet appears above them. Kawaki and Kae compliment Batora for the neat trick, but Batora says “guys that isn’t me.”

Ehou and Yuina become so frightened by the floating sheet that they conveniently pass out in fear. Kawaki rushes to Himawari’s defense and tries to punch the bedsheet, to no avail. Kawaki, Kae, and Batora chase the slippery sheet outside into the courtyard in case it’s an assassin. Himawari hangs back and watches over her unconscious teammates.

Kawaki, Kae, and Batora catch up the bedsheet, which is empty. Then the Hiruzen statue just slams onto the ground behind them. The sheet picks up again and flies through a crack in the window back into the building. Kae freaks out and concludes ghosts are real and that she’s angered them by playing pretend. She’s no longer living vicariously - she’s in the ghost story now.

Kawaki realizes the person controlling the “ghost” must be in the faculty office, because that’s the only place the ghost hunters haven’t visited. They run into the office, where they see a shadowy figure scuttling around on all fours like that girl from the ring. Kawaki keeps trying to catch it, but the figure is too fast...until it runs into a bunch of glow-in-the-dark paint that Batora had left earlier on the floor.

The now-glowing figure stands up and turns out to be...Shino. He asks what they’re doing in school so late and why they put open paint buckets in the middle of the floor. Kae says they were ghost hunting, and Shino says “Ghosts? Are you...talking about these guys?” He brings out his shimmering bug hive, which does indeed look ghostly in the moonlight.

Shino explains that he was doing his own cleaning around the grounds - he can’t exactly lecture kids about chores if he slacks off himself. The bugs help him carry supplies like sheets and sponges and such. So basically, Shino’s been cleaning the school occasionally at night, but he’s so quiet and stealthy that any witnesses of his cleaning assumed it was ghost activity.

The anime doesn’t actually explain the mysteries beyond that, so I’m going to do my best theories:

The moving dummies - The bugs moving the dummies around for cleaning

Haunted toilets - That’s probably bad plumbing

Autonomous kunai - I’m guessing that’s just Shino working out after he’s done cleaning

Floating Hiruzen statue - Maybe this is his version of weight training? I don’t know why else it would be necessary to move a statue to clean, even outdoors.

Iruka portrait - We know from earlier episodes that the kids gossip about poor Iruka a lot, so the idea of a haunted portrait is probably more gossip, unrelated to Shino

The mirror - Maybe the kids saw one of Shino’s bug clones polishing the mirrors and then dissipating, and they thought the clone disappeared into the mirror. Kawaki’s “ghost” was just the bugs carrying a sheet around.

The office ghost - It seems Shino was doing that sprint scrubbing thing to clean the floors instead of using a mop.

Still not sure why Shino was doing all that cleaning in the dark. I suspect Aburame eyes are really sensitive to light and he just prefers cleaning by moonlight when it’s his turn to play janitor. I...hope the teachers take turns cleaning. I know Shino’s a workaholic, but it would be sad if he did this by himself every night.

Anyway, Himawari and her now conscious teammates finally catch up in time to see the glowing Shino. Yuina and Ehou run outside screaming, while Himawari casually tells Shino-sensei hi.

The next day, the kids are all gossiping about the masked, glowing ghost. Shino thankfully isn’t mad, but rather amused and a little grateful the kids are talking about him at all.

Meanwhile, Himawari and Kawaki chat in the corner, and Himawari reveals she totally figured out Kawaki was the ghost but didn’t want to ruin his and Kae’s effort. Kawaki thanks her for being mature about it, and the two level up in sibling bonding. The end.

#boruto ep 264 #boruto naruto next generations #boruto spoilers #himawari #kawaki #kae #shino aburame #shino sensei

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gayhawkelatehomicide · 2 years

Text

Alike In Sorrow

Finished the first section of a bigger thing I'm working on so I'm throwing it out here for a vibe check ig

***

Words: 603

Rating: T for Kiera's mouth and discussions of past character death

Other tags: major character death, not in this snipped but in the past, this is sad y'all, questionable coping mechanisms, Cole therapy, my obsession with the canticle of trials

***

Title is from the Chant of Light, Trials 1:8

“You have grieved as I have.

You, who made worlds out of nothing.

We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay,

Comforting each other in our art.”

***

"Rush of rage, blinding, but it's not real. It's just sadness wearing a mask. Didn't even bring her body back, nothing to burn, buried beneath silent stone. She doesn't mind. She knows you tried."

Or: Hawke meets Varric's newest project.

"Scratching, clawing, catching, crushing. Left her there, in the deep dark and damp. Mother's eyes when I told her. I tried, I tried, I tried."

Hawke just about jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, and she's on her feet with her sword between herself and the intruder in her quarters before she has time to process his words. That weird spirit kid Varric's sort of adopted is perched in the casement of her open window, despite the fact that her room is in the top of one of Skyhold's many towers.

"What are you doing in here?" She demands, lips thinning into a displeased frown. There's climbing into her window, which might be forgiven because the kid is Varric's, but bringing up her sister is a quick way to get on Hawke's bad side.

"You think very loudly," he answers, head ducked to hide his eyes and most of his face under the brim of his ridiculous hat. "The hurt is heavy, hidden but held. Guilt and grief, the Gray could've saved her. But it didn't matter. There was nothing you could've done for Bethany."

Hawke grits her teeth, resisting the urge to swat him off the window. She reminds herself how much Varric apparently likes this kid, and how unflattering his stories would get if she were to hurt him. She gets her temper under control. It's harder than it used to be, before the chantry. Hawke sits down in her chair and puts her sword back across her knees, picking up the cleaning cloth from the floor. She returns to the soothing, repetitive process of working oil over the blade.

Her voice is controlled, when she speaks. "When I want someone poking around in my head, you'll be the first to know. In the meantime, get lost, would you?"

"Rush of rage, blinding, but it's not real. It's just sadness wearing a mask. Didn't even bring her body back, nothing to burn, buried beneath silent stone. She doesn't mind. She knows you tried."

Hawke's head snaps up, furious and ready to put up with whatever retaliation if it means she doesn't have to listen to this anymore, but the window is empty. She can't remember exactly why she's so mad, but it's still there, vitriolic and seething. Maker, why am I so angry? She shakes her head at herself.

There's a piece of paper weighed down with a shiny rock on the windowsill. She has no idea who put it there, but curiosity—and, she'll admit privately, her fondness for shiny things—has her hauling herself out of the chair to go investigate. The rock gleams when the sun hits it, some kind of crystal polished just enough to catch the light. The paper bears a sketch, shaky but recognizable, of a young Leandra Amell. It resembles the portrait Hawke gave Bethany, after they cleared the slavers out of their family home. She stares at it for a long moment, unsure what she's feeling.

A drop of water lands on the page. Hawke watches it sink into the paper. Three more join it before she realizes she's crying. Her hand clenches closed, crumpling the paper and the incriminating tears. She scrubs the back of her hand hastily across her cheeks, tosses the rock onto her bedside table, then hurls the balled up paper out the window. Watches the wind catch it, and carry it over the battlements. She hefts her sword onto her shoulders and heads downstairs to find something to hit, something to do with the fury churning in her gut.

It's just anger. That's all she has anymore.

#dragon age #da2 #dai #my writing #kiera hawke #hawke at skyhold #pre-adamant but the mood is still there yanno #trauma #your friendly neighborhood therapy spirit doing his best #major character death #not in this snippet but in the past #this is sad y'all #questionable coping mechanisms #Cole therapy #my obsession with the canticle of trials #sad bastard warrior hawke

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yandere-daze · 2 years

Text

Okay so I normally don't write for genshin but I've been playing it more again recently and can I just say how much I loved that albedo event?? It's probably been said before but the yandere potential with that imposter is unreal. Just. Everything. Frothing at the mouth

So I had a thought. Imposter Albedo is called Rubedo in this as I've seen other writers on here call him!

Yandere Albedo x gn! reader x Yandere! Rubedo/ Imposter Albedo

tw yandere, stalking, obsession, possessiveness

You feel like you're freezing as you run through the snowy mountains of dragonspine. Your feet have long since grown numb and yet everything hurts all the same. But still, you can't allow yourself to rest for even a second.

You're already at a disadvantage, you don't know your way around these areas while Albedo spends most of his time here conducting experiments and doing research.

Yes, Albedo. The very person you were trying to flee from right this moment. Many times had you visited the alchemist at his little campsite to keep him company. He didn't seem bothered by it and you thought it was mesmerizing to see him go about his work.

It had started off so innocent too and you remember feeling happy when he started opening up to you. The way a small smile appeared on his face whenever you visited him and the fond look in his eyes, it almost made you nostalgic to think about.

The very first time Albedo asked if he could draw you, you felt so honored and immediately agreed. His talent was very palpable when you looked at the end result. Him blushing lightly when you complimented his abilities with a great smile on your face. You thought nothing of it when he asked if he could continue to draw you, which is why you agreed without any hesitantion.

You never expected to stumble onto a collection of well over 200 paintings of you when you next visited the head alchemist. A lot of them were innocent enough, just simple portraits of you, though you did have to remark that they were scarily detailed. Did Albedo look at your face so often that he had committed every little detail of yours to memory? You shuddered to think about it.

Then you slowly noticed how a lot of the paintings were based on your daily life. The time you went to the marketplace, when you went out to collect ingredients for a new recipe or even your sleeping face. The way he managed to draw the exact way your room looked like, every little detail and even the pajama you wore last night. Had he been following you around? Stalking you without you ever noticing? How else could he have known how all of these things looked? You had never invited him to your home before and you certainly had no sleepover together where he could have seen you sleeping. It was way too unsettling to think about.

You needed to get away immediately.

But then of course, Albedo came back. Realizing that you had found out about his paintings he started confessing his undying love for you. That he just had to see you and capture your overwhelming beauty. How he longed for your presence the second you left his side, that your rare visits weren't enough for him anymore.

He craved your love and affection, he wanted you to stay with him forever. He could take care of you! So please, don't leave him again!

But all you could feel was dread. Albedo had completely lost his mind and wanted to keep you with him. You had no intention of staying there, knowing just how obsessed he had gotten with you.

So you made a run for it, Albedo shouting after you, begging you to stay.

"Please, don't leave me! I need you!"

You heard his begging voice and there was a slight feeling of guilt inside of you but this was for the best. You had to get away immediately! You were certain Albedo wouldn't be standing still for much longer and you needed to gain some distance before he started chasing after you. You knew that once he got to you, he would ensure that you wouldn't be able to escape him again. This was your only chance!

Which is where we get back to the present. You feel cold all over but keep pushing forward, it couldn't be that long until you would escape dragonspine and then you could start looking for help somewhere else.

You just had to hold on a little longer and hope that Albedo wouldn't find you before you can make it out of here. You tremble when you think about what might happen then. He would never let you leave him again and overwhelm you with his twisted love.

You didn't want to think about it anymore, you would start to feel sick otherwise and you truly didn't need that to happen right now.

You made your way through the snow when suddenly, you heard the crunch of someone stepping on a branch right behind you. Immediately, you froze up, halting your movement. This could easily just be a hilichurl but you knew deep down that that wasn't true.

You had been found.

Bracing yourself you slowly turned around to face the person standing behind you, trying to drag out the moment as much as possible, wanting to treasure that last moment of freedom you have.

When you finally came to face the person, you felt your heart sink. The hair, the eyes, the clothes, it was all unmistakably Albedo. And his voice just confirmed your suspicions further.

"Y/n, I've finally found you"

That calm voice, the way he said your name so devotedly, it was all the same.

There was only a single thing that caught your attention : his neck. With a start you realized that something was wrong. That unique star shaped mark Albedo always had, it was missing!

"Albedo" took a step in your direction, fully intending to reach out to touch you. After all this time of having to watch you interact with Albedo, he could finally be with you himself. He doesn't understand why you ran away but he certainly doesn't mind. He had watched on in jealousy for so long, wanted your attention. Why was he not worthy? Why did Albedo get to have someone he can love and he cannot? It was all so unfair! He wanted you just as much, if not even more so!

He was so close to touching your cheek when suddenly-

"You're not Albedo", you said with a serious face.

Rubedo felt himself stop short, immediately halting his movements. The smile on his face was strained.

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm -"

"You're not Albedo", you interrupted him with a stern expression. The tone of your voice left no room for arguments, somehow you had found out about his identity and now you were going to leave him behind. Posing as the real Albedo was the only way for him to be with you but now that you have figured out the truth so easily it was all for nothing.

He didn't know what to say, all he could feel at the moment was overwhelming despair. He wanted you so badly, longed for you every day, and now the second he gets to be in your presence he immediately loses you again? It was not fair, the voice in his head was screaming. Not fair. Why did Albedo get to have you?

Rubedo was prepared for you to scream at him, to call him names or a monster even. He was just an imposter, he could never compare to the real deal.

But what happened next surprised him as it was something he could only have dreamed of.

You ran towards him.

And wrapped your arms around his waist, warmth spreading through his entire being, something he had never felt before. It was an amazing feeling and all at once Rubedo felt whole. Like a missing part of himself had just returned. But he was so so confused.

Logically speaking your actions made no sense. Why would you ever hug a stranger that tried to mislead you into thinking they were a friend? It was way too dangerous! But he didn't dare voice his doubts incase him uttering a single word would break the spell placed on you and this moment would come to an end.

Above all else, he didn't want that. He wanted to enjoy this moment for however long he could. He had longed for your love for so long and now he felt it was hard to ever imagine letting go of you.

You on the other hand felt nothing but relief at the realization that the person standing before you was not Albedo, that the head alchemist hadn't found you yet. When you saw him step closer to you you had feared that you had been found out, that your escape had failed and that he would drag you back to his camp site, never to be seen again.

And truly, the stranger before you looked like an exact copy of the Albedo you knew, the only thing missing being the strange star mark on his neck. It was an unexplainable difference, something that told you he was an impostor.

It's a situation that anyone else would find terrifying yet to you it was like all of your worries and fears disappeared in a flash. Albedo was the last person you wanted to see right now and in your relief, you couldn't help but embrace the stranger.

Truly, wandering around dragonspine for so long and always having to stay on guard while hiding from any possible danger made you miss human contact a lot. You felt touch-starved and you wanted nothing more than someone to outstretch a helping hand to you, someone that could share the burden with you. You truly didn't want to be alone anymore. You wanted to be safe, you wanted to escape so badly. You could use any help you can get, you knew that.

Maybe it was just a part of you trying to rationalize the impulse decision you had just made but you wanted to trust this fake Albedo.

If it meant getting away from the real Albedo's twisted love then you would place your trust in this fake on. It was mostly desperation speaking but after such a long time of having to survive the biting cold of dragonspine all alone you would literally take any company.

And Rubedo was overjoyed that you would choose him out of free will even after finding out that he was not the Albedo you knew. It nearly made him mad with excitement that you even prefer him.

They way you feel against him and the radiant smile you shoot his way. It's all for him. He would protect you from his other self no matter what. He wouldn't allow you to fall back into his grasp now that he finally had you for himself.

Fate had led you two together this snowy night and now Rubedo would stop at nothing to keep it that way.

He's yours to use and yours to claim. All he wants in return is your love and affection

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kung-laos-hat · 3 years

Text

Infatuation

Liu Kang x Fem!Reader

This is my first fic on here :) not proof read yet‼️

Summary: Reader was an orphan Raiden found and raised in the temple. Despite being close in ages, Kung Lao and Liu were forbidden from really interacting with her because Raiden feared they’d become a distraction to each other. One night Liu Kang catches her sneaking around the temple, and doesn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity to talk to her

It was no secret that out of all the students Master Raiden took on, (Y/n) was by far one of his favorites. Although he would never dare to outright say it, the proof of this matter became pretty evident in their day to day life. (Y/n) was always the pupil standing behind him or to the side whenever another god payed the temple a visit, she was always given the most formidable missions and tasks, and to top it all off, she trained one-on-one with the Master himself and forbid most of the monks from interacting with her.

Now, Raiden could have placed this rule down for several reasons, but the most prominent one seemed to be because (Y/n) was the only female amongst his students, and so he mandated this in order to protect her well being. After all, who knew what evil might lurk in the hearts of these young men, Raiden thought. As one of his best pupils, (Y/n) couldn’t afford any distractions, nor could the others such as Liu Kang or Kung Lao.

Aside from that, Raiden had raised (Y/n) since she was a child, and as much as he hated to admit, he’d grown rather fond of her as not only a student, but as a daughter. So why wouldn’t he want to ensure no monk came to mettle in her business?

___

Raiden’s rule came with strict precautions and schedules to ensure (Y/n) would never really have to interact with the young men. I say young, because at the end of the day, (Y/n) needed someone to spar with, and Raiden couldn’t always be the one to fight her, so he permitted one of the trustworthy older monks to train with her under supervision every once and a while. Other than that, (Y/n)’s social interactions were limited to the household workers, such as the nurses.

This didn’t mean (Y/n) was oblivious to the existence of the monks around her age or younger. As the years carried on, and (Y/n) blossomed into a young woman, Raiden thought it was suitable to have her assist the children in their training. Her presence, he found, had a calming effect on the children and they quickly took a liking to her. However, this new position allowed her to see the monks around her age in passing or on the other side of the training grounds.

Still, none of them ever spoke to her outside of the casual greetings, thank you’s, and goodbyes.

___

“Do you want spar again later on today?” Liu Kang asked as he took a seat on the ground next to Kung Lao and grabbing his water.

Kung Lao ushered for him to pass the water to him. “Mmm,” He hummed thoughtfully, “We could try, but I think Master Raiden is having the younger monks use the training grounds while he’s out.”

Liu handed him the water and ran a sweaty hand through his hair. “If he’s out, then who’s leading them?”

Kung Lao took a generous sip from the bottle and placed it on the ground. “(Y/n)(L/n) is.” He answered, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“(Y/n)?” Liu furrowed his brows together in confusion. “She’s been here just as long as I have, yet I don’t believe I’ve ever held an actual conversation with her.”

Kung Lao huffed, “Good. Master would have your head if you did.”

Liu gave him a puzzled look.

“Elder god’s rule!” Kung Lao cheered with false enthusiasm, “None of us are allowed to bother her. But as you can see, she’s been placed in charge of the children, so who knows? It doesn’t seem reasonable to me, really.”

“Huh.” Liu mused. I suppose he’d gotten so accustomed to his schedule that he didn’t even notice how little he interacted with the girl. Hell, he’d completely forgotten about that dumb rule.

“She’s an interesting girl, that’s for sure,” Kung Lao continued.

Just as he said that, the door in the hallway connected to their training court opened and the girl in question emerged, making her way down the hallway.

“Speak of the devil, there she is,” Kung Lao laughed.

(Y/n) turned her head at the sound of his voice and offered them both a smile and a wave as she passed by.

Kung Lao waved back enthusiastically. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He whispered to Liu, but Liu was too captivated to respond.

His jaw loosened and all he could do was stare at her and only her, as if he was a camera in portrait mode. The wold around her seemed to blur and the light of the sun reflecting off of her skin and clothes made it seem like she was glowing. Liu Kang took in as much detail as he could; the tilt of her head, how her hair framed her face, the curve of her smile, everything. It all seemed magnificent and surreal.

He’d seen her before, surely, but somehow in that very moment something clicked in his mind. Something deep inside him had begun to build up and bubbled it’s way around his entire body. Liu felt like he was sick, but there was no nausea and his body didn’t ache. Instead his throat felt as it had closed and his chest tingled and burned. He brought a hand up and clenched the fabric in between his pectorals. As (Y/n)’s figure disappeared into the other side of the temple, Liu exhaled sharply.

“Liu?”

Perhaps this was the first time he’d taken the time to truly look at her, and that’s why he was feeling this way.

“Liu Kang?”

Maybe he’d been too concentrated on training and improving himself.

Liu was pulled out of his thoughts by Kung Lao flicking his forehead as hard as he could.

“OW— Lao—,” He whined.

Kung Lao chuckled, “I said your name twice.”

Liu’s frown dropped, “Oh, I apologize.” His gaze fell down to his feet in embarrassment.

A sly smile tugged at the ends of Kung Lao’s mouth as he realized what was going through Liu’s head.

“As I was saying,” He cleared his throat, “She’s beautiful. Truly something special, huh?” He teased.

Liu let out a sarcastic laugh and shoved the other male playfully.

The next couple of days Liu’s infatuation with (Y/n) would only grow stronger and more visible to Kung Lao and the others around them. It was interesting to see Liu become passionate about something other than being the “chosen one” for a change. Now the question was how long would it take before he couldn’t help but approach her?

___

Another tedious lesson was over and the two friends could not have been more eager to burst out of the room down roam the halls of the temple to their rooms, but Liu and Kung Lao knew better than to display such uncultivated behavior in front of their master. Once they and the other boys had been dismissed and were out of view from Raiden, Liu began his usual tangent.

“I saw her twice after morning practice, did I tell you?” He began stretching his arms above his head, “I waved and she—,”

“I know, Liu.” Kung Lao chuckled, “You told me all of this during our lunch. I’m beginning to think you’re becoming a little... obsessed with poor (Y/n).”

Liu slapped Kung Lao’s shoulder playfully, “I’m not obsessed, I assure you. I’m just curious as to why Master Raiden won’t let us talk to her.”

Kung Lao opened the pathway to their rooms and shook his head and they continued to walk. “I’m sure he has his reasons. And besides, it’s not good to be so fixated on this when you should be focused on training, Liu.”

Liu cocked and eyebrow at his friend. “What do you mean?”

Kung Lao stopped walking and gave him and knowing look, the corners of his mouth pulling up in amusement as if he was refraining a smile. “Don’t pretend like that little slip up during sparing a day ago while (Y/n) entered happened by sheer coincidence.”

Liu huffed and turned his face away stubbornly. “I didn’t expect her to be watching. I’m not used to fighting with an audience quite yet, that’s all.”

Now that was definitely a lie. Kung Lao knew Liu Kang saw himself as the golden boy amongst their peers, and who could blame him. He was a magnificent fighter.

“If that’s what you want me to believe, then so be it.” Kung Lao flicked the other boy’s forehead, then went off to tidy himself up before bed.

It wasn’t terribly late into the evening yet, but late enough that the sun has completely gone down and most of the temple residents were already asleep. Liu followed in his cousin’s footsteps and heading towards the showers. Afterwards the two boys spent another hour or so talking and playing games together until Kang Lao finally bid Liu goodnight.

Liu stayed behind to put away their things and was about to head out for the night, but when he stepped out into the open grand hall he noticed a figure quickly hide themselves behind one of the columns in the distance. His first reaction would of been to pounce and attack the being right then and there, but he knew he’d have to deal with a lot of angry side eyed glances tomorrow if it turned out to be a false alarm. A stealthy approach was better.

The boy casually pretended as if he was entering another section of the temple and hid behind the wall until he heard feint footsteps going the opposite direction. He took this opportunity to create some distance between him and the figure, just enough that it’d be difficult for them to sense them, but still allowed Liu to follow them.

Down the grand hall, towards the back of the temple, out into the training courts, and...

Into the greenhouse?

If this was a thief, they obviously weren’t a very smart one, for nothing of value would be found in the garden, Liu thought to himself. The garden itself was nothing impressive. Just a small room that was barely the size of a large shed. It contained a collection of flowers, potted trees and herbs that the nurses kept to replenish their stock every once and a while. Liu Kang peered in from the distance behind one of the trees outlining the entrance way, and finally identified the being as the girl he’d been thinking about nearly all week.

It was (Y/n). She placed a lantern that she’d been carrying with her onto the ground and look out a match from her pocket, then crouched down beside it. Seeing as the temple was in no danger, Liu Kang turned around to leave, but the shuffle of the branches startled (Y/n). She quickly summoned her (weapon/power) and darted out of the greenhouse. In her panic, the girl executed one swift blow to the tree, which Liu ducked and narrowly dodged.

“Calm yourself! It’s just me!” Liu whisper-yelled as he revealed himself, holding his hands in front of his chest defensively.

(Y/n) unclenched her fists and allowed her arms to fall to her side. She exhaled in relief, “You— what are you...? I apologize, I shouldn’t have assumed you were an attacker.” Her gaze fell to the floor in embarrassment.

Liu shook his head, “No, no, it was my mistake! I followed you out here on false pretenses that you were a burglar.”

The girl smiled and stifled a laugh. She tilted her head slightly upward to get a better look at the young man in front of her. He was in his normal attire, with his dark hair falling just about his shoulders and framing his face and neck quite nicely. (Y/n) would’ve been tempted to stare at him a little longer if not for the predicament she was in now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Liu Kang. You see, I’m so busy during the day— and although I know Master wouldn’t approve of it, I come out here when everyone’s alseep just to have time to myself.” She explained frantically, “I don’t— please don’t misinterpret my intentions, I was just—,”

“It’s alright, (Y/n).” Liu smiled, slightly flustered, placing a hand on her shoulder, “No need to explain yourself further. I won’t tell anyone. In fact this entire conversation is technically forbidden, mind you.”

(Y/n) was looking directly at Liu Kang now, and something about his presence was extremely calming to her.

“That’s right...” She mumbled, “You should go then, I don’t want to cause you any more inconvenience, Liu Kang.”

“Just Liu is fine.” He could feel the giddy feeling in his chest growing stronger each time she said his name. In truth, he didn’t want to leave her just yet. He glanced back at the greenhouse and spotted the perfect excuse. “But before I go,” His hand trailed down from her shoulder to her hand, and she accepted it. Liu tugged her back towards the greenhouse.

“I see that in your hurry to kill me, you’ve lost your match.” He smiled playfully at her and picked up the lantern on the floor. Letting go of her hand, he summoned a small flame and lit the wick of the candle inside. Then Liu took (Y/n)’s hands and wrapped it around the side of the glass boy firmly.

“There.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Please accept this as my apology for interrupting your evening.”

(Y/n) let out a small laugh and nodded back. “Thank you, Liu, but,” Her eyes flickered down to the lantern, then back up at him with a hint of mischief, “now that you know my secret, how will I know if you’ll actually keep it?”

“What?” Liu frowned, pretending to take offense, “Is my word not good enough? In that sense, how do I know you’re not actually a burglar?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye of each other from now on.” (Y/n) shrugged.

The two stared at each other for a moment, then bursted into a fit of giggles. (Y/n) sighed and placed the lantern on the ground.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then? It works for both of us. Your secret stays a secret, and I get to talk to you.”

(Y/n)’s face heated up at his words, although I doubt Liu Kang could see it with just a lantern for light. “I look forward to it then. Goodnight Liu.”

Liu placed a small kiss on the back of (Y/n)’s hand, impressed with his own boldness.

“Goodnight.”

___

Bonus:

The next morning, (Y/n) rounded up the younger monks to observe the elder ones practice. She subtly waved to both Liu Kang and Kung Lao before taking her seat behind the children. Just as a match was about to commence, Master Raiden appeared in the entrance and made his way to the center of the court. The monks exchanged confused glances until Raiden spoke.

“Alright, which of you imbeciles destroyed one of my trees?”

#liu kang #liu kang x reader #mortal kombat #kung lao #mk liu kang #mortal kombat 1995 #raiden #mk kung lao #mk raiden #mortal kombat 2021 #kung lao x reader

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kosmosguk · 4 years

Text

Lineage (M)

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.

Warnings: HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, dubcon smut (reader is a virgin, fingering, unprotected sex), 18+, explicit language

A/N: Part 1 of Lineage! Took 3 months, a messy outline, and 2 drafts that I decided I hated halfway through writing and deleted before starting over to finish one part. Tags of people who replied to the preview will be added in a reblog. Thank you for everyone who has been waiting and has shown support for the preview of Lineage and my writing account overall! This is inspired by the multitude of Korean webnovels I’ve been reading during quarantine. If you like it, please leave a comment because I will cry out of joy and this took me a WHILE to get out of the drafts. Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

‘‘Duke,’’ the king’s teeth chattered in terror as he spoke, his voice low. “What have you come to visit me for?”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if he was in thought. Normally, he’d be furious at the lack of efficiency, but something stopped him from simply slicing the fool’s head off with his sword. After all, there was a much more important matter at hand that he needed to deal with.

‘‘My king, you do,’’ Yoongi spoke slowly,’’ remember our deal, don’t you? I win the war against the bordering kingdom and give you a considerable sum, and you…’’

Yoongi directed a pointed look at the king, and the king flinched before hurrying over to his desk. He fumbled around with the papers on it, even knocking down a stack of sealed and stamped documents with his shaking elbows, before extracting a small silver-framed portrait.

Yoongi could see the tremor in the man’s hands as he handed him the portrait, but Yoongi only exhaled softly, almost as if he was relieved, as he took hold of the small painted picture.

Pretty long-lashed eyes that warmly sparkled despite paint being the only medium used, curved lips like budding flowers, and silky tresses that swooped past her delicate shoulders. The maiden etched into the canvas was not known as a beauty compared to her extravagantly dressed older sisters, but to Yoongi, she was worth much more than the other princesses combined. Yoongi gripped the portrait a little tighter, his hands slightly clammy.

‘‘You wanted the 8th princess, Princess [Y/N], as your bride,’’ the ruler before him sputtered. “As soon as you’re ready, I will have the engagement officially announced.”

Yoongi broke out of his reverie and tucked the portrait into the pocket of his coat before getting up from his seat. ‘’Thank you, my King. I will never forget the kindness you have bestowed upon the House of Min.’’

As Yoongi was about to open the door, the king called out once again.

‘‘Duke Min, if I may ask, why do you have so much interest in the 8th princess? I would have never thought she would suit your preferences. If you wanted, you could have the crown princess. Her beauty is known even in distant lands, and she is skilled—”

Yoongi coldly smiled at the pathetically shivering man, interrupting him sharply,’’ Do not interfere in personal matters, my King. Long live the Sun of the Kingdom.’’

The door clicked shut behind him, and the king sagged further into his extravagantly plush ruby couch. For the first time in his greedy life, the king truly felt sympathy for the young princess he had just sold to the notoriously named Duke of Hell.

You kneaded the dough of the bread firmly down onto the table, flour sticking to the crevices in your palms. The harvest had been plentiful that year, although many of the lands surrounding the kingdom had been ravaged by war, and the small palace, which was more like a shack than anything else compared to the palaces of your older siblings, you had in the royal territory was fortunate enough to receive a small portion of the year’s yield.

You had to be quick about kneading the dough. The weather in the kingdom had been warming up as the seasons changed, and if you dawdled, the dough would stick to the table and you’d spend the next half hour trying to scrape it off the wooden surface. You could feel the sun’s warmth on your back, and you hummed a pleasant melody as you kept working.

There were footsteps outside of your palace, a sharp knock on the door, and you paused. It was strange; no one really visited your palace other than the occasional maid, and their visits had dwindled down to barely showing up after they realized how insignificant your position was in the palace. But the maids never knocked; they always burst in, throwing down a basket of food before running off without so much a word.

Could the person outside be lost?

You hastily grabbed a piece of fabric, tying it around your neck to obstruct the view of your collarbone; this had become a habit you developed when you had been taken to the palace in order to hide the strange mark on your clavicle. You hastily pushed open the door, your fingers still crusted with flour-covered dough. The person outside was dressed in the garbs of a messenger, but you noticed that he looked and acted much too elegant to be in the role of a servant; perhaps he had been more blessed with good looks and manners but had no fortune in status, you mused to yourself.

You must have looked more like a maid than a princess because the messenger in front of the door took one look at you and asked,’’ Could you bring me the 8th princess? I carry a message from the palace.”

You smiled pleasantly. “Sir, you’re speaking to her. Are you lost, perhaps? The crown princess’s palace is down the road, and if you take a left, you’ll be right there.’’

The messenger blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open slightly, and he practically trembled as he realized his mistake. “No, this is a message for you! I’m so sorry, Your Highness; please punish this lowly servant for making such a—!”

You shook your head good-naturedly; you were no tyrant after all, having been born more like your mother, a noble of lower class who, albeit poor, was much more noble than those of higher ranking, than your father, the king. That was a fact that you took pride in.

“What message do you come to bring me? No one quite visits this palace,’’ you questioned.

“Your Highness, the 8th Princess of this Kingdom, I pass a message from the Duke of the House of Min to you. Your marriage has been agreed upon by His Majesty, King [L/N]. The Duke requests that you move into his estate as soon as you can so the preparations for marriage can be efficiently arranged and completed,’’ the messenger spoke.

Your smile stiffened, the edges of your lips curved awkwardly as you took in the message with wide eyes. “My marriage?’’ you managed to keep the tremble away from your voice as you asked the question.

“The Duke himself has personally requested of the king that he be bestowed your hand in marriage, Your Highness. He expects you to be done packing anything you find essential from your home by the morning of tomorrow. The wedding will be held the day after you move into his home.’’

You nearly sputtered in shock at the words of the messenger drifted in one ear and out the other, barely registering properly in your incredulous mind. “The wedding?! Isn’t that too soon? The engagement period usually lasts for at least a few months!’’

The messenger tried to smile, as if comforting the shock-stricken you, and he slowly spoke, hesitating,’’ The duke values efficiency above all else. Might I be so bold to say something? Princess...I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about the Duke. May they be either bad or good, please keep in mind one thing: you’ll be safe in his estate. He will protect you well. Good day, Your Highness. I wish you good fortune in your marriage to the Duke.’’

The messenger turned and was about to walk away when you called out,” Can I at least know your name?’’

The messenger turned back around, his eyes wide with surprise. Those of the nobility class never asked a lowly servant their name; names were symbols of rank in the upper classes, and thus the nobility did not care much about names when those names marked the identity of the lower classes. You were different from the other nobles. You looked and spoke just like her; no wonder the Duke was so fond of you.

“My name, Your Highness?’’ his voice hesitated as he spoke, his eyes wide in surprise,’’ Namjoon.’’

“Namjoon,’’ you breathed out, your lips that had been strained in an unnatural, forced smile spread into a genuine smile,’’ Thank you.’’

The nobility never thanked a servant, nor did they smile at them with such warmth. To a servant, a lack of punishment was enough.

Namjoon nodded and left your palace. When he was free from view of you and anyone else lurking around your palace, the ground underneath his feet turned an inky black, swirling like an abyss that was ready to swallow him up. Namjoon took one final glance at your palace, his previously dark eyes glowing an ominous red, and his lips that had been shyly smiling at you twisted into a smirk, flashing off two indents in his cheeks. He could see why the Duke, a man so devoid of warmth and humanity that he was a clear reflection of the demonic blood running in his veins, took such interest in you; you were interesting. Something about you drew him in; was it the kindness you showed, or was it just how hungry your smell made him feel? Whatever it was, Namjoon was sure of one thing: the Prophecy was to be fulfilled. Yoongi would make sure of it, after all.

Namjoon vanished from sight, swallowed up in the black that had dyed the soil in dark wisps of air, and the only trace of him left was a sharp acrid scent of smoke.

You closed the door, your hands trembling as you went back to kneading the bread dough. The warmth of the afternoon sun seemed like a chill on your back now as you prodded and shaped the dough into loaves. Since you were to leave the next morning, it seemed like a waste to bake bread; it wasn’t like you were to eat all of them by the time the dawn came. You would go into the city later after they finished baking and give them out; after your marriage to the duke, you were certain that you would receive no more chances to dress up in the garments of a maid and sneak out into the city.

It was unfortunate, was it not? To go from being the daughter of a lowly noble, one who had unfortunately caught the attention of a tyrannical king and ran away from him to the woods only to be caught and killed, to the forgotten but trapped 8th princess to something to be sold off for the selfish gain of another. You were like a lamb going to the slaughter, desperate to live but powerless.

The Duke was notorious for many things, the kinds of things that were gossiped by maids passing by your palace and left goosebumps prickled on your skin. He was a man who killed as easily as he found it to breathe, a man whose very name was used by the children as a way to scare each other. You were certain that you would be no exception to his murderous rage.

After you returned from the city, barely being able to take in the last wisps of life outside of the cage you had been forced in, and packed your remaining items into a small bag, you fell into an uneasy sleep. In your dream, you saw shadowy figures. They screamed and yelled, and you could only stand there as cold metal pierced your body through the collarbone. It hurt so much; it felt like agony ripping away at your skin, and you could feel your own blood rush down your weakening frame. You woke up before the day came to life, your body wracked in a cold sweat that left your eyes wide open in the pitch black of the night.

The carriage of the House of Duke came right as the light of dawn broke upon the horizon, sending splatters of rosy pink and gold light onto the sky’s canvas. You were drowned in the dappling shades of the new day as you handed the bag to the driver, who remained silent after a formal greeting. You took one final look at the building you had spent half of your life in, watching with unblinking eyes as the home that you had spent many lonely days in disappeared from view.

How were you supposed to feel? There was no jittery high of happiness that came from being married, something that was common throughout the romantic novels you had bought from the city; there was only a foreboding sense of doom. Would the Duke kill you once you stepped off the carriage, or would he enjoy the game of hunting and wait?

Although the House of Min had an estate in the capital of the Kingdom near the palace, the Duke preferred living a secluded life away from the tiring politics of the capital. You understood him on that. The ride was not long to the territory, however; the rich could afford paying to use the small portal stones to travel, which were remnants from the times that there had been magic and gods in the world. What would have been a trip lasting two weeks was narrowed down to a trip of 9 hours.

You arrived at the territory in the early afternoon, your body sore from having remained seating for such an extended period of time; you only had two breaks throughout the trip, one to empty your bladder and another to eat a small lunch at an inn. As you stepped from the carriage down to the ground in front of the manor, your mouth dropped in shock at the size of the Duke’s land. The wealth of the Duke was vast but to see it in person was astonishing. You recalled the trip through his territory; as the magical portal had been on the cusp of his territory and the outer lands, the trip to his estate from that magical portal had taken a solid 2 hours of your trip.

The land for just his estate was large; you could not see the edge of the estate’s land that you had previously entered in earlier. His main manor building loomed above you like a fortress, spiraling black buildings and shadowy crevices, and you felt a wave of anxiety rise in your throat. The manor of the Duke was more like a fortress with its sturdy, impenetrable walls and dark atmosphere. A chill ran down your spine, prickling goosebumps on your otherwise smooth skin, as your eyes scanned the buildings on the estate. There was only one word that could properly describe them: ominous.

Even the atmosphere of the maids lined up in front of you in greeting had you unconsciously tensing, your jaw clenched slightly. You could see their eyes; they were haunting in the way they were so devoid of emotion. You were familiar with how maids were like; they always had some form of emotion in their eyes: either a sickly sweetness as they itched for favor or a mocking expression that didn’t conceal their spite. You fought back a shiver when you heard them open their mouths, their voices in perfect unison as they spoke.

“Welcome, Your Highness, to the Estate of the House of Min. We look forward to serving you from now and into the future.’’

Three of the maids stepped forward, their steps aligned perfectly and their bows matching. They dipped their heads, and one of them spoke. She looked middle-aged, older than the other maids, but the look on her face matched theirs.

“We will be the main maids serving you. I am the head maid of the manor. As the future Duchess of the House of Min, everyone at the manor is at your service. The Duke will—.’’

She paused; you heard a crunching of something underfoot in the silence of the courtyard. Was it stone? The smile that you had forced on your face froze, uncomfortably stiff.

“Welcome, my fiancé,’’ you heard a voice call out. The voice unnerved you more than the expressionless looks on the maids had; it sounded cordial and low, pleasant to the ears even. If your ears had been untrained to the sounds of the nobility, you might even have mistaken it for affection, but you knew that there was no true emotion in the voice, or at least that’s what you assumed. No warm voice could make you feel so terrified after all. You, however, didn’t notice the brief look of shock in the staff in front of you; never, in the whole time they had been serving the Duke, had he sounded so gentle.

You looked toward the sound, your fear cleanly masked by your frozen smile; after being mocked by the queen, concubines, and their children as a child with lowly blood, you were good at training your expressions. The more you squirmed, the sicker the nobles’ expressions got, which is why you spent your later years at the palace hiding away in your palace, hoping that you would continue to be forgotten. The Duke was no exception to this; if you crumbled before him, he was sure to crush you under his polished shoe. You couldn’t die yet. You had not much to live for, that you admit, but the core essence of humanity was its desire to survive. To live.

The Duke stood before you. His demeanor was elegant, but you could sense an imposing aura radiating from him. He was good-looking, though; from the rumors you had heard from passing maids, you envisioned a hideous monster with sharp teeth and claws for hands who would rip out your throat for breathing too loudly. He looked like a statue delicately carved by an artist with his smooth, white skin, like alabaster and marble, and sharp, handsome features. His nose slanted gorgeously, his jawline was strong, and his lips were softly curved.

But the most distinct feature of his were his eyes. They were shaped elegantly, curving in a refined shape, but it was the color that left your feet glued to the ground. You had heard the rumors but seeing it in person was another ordeal. His eyes were a vibrant shade of crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood, and there was an eerie depth to them. They were, you recalled, the eyes of the devil. A chilling thought came to your mind as you stared into his eyes. They were the same color as the mark on your neck. You unconsciously tightened your fingertips around the scarf you had carefully looped around your neck.

“What has your mind so distracted?’’ the Duke smiled, but although you should have felt calmed by the sight, his smile unnerved you for some reason,’’ Everything has been properly arranged for our wedding tomorrow, if that is what you are scared of. If you desire, you may look over the plans and arrange it however you like.’’

The Duke had walked closer to you when you hadn’t been paying attention, and you flinched when he reached out towards you, his fingertips brushing the side of your cheek affectionately. Your heartbeat raced in your chest; however, instead of the giddy heart thrumming that was depicted in romantic novels, your heartbeat racing was purely because of anxiety. The presence of the Duke made you feel like a small prey in front of the menacing gaze of an apex predator. Would he snap your head off? Twist your delicate neck in his hands?

He took his touch away from your cheek as your thoughts raced, his fingers snagging into your scarf accidentally. The scarf fell down to the ground, and his eyes widened in glee slightly. Your hand flew to your clavicle, covering the mark there. You didn’t know why, but something in your gut told you to not let him near the mark. His eyes glowed for a split second, the color of a polished ruby glistening in light, before dimming back to their normal color; you blinked rapidly, wondering if you had imagined the change.

“My deepest apologizes, Your Highness. You must be exhausted from your trip. We don’t want you too tired for our wedding. Your maids will take you to the room you will be staying in tonight,’’ the Duke smiled politely once again, hesitantly stepping back, his composure poised,’’ I am looking forward to our union. Rest up. I have a meeting later, so unfortunately, we won’t be sharing a meal tonight.’’

He turned to leave, his eyes lingering on your collarbone, and you stayed glued to the ground, your hand still covering your mark. The head maid reached out with another scarf in her hands, and you took it, your fingers trembling slightly, before wrapping it around your neck. You knotted it two more times than usual this time, your eyes trained on the Duke’s retreating back.

You did not notice it at the time, your mind too busy wandering in your thoughts, but the previously emotionless expressions on the maids’ faces flickered with fear before quickly shifting back. As you turned your gaze back towards them, you mused to yourself once more. How odd was it that their expressions had not changed even once?

The room you were staying in was lovely; of course, that was to be expected from one of the top noble families in the kingdom, if not the whole land. Billowy drapes hung from vast windows, detailed gold embroidery sparkling in the brightening sunlight, and there were expensive pieces of furniture adorning the large room. The price of one of the candlesticks would be enough to cover the expenses of a peasant family for a year.

You had an unrestful sleep; nightmares plagued your dreams once again. They were more vivid this time, and you could still feel the agony of cold metal piercing through your soft flesh. The mark on your collarbone seemed to throb and burn against your skin, and you dragged your nails against it, trying to quell the itching sting. You somehow fell asleep once more, and when you woke up, the dreams had vanished from your mind, and the only remnants of your nightmares was a clammy coldness that lingered on your body and red lines on your mark from your nails.

You heard a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, may we come in? We will be preparing you for the wedding,’’ you recognized the voice of the head maid.

You inhaled a deep breath, trying to recover from your body’s cold sweat and slow the frantic pounding of your heart before calling out calmly,’’ Come in.’’

The maids came in, walking in calmly with their hands full of items.

The head maid was the one who had spoken outside, and as she walked near you, you held out a wary hand.

“If you are to serve me, I must know your name,’’ you spoke, trying to put on the dignified airs that was similar to the queen, or your stepmother, though you refused to refer to her with that title.

“My name, Your Highness?’’ the head maid looked taken aback, her eyes on the floor,’’ I’m sorry, but the names of servants are an insignificant thing to be known in this household. I only go by my position, here, as head maid. If you wish to know my name to have me punished, please just ask for the head maid to be punished.’’

You could tell that this was some unspoken rule and forced down the part of you that wished to rebel and find her name. If you were to pressure her over something so mild, unpleasant rumors would spring forth.

You followed their directions silently as they prepared you, and you ate small bites of the meal they had laid out when you had completed your morning routine. They then changed you into your wedding garment, tying up the corset around your torso so tightly that you could barely breathe when they were done. You could feel their gazes lingering on the mark you had on your collarbone; you were used to the looks, the mockery and the disdain, but their gazes were different. Was it curiosity? Hell, admiration? Or perhaps, fear?

Hours stretched and passed as they worked on your hair and makeup. Your scalp and skin were prodded at by them as they worked to prepare you. When they were finally done, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and was left breathless at your reflection.

Your hair had been coiled up in an elaborate up-do and decorated with sparkling hair pieces that weighed down your head. The dress was made by one of the capital’s top designers and fit you perfectly, as if the measurements of your body were known by the Duke’s Household down to a tee; it showed off your neck and the mark on your neck, and when you had asked to find something to cover the mark up, the maids shook their heads.

“The Duke wishes for this style of dress; unfortunately, nothing can be used to cover up your neck properly, and the dress can not be changed,’’ the head maid told you.

The dress, other than expose society’s stigma imprinted upon your flesh, was gorgeous. It was a pure white, sparkling with small pieces of carefully cut diamond, and tastefully accentuated by delicately beaded pearls. It wrapped around your torso and flared out into wide, layered skirts, a style that was extremely trendy in the capital. You looked stunning in the dress.

The maids had done extremely well on your makeup too; your skin glowed and was soft like a baby, and your lips were reddened to the color of cherries. Your cheeks were reddened as well, a blush delicately touching your cheeks. You looked ethereal, like a mystical being descending upon earth, though you embarrassingly believed that it was rather conceited of you to think that.

The head butler—you vaguely remembered him from the staff yesterday, although he had not spoken a word to you after the initial greeting—guided you to a carriage silently after politely greeting you, which led down to the church building in which you were to be married in.

Your fingers twisted in your fine white skirts as the rush of anxiety churned in your gut; you were grateful that your breakfast had been light, or else you would have hurled it all over the floor of the carriage.

You somehow managed to keep it together, even when you stepped down from the carriage. You even managed to keep your composure together as you walked towards the Duke, standing in front of the church, with the Kingdom’s Priest standing behind him. The church was filled to the brim with people, mostly nobles who vied for some connection with the Duke. You could even see the King in the front, watching you with eyes that told you not to mess your marriage up.

You even managed to keep it together underneath the burning sting of the Duke’s eyes as the Priest recited aloud the vows of marriage. You gazed back into the Duke’s eyes, watching the reflection of the sunset’s lights glow in their cold depths as the priest concluded the ceremony.

“May this couple’s union, placed together by the holy goddess of creation that had formed the earth, be a blessing upon the Kingdom.’’

You felt the mark on your collarbone throb slightly, a dull ache, but, in that moment, you had believed it to be a part of the bone-aching exhaustion that had settled deep into your body’s marrow.

The first duty of marriage was the consummation of it. You were aware of what went on, having ventured off into the city and gotten your hands onto romance novels that had their fair share of obscene scenes, but to be experiencing it firsthand, that was something that terrified you. The pain of having your virginity taken had been described in detail in the novels, and you could feel a pit of nerves form as the maids led you to get prepared for your first night as a married couple.

The maids bathed you, as the head maid crooned to you low in your ear the duty you were to fulfill. They rubbed fragrant rose oils into your skin, as the head maid repeated over and over the instructions and her condolences for the night, and dressed you in a nightgown—it was a soft, clear pink that scandalously showed off your figure—that was more like an undergarment than anything.

Then, the maids led you to the room you were to share with your husband. As the head maid was about to open the door, she spoke one last time,’’ Duchess, I have done my best to inform you of your first night. May the fortune of the goddess of creation bless you upon your first night as the Duke’s wife.’’

The room was dark when you stepped in, and it would have been pitch black had it not been for the wispy pale rays of moonlight glowing through the large glass windows. This room, through your adjusting vision, was certainly much more beautiful and elegant than the room you had used for your temporary one-night stay. You saw the Duke standing in front of one of the windows, his eyes on you, unnervingly unblinking. Although his gaze remained eerie, you could not deny the ethereal beauty that radiated off of him as he watched you with ruby eyes.

As you were admiring his looks, you noticed that he had taken steps forward before pausing before you. His eyes looked at yours before roaming your body, and you noticed that there was an almost carnal hunger glowing in his crimson-red eyes. He looked starving, and you realized, unconsciously wrapping your arms around your body, that you were the meal he was to satiate his hunger with.

You could not help but flinch when the Duke pulled you forward into his arms and kissed you, his lips harsh against your own as he stole your breath from your lungs. His teeth snagged into your bottom lip, digging into it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss; nothing sweet and romantically sentimental like what had been described in romance novels.

His hands, the palms roughened from his days on the battlefield, caressed your body, slipping underneath your night gown. You gasped breathlessly against his mouth at the cool touch on your warm body, a sound that was swallowed up by his lips as his tongue delved into your mouth, and you clung onto the thin fabric of his night clothes.

“D-duke,’’ you managed to breath out shakily when he finally broke away from this kiss. You were about to say something more, but the sight of your lips, bruised and swollen from the Duke’s harsh kiss caused his eyes to darken in lust.

“When you are with just me, call me Yoongi,’’ he rasped, and the sound of his voice near your ear caused pleasurable shivers to travel down your spine. You felt something wet between your legs, and your cheeks flushed in shyness, your eyes widening in embarrassment. That look of pure innocence seemed to cause something in the infamously cool-headed Duke to snap. Yoongi’s actions were more hurried as he practically tore the dainty dress from your body, and the breath in your chest was knocked out as you were thrown onto the large bed.

His touch felt like it was burning against your body as it touched you in intimate ways. You tried to block his touch anxiously, but he simply brushed off your hands as if you had no strength; against his overpowering strength, you were utterly weak. You closed your eyes anxiously when you felt him suck bruises into your neck and then on your breasts, leaving bite marks blooming on your quivering skin like roses on silk, but you felt a sharp ache in your jaw as he grabbed your chin harshly and lifted your head to face him.

“Look at me. I want you to witness your first night with me, my beloved wife.’’

His voice was sharp despite the pained rasp coating its tone, radiating with an authority so powerful that you found yourself snapping open your eyes to look at him in mute shock. In the dim lighting of the night, with only the ghosts of the moon to leave a sheen of waning light on his handsome face, the Duke—no, Yoongi—looked lethal.

Your mouth fell open in a wide o-shape when his touch brushed down your soft breasts to your stomach and then finally to the most intimate spot on your body. His index finger swirled around your bud, sparking little shocks down your spine before venturing lower. His first finger stretched your walls, going deep into the sacred garden that had been guarded since you had been born, and you could only pant helplessly. There was a buzz in your head, something heady that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as Yoongi touched places deep within you.

He added another finger and the another, and your mind spun as your walls stretched and clung onto his fingers. You clutched onto his clothes tighter, holding your breath, as he explored your walls. He dragged his fingers out, his movements slow and gentle, before he slammed them viciously into you; you choked on a sound that was a mix between a gasp and a moan. He repeated the movements until you were writhing under his touch before pulling his fingers out of you. His fingers were drenched in a honey-like substance, and you, with your ears burning, watched as he sucked on his fingers.

“My beloved wife, my goddess,’’ Yoongi’s voice sounded ragged, as if he was about to fall apart, and his fingers, sticky with dried saliva and your essence, curled up under his garments and peeled them off,’’ I can’t wait any longer.’’

“W-wait,’’ you stuttered out pathetically as he pushed something firm but soft and undeniably hot against your garden. Yoongi paid no heed to your word as he pushed into your walls mercilessly without so much a pause, and your heart raced as you realized what was invading your innocence. There was a throbbing agony as he got deeper and deeper, a feeling that was much more painful than his fingers had been. You clung onto his shoulders when he finally stopped moving in, tears building up in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. When the head maid and your romance novels had talked about the pain, they had described the pain as fleeting, a sharp pinch that faded away quickly. This was different; you could feel your lower regions burning in agony as they stretched and trembled around Yoongi’s length.

At the sight of your tears, the look on Yoongi’s face was practically feral. Without waiting for you to get accustomed to the feeling of your purity being torn apart, Yoongi pulled out and slammed back in, his hips setting a tormenting pace that made you squeal in pain.

“Please pull out; oh my God,’’ you gasped out, your nails digging into his skin,’’ It hurts, it hurts so bad.’’

Yoongi let out a grunt in response, his breath choppy as he forced his voice from his throat. “The pain will go away soon. If we don’t fulfill our first duty of marriage, then the marriage will be considered void by law. Do you want that? The next man the King marries you to…’’

Yoongi’s eyes turned deadly, as if the thought of another man even touching you set him on a murderous outrage, and you trembled at the idea. The next man would undeniably be a portly, greasy lower noble, who would take you as his concubine as your purity had already been taken by the Duke. Your future children would be spat on by those around them, an experience that you had gone through but would never wish on your children.

Yoongi spoke again, a question this time. “Will you endure the temporary pain, or will you refuse and endure a much more lasting pain as someone who lost her purity but did not fulfill her first duty?’’

You could feel him inside you, pulsing and twitching, and you swallowed your nerves. Although Yoongi had worded it as a choice, you knew it was not. It was anything but. You already knew the decision you had to take before he finished asking.

“Please,’’ you begged, softening your voice in order to incite some pity from this brute of a man,’’ Be more gentle?’’

His lips twisted into a carnivorous smile, something that caught you off guard and left you in a short daze, and his only answer was him pulling out of you before pushing back in. The pain was rough at first, but you could tell that the Duke had taken into consideration your plea, at least he did so at first. When the first pricks of pleasure sparked in your gut, your head slammed back and you moaned before panting out a shameless,’’ Duke, Yoongi, please, faster.’’

You looked ravishing in this state; marks littered on your soft skin, and your face in an arousing expression with your swollen lips parted open in shaky breaths and your eyes glazed in desire. You looked like the embodiment of sin itself against the pure white sheets of the bed. The constraints that Yoongi had placed on himself snapped, his hips slamming against you hard, an erotic sound of the clapping of skin echoing in the night, that left your skin feeling heated and flushed. You only mewled in response as he began to pound into your body. He was animalistic, the cold airs he had been encased in dropped as a rosy flush tinted his pale marble face. You felt like you were being intoxicated by the sensations of pleasure and sin.

He pushed in even deeper than before, and you felt an uncomfortable pain as his length pushed against your cervix. Your air left your lungs at the feeling, and your nails dug even further into the Duke’s broad shoulders, leaving drops of blood in its wake. The Duke didn’t even flinch at the pain, burying his head into your shoulder to let out an almost growl-like noise. You were so fucking tight; it was like you were squeezing around him, refusing to let him go.

You felt sensitive, your nerves heightened as the whirl of pleasure building in your gut climbed. Your eyes remained wide open, your dizzy mind remembering the Duke’s earlier command, and your back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your vision went blurry as you crashed into your first climax; you were coming, tightening around him so hard that your mind went completely blank.

You could feel Yoongi’s teeth sink into your collarbone, a flash of white digging into your red mark, and the pain coupled with the pleasure cascading onto your limp body caused you to let out a lewd choked moan. Yoongi slammed into you, his pace steady and stable as his breath grew more erratic, before he pushed deep into you, a groan pulling out deep from his chest. You felt something hot spill into the depths of your body, and your fingers and toes twitched at the feeling.

You were exhausted as he pulled out of you. He was still painfully hard, but you were so tired, and the lull of sleep was so tempting. Your vision blurred, and your eyes drooped shut as you fell into an unconscious state, ignoring the pulsing sting of your collarbone. The last thing you saw before you were swept up in a rush of sleep was a flash of red eyes, the look of them so vivid against the darkness of the deep night, and Yoongi licking off droplets of your blood off of his lips, his lips curved up in a menacing smile.

“Goodnight, my beloved wife,’’ Yoongi spoke out into the silence, his fingers reaching out to entwine themselves into strands of your hair,’’ May the dreams that reach you be a blessing.’’

He brought up a stand of your hair to his lips, his lips touching it tenderly.

“And may our marriage bring us both fortune beyond what humanity can perceive, my Goddess.’’

A/N: if you want to be tagged in the next part, please reply with a 👑! And if you liked the story, please leave a comment or a review! Thank you so much for being here for my writing journey :) I’ll do my best to keep improving.

Part 2

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storyofmychoices · 3 years

Text

Cianán O Faoláin

Obsessed with this gorgeous portrait of my Lovelink love, Cianán by @/artbyainna (on Instagram). The absolute perfection of this! Look at this handsome man! 😍😍😍

Cianán is a seasonal LI and a dullahan (headless horseman).

In honor of this stunning art, I wrote a drabble about him:

Under the Moonlight

Pairing: Cianán x Reader (no gender, race, or body type given) Words: ~550 words Rating: general, fluff (brief use of 'scar') Summary: You and Cianán are growing closer, despite knowing he is supposed to kill you.

Your fingers thread carefully through his cravat, loosening the knot and freeing him from its restrictive grasp. Gently, you release the top few buttons of his shirt, brushing the garment to the sides. The pale skin you reveal glows warmly in the moonlight, like the perfect porcelain of a Renaissance masterpiece. Your cheeks warm, and your heart drums faster in your chest in anticipation.

"What art thou doing, dear one ?" His large hands move between you, reaching to realign his shirt.

You lean forward, taking his hands in your own and pulling them away. They're cold in your grasp as you brush a kiss across his knuckles. You hold them a moment longer, reassuring him that despite the dangers of what this means for you, your words and feelings for him have always been true. "I want to see you."

His eyes drop away, part in fear, part in shame. He knew letting you in would only make his job harder. He had promised you one night of protection, and yet, days had passed, and you'd only grown closer. His resolve to protect you was becoming stronger than his will to follow orders and kill you, even if it endangered his own life to do so.

"Cianán?" You whisper his name, your eyes widening as he meets your gaze. There was still so much about him you didn't know, but you knew you wanted to know more, to understand, to grow closer to him, and none of it had to do with saving your own life. You just couldn't stop yourself from being drawn to him.

He nods shortly, and you waste no time, pushing the garment further away from his neck. A faint blue glow begins to circle and swirl around him, growing brighter as it moves out away from his skin. The blue embers flicker and lick the cool night's air, bathing you in their light.

Your spine tingles in exhilaration. Your head falls to the side, examining the faint line drawn across his neck. You had seen the scar in a photograph and on the night you first met when his head came off, but this was the first time seeing it up close, knowing you were safe with him. You wonder what had happened, how he became a dullahan, but mostly, you wondered what made you different. Why were you still alive? So many questions, but right now, none of them mattered.

You chew your lower lip as you move closer. Your lips graze ever so lightly on his tender flesh. You feel him tremble beneath you as the heat of your breath washes over him. "Shh—." You press a tender kiss over the mystical blue glow emanating from his skin.

He swallows hard, attempting to cover his rising emotions with an unconvincing cough.

Your lips pull in the corners as you nestle into him, peppering the scar encircling his neck with delicate kisses, soft as the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Your name slips involuntarily from his lips like a silent prayer into the night, the sound of which is filled with a warmth and admiration you weren't sure he was capable of having.

You lean back far enough to meet his gaze once more.

His piercing blue eyes glistened with an openness you'd only seen mere glimpses of before. His mouth opens, but no words follow; instead, he wraps you in the security of his strong embrace.

As you rest your head on his chest, you almost swear you hear his heart begin to beat...just for you.

A/N: I know this isn't my best work, but it was a lot of fun to write something different. I know there are definitely parts I could have rewritten and strengthened but I really just wanted to write to write and not worry about being hypercritical. I miss the joy of writing, so if you read this and made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it and I truly appreciate you taking the time to read it. Thank you!

#cianan o faolain #cainàn o faoláin #lovelink #lovelinks #lovelink by ludia #ludia #cianan lovelink #drabble #cianan x reader #cianán x reader #lovelink fan fiction #fan art #my commission #my drabble #fan fiction

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

can you please do headcanons for young sirius black x reader fic where reader has really bad anixety attacks where sometimes she feels nauseous

breathe with me

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius helps you through an anxiety attack.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: MENTIONS OF VOMITING!!, mentions of gagging, anxiety/anxiety attack, over stress, mentions of digging nails into your palms (borderline indications), mentions of failing school/exams, migraines, mentions of pain killers, mentions of feeling gross, possible insecurity, sirius comforting reader

a/n: so i turned this into a fic rather than hc’s because i felt like i could portray it better through a fic. also dedicated to isa ( @acosmis-t ) my love bc i cant write so thank u baby for helping me !

“Argh.” You piercingly groaned with a hand lowered to your febrile forehead, a feverish burn arising to the skin. The day had steadily been cut close to the final bell. Your Transfiguration exam had finally been completed and not without weary, of course. The prior nights you had been found asleep with drool pooling down your tear-tainted cheek and your talons promptly sunken into your palms as a desperate endeavour to relieve your stress. (Although it had not been the best choice, and at some points rather painful)

The piling books glared fiercely at you in the library till Madam Pince undoubtedly had to beckon you away, so you could sufficiently rest. Indeed then, your unconscious mind was piled in dreadful dreams (More-so nightmares) regarding critical failure and your pleaded requests to Mcgonagall, so you could re-attempt your failed exams.

Your polished nails had been essentially glued to your pearly teeth, chomping at the rarebit till there was nothing left to bite. The strums of your heart steadily increased as the last final students had cautiously worked on their assessments. You had patiently waited, subtly noticing your brawny throat becoming excessively dry as well as well as your diaphragm contracting by the minor second, an indistinguishable bile substance threatening to overtake the taste buds on your parched tongue.

A small, minuscule tap in the nape of your skull had increased to small needles swimming around your brain while the time ticked.

Sirius had been sitting in Charms flipping away at ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ anxiously as he had to withhold himself from darting nervously out of his class and inquire how you were feeling with a knowing sense of how the rest of the day would take place. He had been made quite aware of your particular issue in the Third Year when you had disgorged your lunch, Shepherd's Pie that you had previously eaten had been hurled onto his Oxford’s his noble family spent a pretty penny to purchase.

At McGonagall's constructive dismissal, you had collected your materials and begun to walk cautiously through the corridors with your books clutched eagerly to your chest.

A slight increase in your breaths began to inflate your lungs and the steadily increasing heart strums became an overwhelming palpitation deafening your ears. Your heart had battered in your chest; nearing closer, and closer to your dormitory. Your hands had begun to develop a slight tremor at the anxious vibrations poisoning your blood, whilst your vision began to mildly obscure. You needed a moment to recollect yourself, a minute to breathe.

You had murmured a small, ‘Fairy Lights’ to the portrait before trudging up the stairs and colliding into the dormitory. The hinges had creaked whilst you abruptly had shut the door, luckily nobody was present to allegedly witness your exertion. Your bedroom had frequently remained tidy, a typical symptom of your anxiety that had obsessively pursued you to attempt your very hardest, even better than your very hardest, at everything and anything.

You had stood center in your room venturing for the hostile seizing in your bones to cease for at least a moment. Your chest had felt tight, like a tensed muscle that had been pulled after an unusually hard sport.

You had walked toward your window and back Window, and back. Window, and back. Again, Again and Again.

Your nails are placed between the mild edges of your teeth. The cavern of your mouth almost feeling obstructed by the bile mingling around with your parched throat. At the incessant pacing of your feet, there had been a remaining thud in your thick skull adding to your misery.

The small gust of wind was the singular audible sound in the dormitory as one of your dorm mates had abandoned it open. Your brain had felt like it swelled beyond generating capacity now your mild dehydration was too obvious to ignore like you had planned to do. You had deliberated with your eyes closed and your face contorted into a frown, you would’ve had to trudge to the kitchens for a possible amount of comfort in your state. You had groaned again, your hand promptly placed over your face, as you traipsed across the room, attempting to comfort yourself, in a sense.

Perhaps some painkillers spewed on the bathroom counter that you had previously taken before your exam could help you. Your neck had begun to sear in heat the hair that was almost clung to your nape, you raised your heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut a twinging pain beginning to naturally arise behind your optics. You huffed with a minuscule gag, too much effort it would take to stroll around the school in the huffing state you were currently in, a migraine still revelling in your mind. Maybe later, you thought with a creased brow. You had heard the hinges creak again, incorrectly assuming one of your dorm mates had been back. Except your dorm mates didn’t possess the baritone of a burly male.

“Y/n” He whispered tenderly, attempting not to disturb your pacing.

“Not now.”

He had partaken notice to your mindful scratches against your neck, continuously pulling up the hair only for it to fall once more. You had paused for a moment with a tremor in your finger that was trapped between your teeth. A familiar distortion of torture wrapping around your throat like a snake that was threatening to suffocate you; your respires heavier and more frequent. He had begun speaking, a blubber of words escaping his trachea. Yet, all jumbled like alphabet soup in your brain between his dismembered sentences.

You suspired heavily in frustration, “Just— Shut up! Please.” You begged in exasperation. Still prying your hair from your neck, you stood frozen, discontentment building in your system.

He had noticed the black hair tie absentmindedly clung to his wrist whenever you had asked for one. Steadily walking towards your paused figure he had gathered your hair in the tie, your neck feeling the refreshing air against it; a slight relief applied against your skin. You promptly initiated to remove your robe, there was a warm discerning grip on your body overheating your arms as well as your midriff due to the uniform.

With a violent tremor in your fingers, you started grasping at the buttons, a mild frustration initiating at the fact you couldn’t pop them open due to the recurrent quiver in your digits. Sirius had removed your hands from your robe, hastily unbuttoning it before you hurled it aside.

“How 'bout we go to the bathroom, Hmm?” He cooed while beckoning you into the bathroom, noticing the tremor in your body as well as your fidgeting fingers that were twiddling between each other. He had turned the sink on, switching the handle left where a blue spot differentiated the colours. Delicately, he grasped your trembling wrists and ran them beneath the cooling water. “Just… Feel gross.”You murmured to yourself as he ran a few fingers under the downpour, placing his frigid fingers behind your neck.

Your shoulders faintly shrugged at the sensation while he turned off the water and let your hands air dry, helping you not feel solidified by anything. During his movement, you had grasped onto his fingers where a few heirloom rings had fit snugly on his fingers, “Tell me about them.” This was a technique he had created in an effort of distraction at the uprising feelings of disgust for yourself bound to erupt at any moment.

“There’s a B, I guess. Erm, engraving, swirls and stuff…” You trailed off while attempting to decipher the designs in the ring that was on his forefinger.“S’too much! Just wanna— Dunno, not feel like this anymore!”

He had partaken scrutiny to your physical tics as well as your body language, with a faint clutch on two of your fingers he had hauled you to the very center of your dormitory. Within a few inches of each other, he had mauled your hand over his sternum. You felt the heavy respires in his chest as well as the vibrations melding with your palm as he spoke, “Breathe with me.”

You had stood there, minutes, maybe almost an hour, time was now pushed to the very nooks and crannies of your mind. The surges of perturbation still prominently surging through your veins to the density of your bones, the recurrent tremble still foremost notable but the buckling of your knees had calmed down as well as the faint chatter of your teeth. Still copying his sluggish breathing, you looked deep into his pear irises, his optics having a settling effect, a tingling reassurance reflecting in them. In the sunlight state that had remained in your room due to the unclosed curtains, there had been cerulean hues caught in that state.

Sirius’ eyes had been crafted like delicate feathers that were used for quills, not the albino kind of dove feathers, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil-drawn rather than used by a quill with smeared stygian ink. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.

“Can we sit?” You questioned quietly after removing your hand from his chest, hesitantly grabbing onto two of his fingers as he had previously done with you. “Anything you want.” He replied in a murmur, craning his head left, then right, trying to figure out where to beckon you into a seated position.

You had sat upon the wooden floor. The flooring designs similar to a chorus of browns; they sang together, an acapella of baritone hues that rose into vibrant soprano notes. It was a fitting place for a dormitory where laughter could normally be discerned, a place for those new sounds to soak right in and join the spirit that was already there when you had first entered the dormitory your first year.

“Here?”

“Mhm.” You nodded your head scarcely as he sat next to you. You sighed for a moment, placing a minimal amount of your temple against his shoulder, feeling the similar respires soothe you. “Here.”

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