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deveondog · 5 days ago

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words unspoken — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after the battle, the ithacan palace is left in complete silence. maybe there are still some words to be said, and a new beginning is due. genre: fluff, maybe a just a tiny bit itty bitty angsty, but not really warnings: mentions of battle aftermath, blood, and reflections on death, tele being tele word count: 1.4k author's note: it's here !!!!!!!!! spending my summer writing this instead of doing my homework is so nice. i hope you like it, and don't be afraid to like and comment. also keep in mind that reblogs help me grow <3 besos pt 1: here! first meeting: here!

When his father —who just smiled after teasing him— turned to him with a quiet yet firm command to let his mother know he was home, Telemachus did not hesitate. Or rather, he didn't let his hesitation show.

His eyes flickered to the guard standing beside him, their clothes smeared with the blood of the suitors, eyes now tranquil as ever. He supposed it was due to the new peace the palace had, now silent after years of noise that belonged to them, from the clang of goblets and dishes hitting the floor, to countless fights and brawls, screams and yells to the servants and boisterous laughter that bounced off the walls. The halls of the palace were now eerily silent, save for the muffled voices of the remaining servants, the soft crackle of torches still burning in the aftermath of battle. The smell of blood still lingered, the metallic scent making Telemachus scrunch his nose in slight disgust, but it was faint, overpowered by the familiar sea salt that always clung to to the palace's walls.

As they kept walking, he met their gaze briefly, and they just gave each other a faint smile, still walking through the halls to Penelope's chambers. The walk felt eternal. They walked in silence—not an awkward one, but charged with something unspoken. Telemachus felt it in the way his fingers twitched by his side, in the way his throat tightened every time he tried to find the words.

He snuck another glance at (Y/N), catching the way their sharp eyes softened ever so slightly as they took in their surroundings, maybe feeling the new beginning approaching. He wondered what they were thinking though—if they felt the same weight in their chest that he did, the same tension curling between them like an unstrung bow just waiting to snap.

Then their gaze shifted. And for a brief second, their eyes met.

Telemachus was quick to look away, his heart stammering against his ribs like a startled bird. Gods, when had he become fifteen again? When had he returned to that state? The nervous wrecks, stumbling over words, or just struggling to say anything?

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to come out steady, praying to the gods that it wouldn't crack. "Y-you fought well today. Like always, I mean, not like you don't fight well in general… I-I just, I've never seen you fight like that so I just thought it was pretty… Pretty good! Yeah, pretty good…"

The guard turned to him, one brow slightly arched like they were wondering what in the world was wrong with him. Then, to his utter ruin, they smiled.

"Mhm, thank you, my prince."

It was teasing. They always called him that in jest, never in true formality, but this time, it felt different. This time, it felt… affectionate.

"And I'm sure you fought efficiently as well. You have improved greatly, I can tell. You look… different." They added, eyes going over his frame, and Telemachus couldn't help but feel warm inside, trying very hard to ignore the flush on his cheeks.

They reached Penelope's door soon after, pausing at the door. Telemachus went in alone, (Y/N) waiting by the door like always, as if they still had to vigil for the queen's safety. Once Telemachus stepped outside, both prince and guard could see the imposing form of Odysseus, looking more and more nervous as he stepped closer.

Telemachus looked at his father, almost like he still couldn't believe it was him right in front of his eyes, and just let him know that Penelope was waiting for him. Next, the king entered what had been his chambers for the first time after twenty years.

From within, quiet voices could be heard—his mother's soft, melodic voice and Odysseus' tone changing to an incredibly soft murmur.

Yet Telemachus and (Y/N) decided to let the married couple have their moment alone, walking through the halls aimlessly.

Telemachus exhaled, feeling his chest ease slightly. His parents were together again, reunited after years and years of waiting. Finally.

Yet why did his chest feel restless?

He turned to his guard, to the friend he had come to adore over the years, to the same person that left him tossing and tossing at night, incapable of sleep due to the amount of space they claimed in his mind. Something in him tightened when he realized they were already watching him, head tilted slightly, as if waiting. As if expecting something.

That was his chance.

"Listen," he started, voice lower now, less confident, with a certain shakiness. "There's something I need to—"

"You have something on your face."

Telemachus blinked. "What?"

His guard let out a quiet huff before stepping closer—far too close— reaching up to brush their thumb just beneath his jaw, then over his eyebrow, and finally, just over the apple of his cheek.

"Blood and… lipstick." They smirked, eyes glinting with amusement before adding a soft murmur. "I suppose both of those are not yours."

Telemachus forgot how to breathe.

Oh, he was going to die. Right there, slain not by a sword, but by them.

"I-It's my mother's! My mother's lipstick!" Like that didn't sound any more embarrassing, but he felt like he had to let them know.

"I know, Telemachus. You didn't have it when you walked into the queen's chambers."

He swallowed, every nerve in his body alight. He wanted to thank them, nervously joke about how his mother had reacted to his return, but nothing came out.

Until it did, and it wasn't even remotely close to what he had in mind.

"I love you." He blurted out in a soft breath, voice barely above a whisper, but he was sure they heard it with how close they were.

"What?" Oh, gods.

Telemachus felt his heart hammering so violently it actually hurt. Gods, why were they so terrifying? Had he made a mistake? He couldn't stop shaking.

"I'm in love with you." He said, trying to make his voice sound confident, yet he knew he was failing. "I'm really sorry... I apologize if that's strange for you to hear… B-but I needed you to hear it…"

They just blinked, their hand still on his cheek, and Telemachus prayed that it would stay there.

"I've known you for years, and yet every time I look at you, I see someone new. Someone stronger, braver. And I can't stop looking, I don't want to. I-I don't think you realize how much you mean to the people in this palace— to me."

He just hoped they would at least hear him out, or he was sure that it would be his ruin. Telemachus would willingly throw himself off the window he had by his left if this ended terribly.

"How do you know it's love?" (Y/N) suddenly asked, eyes not leaving his. And Telemachus saw it. The vulnerability, the hesitation. "You were gone for a year, how do you know it's love?"

"Because no matter how far I was, how many nights I was seas away from you, my heart never left you, (Y/N). I thought about you every single day, like you would just appear from inside my mind and materialize. I missed you terribly, and I don't know if you—"

And then—gods above— it happened. Kind of strange, but Telemachus wouldn't complain right, really.

In reality, he hadn't noticed the way (Y/N) kept stealing glances at his lips, like they were debating if they should just go for it or just stop him from rambling any further with their hands over his mouth. Like they weren't sure how to deal with the situation. But in the end, they must have thought… to Hades with it. They dipped him.

His mind blanked. His breath hitched. He barely had time to register the warmth of their hands steadying him, grabbing him by the waist, the absolute audacity of them tilting him back like some swooning maiden—before their lips were on his.

Soft. Warm. Then, certain. Like they were hesitant at first but regained their footing.

Telemachus could feel himself giving in, forgetting about everything, melting into their touch while he lifted his hands to cup their face delicately, like he was afraid to touch them, as if they would vanish into thin air.

And then it was over. (Y/N) pulled away, standing him upright again as if they hadn't just ruined his entire existence with one kiss.

Telemachus just blinked, stunned, still processing what had just happened, his legs trembling and his brain foggy. He swore that he died, arrived at Elysium for a brief second and returned to his home. "That was—"

"Nice?" They smiled sheepishly, eyes wide with expectation.

"Yes!" He let out, rather loud he dared to admit, before composing himself and clearing his throat, giving a small nod. "I mean, yes… That was… Nice."

Then, quickly, before they could tease him further, he added,

"Would you… perhaps, allow me to do that again? This time, I'd like to lead…"

His guard just tilted their head, lips pursing before replying.

Then, simply, "No."

"No?" Telemachus' heart plummeted. "Did you not like it? Was it bad? Is it me?"

Their eyes widened slightly with surprise, as if realizing what he thought. (Y/N) shook their head, short strands of hair flowing before they brushed it behind their ear.

"No, I meant that…" Their voice grew softer, and, for the first time since he had met them, Telemachus could see the faintest hint of pink bloom across their cheeks. "… I want to do it again."

"Oh. Oh!" Telemachus let out, his face brightening. And before he had time to say yes, they reached for his waist again, their other hand gripping the soft fabric of his clothes to pull him closer.

Yes.

Yes, he could definitely live with letting them lead.

#epic the musical x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 5 days ago

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Lover Boy

. Summary: After years of stolen glances, unfortunate interruptions, and sneaking out of the palace, Telemachus finally musters the courage to confess to you, well… not without a little help, of course. . Pairing: Telemachus x gn! Reader . Warnings: None . Notes: This one had been rotting in the drafts for a while. You can all thank @selena-of-ithaca for inspiring me to finish it! I will probably be doing a second part of this closer to what the request originally was cause it left me thinking about some ideas I wanna explore Art taken from duvetbox's animatic of Legendary Stars devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post

You can say what you will about love at first sight—that it's not real, that it's just an exaggeration poets use to get their point across. But for Telemachus, it was real. Way too real. He just didn't know it at the time.

The first time he saw you, he was just a boy, running from the suffocating walls of the palace. It had stopped feeling like a home—what it was supposed to be—and had become a den. He felt like a lone sheep trapped in a cave full of wolves, and there was no escape. He couldn't leave. He had duties, responsibilities. And most importantly, his mother needed him.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

"Would you be mad if I let go of your hand?" "Why? What's wrong?" "It's really sweaty"

#epic the musical x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 6 days ago

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Cuddling Headcanons (+ scent HCs?)

Characters: Mateo Manta, Timmy/Timothy Timepiece, Chance, Telly, Daemon, Dirk, Harper

Note: requests are closed right now, but if you have a suggestion on who should be in part 2 onwards, please feel free to let me know!

Mateo Manta — One of the best objects to cuddle with. Mateo is naturally warmer than other objects and humans—rivaled only by someone like Betty or Dante. Regardless of where you choose to snuggle up together, Mateo is your man 🩵 …but you have to be ok with several inanimals joining the cuddle session too 😅

He keeps his arms around you one way or another, his face resting comfortably on your chest or shoulder, you take a deep breath and the calming scent of clean linens and a hint of your detergent lulls you into a deeper state of relaxation. Mateo's snoring is also calming somehow? he sounds closer to a cat purring than loud snork mimimi's.

Timmy — It's like cuddling a very large cat… Timmy rests his head in your lap, sweetly requesting (read: demanding) head pats~ His little claws stretch out, lightly digging into your leg, and he lets out a soft yawn.

Even if you need to readjust yourself or get up for any reason, Timmy is definitely not letting you lmao. That "lightly digging into your leg" will become tiny daggers daring you to try and move again. Besides the clingy cat-like behaviors, curling up with Timmy isn't a bad experience. His soft purring helps you relax, and the mild scent of catnip is oddly charming.

Timothy — Cuddling is not unwanted, but it must comply with the schedule. You will cuddle for 45 minutes EXACTLY — no more, no less. After that is over, Timothy doesn't mind continuing to spend time with you, it's just that… if he's nestled close to you for too long, there's a chance that Timmy will come out, and there would go the rest of Timothy's plans :/

He prefers to sit in your lap when you cuddle. Having your arms wrapped around him makes Timothy feel safe and secure, and he looooves when you nuzzle into his neck <3 Timothy smells like a mix of catnip and a metallic/brassy smell like the watches that he so adores. It's an interesting mix, but it's not terrible.

Chance — At first, even innocent snuggling turns Chance's cheeks a rosy pink, but he does eventually get used to it. He's actually a great snuggle buddy too! Chance doesn't half-ass a hug, so he's not going to half-ass a cuddle either. Loves holding you if you'll let him, he doesn't mind if you take turns since your embrace is pretty nice too.

There are occasions where your cuddling is a silent activity, but more often it ends up as a way for him to infodump about G&G lore. Between Chance's sweet voice and the aroma of paper and snack foods, it's not an easy task to keep yourself awake and listen to what he's telling you.

Telly — What could be more relaxing than draping your arm across the back of the couch and feeling your partner snuggle closer? All while you watch one of the 15,000 shows that they have to offer? His body grows warmer as you binge an entire season of your favorite show, which just makes you want to get even closer.

You wouldn't imagine the personification of your TV to smell like wood, but that's usually the scent that you pick up as you kiss their cheek or shoulder. Sometimes he smells like pine, other times like sandalwood, on rare occasions… like a crackling campfire. Perhaps that's why you find yourself dozing off while leaning on Telly's shoulder? With the hum of TV static serving as your lullaby?

Daemon — Doing anything with Daemon is a sensory rollercoaster — whether it's holding hands, kissing, hugging, and especially cuddling. Their body isn't ever the same, always changing and giving you new sensations to experience. Today though, Daemon is more cool to the touch, and her body is slightly more solid than some other times.

You invite him into your bed, helping them slide under the covers. Daemon's hands are all over you; not in a sexual way though. They're just so curious and enjoy exploring what your human body feels like under it's glitchy fingertips. The contrasting temperatures, your squishy and fragile flesh, your soft lips, and your limbs phasing through parts of his body while you hug her. You breathe in deep, and you can't quite place what Daemon smells like. If you think about it too long, it gives you a headache.

And your scent? They can smell you- Can they smell you? Can he smell? She thinks he can. If it could smell, it would find the pleasant mixture of shampoo, body lotion, and your natural scent fascinating. :-)

Dirk — Lazy snuggles are the way to go here. Dirk loves draping himself across your lap, doesn't even bother to ask for your affection because he knows you'll gently comb through his hair and help him untangle it anyways. Because you love him 🧡

Being your dirty laundry… he actually doesn't stink. He just smells like you and a little bit of the scents you wear that stick to your clothes. And god does he love that. Dirk isn't possessive by any means, but the way that he's meant to be marked by you, like that's an impossible thing to escape even if he wanted to? Yeah that drives him wild. (And makes him act cocky around other objects)

Harper — Clingy, but it's pretty cute how she buries her face in your chest and whines until you hug her back and give her a little kissy on the top of her head ❤️ Harper is extra affectionate during snuggle time — she likes to kiss and be kissed anywhere that you can reach, basking in every last second of those kisses with a giddy demeanor.

I hope you don't need to get up and use the bathroom or anything, because once Harper is settled in your loving embrace, you will not leave until she wants you to. Period. You're her pookie bear, you're not allowed to just get up now that you're together!! Maybe an odd HC, but I think Harper would smell like ginger and/or tangerines?? along with your scent, since she holds your clothes all the time.

Dirk + Harper — You would think that cuddling with 2 people would be amazing — and it is! Most of the time… but Harper and Dirk get competitive and fight over you a lot. They each sit on one side, with Harper clinging to your arm like a piece of Velcro, and Dirk holding your hand while he lays his head on your shoulder. You do your best to play peacemaker, but it's definitely a challenge.

Once you find a way to get them both to chill out and just enjoy your time together, it feels like heaven being smushed between their soft bodies. Dirk's ambient breathing puts you to sleep quickly, and Harper tracing patterns on your skin aids to the relaxation. Somehow, you feel like this is exactly where you're all supposed to be 🧡❤️

#date everything x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 6 days ago

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Twisted Wonderland pins Halloween series. (Ignihyde, Scarabia and Diasomnia dorms.)

#twst fandom #kalim al asim #jamil viper

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deveondog · 6 days ago

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twisted wonderland by takashi mifune

#twst fandom

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deveondog · 6 days ago

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twisted wonderland by takashi mifune

#twst fandom

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deveondog · 6 days ago

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session gone wrong..? | chance x m!reader

pairing: chance (date everything) x m!reader

summary: chance finds himself adoring your character for the upcoming campaign more than he thought he would've. i mean, who wouldn't when you made it yourself? or was it just because he's unaware that he loves you?

warnings: mutual pining, D&D mechanics, smut (cosplay, semi-roleplay, shibari, foreplay, biting, unprotected sex, graphic description, chance being a mess), dombot m!r, aftercare. grammatical errors, english is not my first language.

a/n: i had this idea for a while as i'm watching Once Upon a Witchlight, until i saw a sketch of chance from a user (@ teddisura) and decided, y'know what? fxck it, i'm writing it while you use my D&D character. enjoy!

Words can't explain how excited you were for the upcoming campaign.

The idea originally came from Chance—obviously— who, one day, came up with a plot of a party filled with strangers who lost something in a certain carnival when they were young. Each player returned to the carnival once more, drawn to find the lost piece they had been stripped away from.

Now, the rest of the adventure is up to Chance as the dungeon master to continue the plot.

The campaign was a five-player campaign, but turned into six for Parker to join in along with the office desk buddies. It's been in the plans for many weeks now, and everyone was excited that they made their own characters per Chance's approval as the DM. He was still brainstorming worldbuilding, and yet he was doing quite well.

You kind of admired Chance for his creativity. Have you seen him DM'ing? Along with his talents to improvise, and do voices. Yes, the character voices that never fail to fluster you when it has the chance.

However, despite everyone’s excitement, you were troubled. Troubled by the fact that your character has potential, but you couldn't come up with anything that they have lost. Let alone any backstory that connects with it.

Simply put, you need some help.

You fetched some coffee from the kitchen and decided to bring one for Chance too, and maybe some snacks before you beelined your way to the office door.

The mugs are in both hands, and a bag of chips was dangling between your teeth. You nudged the office door open and entered the office quietly.

There, you see, by the window was another set of carpet with three bean bag chairs and a small table near the window. You made some alterations in the office in cases like these.

Chance was sitting on one of the bean bags, hunched over while he read, with papers scattered everywhere.

There was something so alluring when he was deep in focus, especially when your d20 looked like he hadn't slept a wink. Some of his hair sticks out in odd directions, and there is evident exhaustion under his eyes. It was… kind of concerning.

You quietly approached him when he was still distracted to notice your presence as you carefully leaned the coffee mug near his cheek. The aroma that wafted through his nostrils was enough to disrupt his focus as he flinched, and ruby eyes were now staring at you in surprise.

“Oh, [m/n]!” Chance squeaked, causing you to snicker through your teeth when the bag of chips was still dangling. He quickly took the mug from you, before you took the chips from your mouth and placed them on the coffee table.

“Look at you, concentrating.” You mused and plopped on the bean bag beside him.

Chance's eyes glanced from where he was when you took a sip from your mug, and reached out to one of the papers that were scattered on the carpet. Chance inaudibly gulps through his coffee, as you read through the contents in concentration.

The air between you was nothing but comfortable, yet somehow the d20 was nervous.

“These look amazing…” You hummed, still reading through the sheet. Unaware of how Chance shifted in his seat.

You set your mug down, and your eyes finally turn to him, smiling. “I'm not spoiling myself here, am I?”

Chance shook his head and chuckled. “No, you're good.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and read some of the sheets again in a different paper, it was the details about the carnival this time. However, you were distracted. There are multiple and legible inks that resonate with his handwriting, where some of the letters are smaller or tilted than others.

It was still beautifully written, though. Your thumb swiped over the inked letters as your eyes finally turned to Chance.

“You should take a break and rest for the day.” You suggested out of worry and you can see how his eyes softened.

“No worries! I'll be fine!” Chance reassures you. But the way you're looking at him tells that you were unconvinced. “Besides, Parker finally sent his character sheet.”

“No, yeah. You have to let me see it, Chance.” A small laugh bubbled from the pits of your throat. You really wanted to see what Parker had come up with as someone who has a different expertise and viewpoint on games.

“His sheet was a little odd, but it did the job.” Chance chuckled alongside you. But then his gaze shifted to another topic. “Speaking of character sheets…”

“...You still haven't sent me yours.”

You visibly flinched under his eyes, and your instincts brought you to look away. It felt like you were caught red-handed. You were trying to look like you don't need a hand and be subtle with your approach to your sheet.

Seems like you weren't being subtle enough. And Chance was immediately immersed in your problem; there's no escaping now.

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed out. “About that, I'm actually struggling coming up with a backstory for my character and also about what they've lost…”

This causes Chance to perk in interest. His DM mode is on. “I see… You're a rogue right? Can I see your character sheet?”

“Uhm… sure.”

Voice laced with uncertainty, you stood from the bean bag and approached the desk drawer to get your sheet. But not before knocking softly to alert Jerry to the sudden sunlight. There was now a brown folder in your hand, and you sat on your bean bag again and handed it to Chance.

You watched him open the folder, and the longer Chance stayed silent while staring at the papers, the more nervous you were getting. You were almost certain it wasn't that bad. But of course, he's the expert here. Not you. Every second that passed felt like torture if he kept staying silent like this. Now you're convinced that it sucks.

“Huh.” It was only one word with three letters.

You raised a brow at the lukewarm reaction, not knowing what to say. And it seems Chance doesn't know either as the d20 turned another page.

“Is it really that bad?”

He was suddenly quick to interject.

“No–! Not at all!” Chance’s hands immediately and frantically waved as if he were swatting flies just to reassure you. Then his eyes darted back to the papers from the grasp of his hands.

“It's just… wow. Wow. Holy crit, a tabaxi? I never expected you would choose a tabaxi out of all races!”

You could feel yourself flush from the d20’s excitement. Maybe you didn't mess up your character after all. Chance really loved it by how he gushed over the sketch of your character that you drew a day ago on the side of the paper.

You cleared your throat to regain your composure; and tried your best to be normal in the conversation. “Well, he's a snow leopard tabaxi…”

This seems to shock Chance even more. “And you're struggling with a backstory??” There was a small snicker from him, and it immediately turned you defensive.

“Hey, I can't help it if I want to make him a complex character!” You laughed along with Chance who shook his head. This is perfect.

It's just what he needs, a complex character to create a little discourse—or not—for the party. Someone very difficult to get along with.

You don't want to exaggerate but you can almost see the multiple cogs on Chance's head turning. As if he were plotting something good. He looked super mischievous when his glasses reflected and his fingers linked together with a smirk.

Before you can say anything, Chance tapped the folder in thought one last time before turning to you.

“How about holding a session? In that way, maybe we can experiment with some of the scenarios that best fit your character.” He suggests, and there’s a glint in his eyes that you couldn't quite put a finger on.

But, wait a minute, a session?

“What? Chance, no.” You frowned in quick disapproval. “You already have your hands full because of the campaign. You need to rest.”

“I know, and I will! Besides, I really need a session. All this brainstorming is frying my mind.” Chance's excitement didn't falter despite your worried eyes, and he grins at you softly, to say that he really needed a break from all the thinking. You curse at yourself for falling into his pleading, doe eyes.

You reluctantly gave in. “Rest for the week then you'll get your session.”

Your voice was firm, demanding even as Chance watched you cross your arms with a serious expression on your face. He looked at you starstruck, then to your leopard tabaxi sketch, then to you again.

One week's rest. Seven days with no brainstorming or sessions, just resting. But after all this, he'll get the session he wanted whether he delays the campaign or not.

For the sake of your character, Chance agrees without hesitation.

Imagine his struggle for seven days when he couldn't stop thinking about coming up with a backstory for your character. Liking the design was an understatement for the d20, because he loves it to the point he's fanboying.

The white fur with dark leopard patterns, clad in medieval clothing, leather straps, alongside protective shoulder and knee pads, and a large cloak cascaded over the features. Oh, Chance has the perfect backstory for this. Your character is up to perfection.

Your character design was amazing, but the stats are the cherry on top. It’s a perfect balance of racial traits and skills. Holy crit. He's obsessed and you don't even know.

Don't get him started on how similar you and the character are in a way. There's this mannerism you and the character both share that Chance couldn't point out.

Now he was getting excited about how they would sound and act. He's so obsessed, and why wouldn't he? It's you and your own creation, yourself projected into a character.

Oh, he's crushing so hard.

“Are you ready for the session?” Chance gets to finally ask after a week, as he feels nothing but excitement.

Meanwhile, you take in the fresh demeanour. So well-rested that his lips curled into a grin, and his eyes gleamed with a whole new glint. It was a bit out of place, you think, but it shows he really needs the rest.

You smiled. “I'm ready when you are, dungeon master.”

The session begins with a simple childhood memory that turned into an adventure in the years your character has grown. Chance narrates every scene alive and voices all the NPCs you've come across, setting every scene and details just for you.

You also became immersed in playing your character, and adapted a personality that suited them the best. You acted gruff, and your voice rasped down to a pitch that the d20 somehow found alluring.

The way a genuine smirk curls to your lips when your character speaks with one of his NPCs, a mysterious glint in your eyes as you spoke rather hoarsely.

It wasn't surprising when Chance finds himself staring at your determination to stay in character, awestruck at how you made the tabaxi rogue alive.

He felt somewhat a bit feverish, stealing subtle glances whenever you spoke with a firm tone. As if you were talking to him, and not the character he voiced. Your voice lulls him in similar to a siren’s song.

Now, Chance felt conflicted at what attraction he had of your character or was it just because of… you?

“You feel the snow crunch under your boots, movement exhausted and weary from the escape. It could've ended badly, but you managed to pull out.” Chance narrates. It's been two hours now, and it seems both of you aren't stopping soon.

“You notice the sun beginning to set, and you look at the forest cascaded with snow before you, there was nothing but trees and the path you followed subconsciously. You need to find shelter, anywhere is fine, just enough to hide you from them.”

You hummed in thought. “Can I… roll for perception check if there's anything that I could possibly notice?”

Chance swallowed unnoticeably, he just likes it when you ask and initiate to roll. As if he's speaking to someone as experienced as him. Knowing what to do and what to say next.

It wouldn't be a surprise when you know how to act since you have played a lot of G&G before, and had him as your trusty d20.

Chance replied with a calm yet small, “Go ahead.” before you rolled your dice, and to your luck rolled a 14, right above the difficulty class.

“Thanks to your keen eyes, you notice a small light emitting through the snowstorm and when you trudge cautiously towards it, you see the sign hanging above the door. It was an inn, looking lively in the middle of the forest.” Chance says and you enter the inn after you didn't find it suspicious.

“There was a hunched figure, presumably the innkeeper, who stood behind the bar counter wiping washed glasses. He noticed you entering by how he lowered the glass; ‘Welcome to the Iced Inn, traveller. How could I be of service?’ he greets you.”

You grinned lightly at how Chance voiced the Innkeeper, tired without a care in the world. You shifted back to your character when you realized you caught yourself in a daze and cleared your throat. “I walked up to the counter and said; ‘How much for a room for the night?’”

The accent that your character has rolled perfectly off your tongue and Chance was smitten once more. It was too much, you were too much. The tips of his ears, along with the skin over his cheekbones became searingly hot.

Just the sight of you being so immersed in your character coils heat into Chance's abdomen, the way your tone tickled through his ears. He was downright flushed, and you didn't even notice him squirming on the carpet.

Both of you didn't know what came over Chance, as his attitude shifts into someone bolder than before. His narration was nearly unwavering.

He really needs to stop looking at you. That's the thing—he can't. Not when Chance needs to act fast. So he does, with a drink that the innkeeper offered. Just a drink, so quick and simple while you waited for the room service to finish upstairs.

You found this odd where the offer felt out of place. You immediately asked if there was anything the innkeeper put in your drink behind your back.

Chance requests for you to roll, and luckily, you managed to roll past the Difficulty Class. The innkeeper placed nothing in your drink but edible juices concocted together and lime.

Once the glass was in your hand, you inspected the liquid given. There was nothing suspicious in it at all.

“I look into my glass and see nothing but the swirl of lime reflected with the various concoctions that the innkeeper placed into it. Reluctantly, I swallowed every drop in one full swig, and put the glass down with a thump.”

Nothing happened. The drink tasted how it normally tasted. It’s sweet, with a hint of a sour aftertaste. You were conflicted by the sudden shift in the air.

The die sounded like he panicked when he came up with the sudden improvisation. You suspected he had something to do with your drink or he had forgotten what's next.

But, alas, it wasn’t. Much to your surprise.

Until you failed a roll. Insight check, right below the difficulty class. Chance took it as an opening and sprung into action where the innkeeper immediately jumped onto with such speed.

You were at a disadvantage, he said, as tendrils wrapped around at a good portion of your torso. An ambush.

Before you could react, there was a flash imagery about a pair of canines that could resemble a vampire's teeth reaching out to plunge your throat. The innkeeper was a vampire in disguise after all.

Yet in the rules of G&G, the scenario has become even more confusing.

There has to be some kind of mistake.

“Uhm, Chance?” You called out and the said d20 was quick to set his eyes on you, a look of attention displayed over his face.

“I hope you didn't forget that tabaxi’s have immunity against vampire venom, and that they have advantages on combat rolls.”

That was when Chance realized his biggest mistake. He had gotten too bold and too forward into narrating that he almost forgot that you were a tabaxi. He made a huge mistake… Holy crit.

Sputtered apologies are what's left of Chance as he succumbed into the pits of embarrassment. He had one job. One! And now he blew it all up. He just wanted to crawl into a hole now and rot in eternity.

He shouldn't have decided to be bold in the first place. Now look at what happened! So much for crushing on a character that he forgot their race.

“Wow…” You muttered out after witnessing his meltdown. Trying to lighten up the mood, you gently laughed. “You’re really desperate to bite my neck that bad, huh?”

Your intention was to tease him, and your delivery certainly reached the expectation but what you didn't expect was Chance's prolonged silence. You stared at him when he hadn't moved an inch.

He completely turned away from your hardened stare as if he was found guilty of a crime that he certainly committed. His palms were moist as a bead of sweat trails down to his cheek, he couldn't look into your eyes. Not yet.

“I– I mean– Uhm…!” He immediately shuts his mouth close at the failed attempt to speak.

Chance's face burned a little hotter than before, as he finally squirmed on the carpet under your gaze. His silence was not something to deny that he, in fact, is desperate to bite your neck. Just the thought makes your cheeks burn.

Your laughter was long gone, leaving you to tilt your head in need of an answer.

“If I allow you to, would you do it?”

You never missed how Chance’s eyes snapped to meet yours in shock, and probably without missing a beat. One minute you were apart, the next he was kneeling before you on his knees trying so hard to compose himself. Chance was silent, assessing as his hand made its way to the back of your neck.

“A-are you sure about this..?” His voice muttered, his eyes never leaving the bob on your Adam's apple. Uncertain, was all he was.

Your eyes glimmered, barely noticeable. “Why not?”

That causes Chance to swallow and feel something pulse. He didn't know where but he was certain it was from him. His eyes deliberately look back at your state and let both of his hands guide you.

Your voice lowers when he tipped your head back, and revealed the skin beneath your chin. Bare and unmarked. His stare lingered on your throat from quite some time, till he exhaled shakily.

“H-here I go…” It turned into a whisper that you can barely hear.

You couldn't point out if it was to warn you, or to reassure himself, but it somewhat worked either way. You feel him lower his head until shaky breathing from his nose caressed your skin. He was nervous, and you can tell. The way his jaw opens to bite it on your skin that was laced with hesitancy gave it away.

You braced yourself when his teeth finally grazed the skin below your Adam's apple and winced when he sunk himself into a bite. Your hand instinctively launched itself to his shoulder and scratched his dice-design hood. Heels digging onto the carpet as you let his bite shift into soft nibbles, his tongue finally lapping on the mark.

Chance slowly reels back and admires the tan color that was clearly out of place on your neck. Your expression was of pain that slowly calmed down.

It was quick, but you silently hoped there was more. Very unaware that Chance was exactly thinking the same thing. But you were bolder than Chance was and you beat him to it.

“What else are you considering?” You finally ask.

Nevertheless, you didn't miss the way his face contorted into shock and after a few minutes, he stared at your eyes intently. Pondering and taking your question into his consideration.

His eyes somehow glimmer after a certain unspoken thought and you look at him with a smile, that was nothing but inviting and consensual.

“Chance. This is…”

Although, you really didn't expect to be in a situation like this. Wearing the familiar clothing of a certain character you specifically created.

That wasn't all. But there's a red rope tied around your torso with all kinds of knots, and the tightness caused you to sit upright or else it would tighten.

“I’ve always known that you weren't innocent. But my tabaxi? Really?” You look at him with a look that was nothing but filled with bewilderment. You and him were at a loss of words for completely different reasons.

You couldn't pinpoint what has gotten him to do this, but it was now evident that he adores your character a little too much. Something happened in the past seven days, you just know it since he clearly has the time to find this costume for you. It lacked details, specifically the embroidery, but the garments were surprisingly accurate.

“W-well, I can explain– But I'm not– y'know.” Words seem to fail Chance when his eyes catch your knowing gaze, filled with recognition. He shrinks away in guilt and looks away. You snorted after he proved your point.

You were actually flattered that someone loved the character you made, you almost feel kind of jealous when it was Chance out of all people. I mean, if you met a cool and handsome tabaxi in real life, fantasy-wise, you'd fawn over him too.

Now, here you are; cosplaying as the said character. Tied up, and sitting on a bean bag with the culprit kneeling before you who also bit your neck.

It wasn't a surprise that Chance was capable of such perversion, but at the same time you wanted to test how far he can go. He's cute when he's embarrassed, and you will do it again if you have to.

You see him fiddling his fingers on his lap, avoiding your gaze as an idea strikes you. You won't know unless you try.

“Innkeeper.”

Chance flinched when the swell of the character's gruff accent beckoned out of blue. His head snapped to look at you and see a mischievous tug on your lips. You looked so superior in this position, and smug. So in character. He gulps and you notice.

You leaned back at the bean bag, legs manspreading, until you leaned forward and stared directly into his quivering eyes.

Your boot was raised and you placed it on his lap, directly above his inner thigh. His eyes were immediately blown into saucers.

You smirked. “If you want to touch me so desperately, you could've just asked.”

It didn't take long for you to squirm beneath him and one thing led to another as you found yourself writhing from the sensation that pounded at your rim. Your shoulders to your head stiffly laid on the bean bag for support while your body was positioned sideways. Legs folding to let Chance do his work.

His fingers, deliberately slow and surprisingly thick, thrusts it in and out of your ass and repeats the motion until he can finally scissor you loose.

Heaving breaths would escape your lips whenever the thick flesh drags on your insides. As if it was making sure to feel every crevice, and savor every plush warmth despite your rim tightening around his fingers as your cock leaks pre.

It also didn't help that you were bound by rope, where every squirm would cause the restraints to tighten around your torso and arms. It was nowhere near as comfortable but it wasn't uncomfortable either.

Not to mention that you both were still clothed as your pants were lowered to your knees. Although it seems a silent agreement was in place and you both find it rather sensual and exciting.

“Cat got your tongue, traveller?” Your eyes widened at the voice when you snapped your head at Chance in shock. A soft smirk was on his lips. Encouraging you to talk back as if it was still part of the session.

“Th-that's a bit i-ironic isn't it?” You tried your best to reply but the warmth pooling on your abdomen and ass refrained you from doing so.

His fingers were too thick, it let your words fail you, your confidence from earlier long gone and was replaced by gasps and restrained moans.

Chance watched as your torso curled forward, an attempt to hide yourself, with your eyes avoiding his intense gaze that existed from the start. You were trying so hard to bury your head into the bean bag out of pleasure that it fueled Chance to want more.

He needed more of you. Every twitch, every furrow, every moan, every reaction that he caused; he needed to see it.

“Not when you're under me.” His voice stood firm and confident that you wondered where Chance was able to get that. But your attention was diverted when his fingers pushed your walls apart and pushed his fingertips deeper. Until they suddenly curled and hit your prostate.

“Hrgh-?! Fuck!!” Your eyes rolled back in your head as your teeth bit your lower lip to ground yourself. But the pleasure was too much to handle. Your cock leaked, and it twitched when Chance's fingers grazed your prostate again.

You silently gasp, and your eyes widened at the overwhelming sensation. Your toes curled inside the boots as your back arched backwards.

Chance bit his lip as his face contorted into satisfaction, his hair disheveled when he saw your body trembling under him. Because of him. His teeth marks on your throat bobbed in anticipation with your mouth parted for air, glossy with your drool.

That's when your eyes captured his gaze that was filled with expectancy and pleading. You know what it meant, and you couldn't push him away. It wasn't that easy.

Instead, you invited him closer. Chance leaned forward to your face and suddenly, a strong force slammed itself onto his lips, taking him back surprised. Your tongue, as hot as it can be, ravished his own. Chance may be good at pleasuring, however, you had the upper hand when it comes to kissing.

He practically melted and became this moaning mess when your tongue evaded his throat. You can see his ruby eyes roll to the back of his head with his brows tightening that make your cock twitch.

If only you weren't tied up right now.

You pulled away much to Chance's dismay as you admired your work. His pleading eyes were brimmed with tears and desperation, his face flushed, and his lips glossed with your spit.

You simply hummed in satisfaction. He looks so pretty like this, with his hair messy and sticking everywhere, his glasses askew. Disheveled in pleasure.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed movement. Your eyes darted below, and saw his crotch slowly grinding your thigh, then you saw the desperate expression on his face. Needy. Your legs twitch from the grinding.

Chance leaned down and rested his head on your bare hip, nuzzling his forehead on your skin tenderly.

“[m/n], I want to cum with you…” He was still rocking his hips, sighing shakily and you know that he knows better than that.

“Where are your manners, Chance?” Your voice was soft. Yet it sliced through those tensed shoulders of his, and shivers.

He bashfully raised his head from your hip, and you can see how flushed pink he was. Mixing his embarrassment and aching arousal where you can finally feel his erection rutting against you.

“Please, please… I promise I'll be good.” He whined into your ear. It still didn't help the fact that his fingers were still prying you open for him. Never leaving the insides of your plush, gummy warmth. You slightly thrashed, the ropes tightening as you do so but you eventually calmed down.

“Okay, alright...” You sigh, exhaling shakily. “We're both guys. You don't have to go easy on me.” His eyes glinted by your words that goes unnoticed.

You'd absolutely abolish this man if it wasn't for the restraints. The need to ruin him was clearly evident in your head as an objective. Wrecking him into a sobbing mess while you ride him or let him rut into your hole in oblivion.

Of course, who are you to deny his plea when this nerd with broad shoulders was practically begging just to be inside you? Couldn't be you.

The ruffling of his clothes echoed through your ears, and you breathed heavily when warmth flushed your forehead. Your heart was beating against your ribcage from the excitement and nervousness as his hands turned your body to face him.

Placing your legs around his waist after he tugged your pants off, leaving you wearing your boots with your torso still clothed. In response, you interlocked your ankles behind him to steady yourselves.

That was when something warm was placed on top of your erection, his cock. Your eyes widen when it lightly slapped your skin with pre already dribbling from the slit and the girthy base looming over yours.

You swallowed nothing but thick drool. The man before you moaned as he dragged his cock away, the underside grazing against your twitching base.

You shuddered with vigor when you could feel his tip prodding against the rim, and smearing his slick against your puckered hole. It was a good thing he’d prepped you beforehand. Chance slowly pushed himself inside while your eyes widened from the sudden stretch.

He was thick. First it burned and made you wince but Chance knows better and lets you take your time to adjust. Peppering your lips and jaw with kisses in hopes to distract you.

It didn't take long before you wanted more and now he was rutting against your hole while picking up the pace. Chance sinks into you with a loud whine when your tight rim clenched around his fat base. Both of you fighting off your orgasm. There was a stretch on your ass that you couldn't help but notice, his cock prying you wide and it nestled into your hole.

“H-holy crit–!” Chance whimpered as he subconsciously leaned forward in hopes to fill you with nothing but him, and only him. His heavy weight pressed against yours so you can clamp all of him, his nails printing crescents on your hips while his cock squelches and plugs you full.

The air is knocked out of your lungs whenever he thrusts himself further inside your walls, dragging and impaling you over and over. Just the thought of him dominating you and using you felt electrifying. Blood rushed to your head, and you felt like you were on fire.

The tip of his cock thrusts upright with a curve and your eyes suddenly roll to the back of your head when his tip prods against the bundle of nerves.

“Sh-hit, Chance...!” You choked as your arms thrashed behind your back that arched backwards at the pleasuring intrusion. Your nails thrashing on the ropes in hopes for your escape.

Shaky breaths and moans escaped from you both and Chance picked up his pace for your satisfaction, wanting to please you. He kept thrusting while tears swelled in his eyes as he leaned his weight forward again to capture your lips.

You obliged despite your knees buckling and your breaths shaking. You still managed to dominate every crevice of his mouth that worked wonders on him and you didn't notice the way his hand snaked at your roped back and gripped onto the knot where your hands are.

Your cock twitched from the lack of attention, bobbing in sync with his thrusts. You and Chance were a complete mess, dazed while his tip would constantly thrust onto your prostate while the d20 savored going further into your gummy walls.

You were close, and so was he. The moans of your name escape him with bated, shaky breaths as he inched himself closer to you—if it was even possible. Meanwhile, you let him rut and gasp when heat begins to coil your groin.

Chance's thrusts slowly turned sloppy but he kept the fastened pace nonetheless and pounded away. That was until a sharp snap to his hips, and your eyes widened when you finally noticed his vice grip on the tied knot behind you and used it to pull your weight upwards on top of him.

“Wh– Wait! Chance–!” Your vision momentarily turns flashing white when Chance slams your hips down onto him, impaling your puckered hole with his cock until his tip reaches to the furthest peak inside you.

Your toes twitch and curl, with your back and head arched backwards when sparks of sensitivity strike through you. The tight sensation on your torso adds to the pleasure.

You couldn't fight the overwhelming sensation when your teeth made its way to his neck, finally marking him with a dark color that was similar to yours.

You came untouched, your release coating Chance's torso who hugged you closer to him and buried his head onto your shoulder.

His hips stuttering, pumping his release inside your plush warmth. Ruby pupils rolled to the back of his head as he drools to the pleasure, whining and whimpering. Rolling his hips to prolong your orgasms.

Heavy breaths ensued on you both and you stayed in the same exact position as you calmed down. Shaky inhales and exhales soon transitioned into calm breathing, and you fell limp on top of Chance who securely wrapped his arms around you. Both of you took the time to recollect your sanity, leaning on each other for comfort.

Until, you felt something—still—penetrating you where something thick and hot in your stomach pools. Painting your walls with such massive amounts. You raise your head from Chance's shoulder who looks at you and you stare at him, perplexed from the realization.

“Did you just…?”

“So… What was that about, hm?” You lightly chuckled while observing the evident rope marks on your arms, especially your hands where every curve was imprinted in your skin. You leaned back to the wall, and sat on the bean bag like earlier but more refreshed than ever. The afterglow was really something else.

You look at your hands and try to stretch them out. It was sore. Technically, all parts of you were sore as hell. Both of you had really gone out. Nonetheless, the aftercare was amazing. Chance really provided everything. From cleaning you up, letting you rehydrate with water, helping you dress comfortably and more.

Meanwhile, the said d20 was back kneeling on the carpet, again. His post-nut clarity snapped him out of his lust-drunken trance and realized that he came inside you. He didn't even hesitate to carry you to the bathroom to wash you up. Constantly spitting his apologies while he carried you everywhere.

What does he even say? How do people do this? Chance doesn't know. He’s just the trusty d20 who was mistakenly crushing over a character. When in truth, he actually just loved the creator—you—more who made the said character. He realized that he liked you more than a friend. He loves you.

“Oh, so you love me?” Your voice piped in, laced in amusement.

Holy crit. He didn't mean to mutter that out loud. Holy crit, he doesn't know what to do. Chance looked up from his lap and saw that soft look on your face, smiling, as if you already knew. If you do, he'll just have to crawl into a hole and hide. Eventually Chance nodded, admitting, when he saw you waiting for a response.

“W-well, you're handsome, gentle but sometimes tough to people who wronged you and despite that, you're kind. You're always there for us, you’re considerate, and you also love G&G. You're amazing, and—”

“Woah! Okay, I get it.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, palming at your red face to hide the obvious color of your flush. You expected him to say that you love G&G as him but you didn't expect a full list. Somehow, you feel your stomach flip.

“I'm so sorry…” Chance shrunk despite his broad stature, he was red in the face and your gaze softened in pity. He looks like a puppy, sopping wet from rain.

He was probably expecting to be rejected. I mean, there's a lot of options around the house. It was reasonable when you choose the other options. This thought was clear on his face, and you understood it quickly. You sighed, and you ignored the pain on your body when you cupped his cheeks and dipped into his lips for a short kiss.

Chance was stunned yet slightly disappointed when he didn't get to savor your taste when it happened so suddenly. It didn't help when you immediately pulled away just before he could reciprocate back. Watching you lick your lips subconsciously.

“I like you too. More than a friend anyways...” You grinned brightly, but soon you shook your head. Your choice of words was the worst.

"Wait, fuck— I love you too, Chance."

“Holy crit, really?” His eyes widened, his rubies twinkling as you nodded.

“Mhm. I should probably take you out on a date.” You suddenly let out a loud laugh when you realized how ironic this situation that you have gotten yourselves into. Chance looks at you in confusion as your laughter soon subsided.

“It’s just… confessing your feelings to each other doesn't really happen right after having mind-blowing sex." You then shrugged. "Especially, when you're my first."

Another realization dawned upon Chance, as his face immediately blew a fuse. He didn't know, he was unaware that this was your first. So basically, he stole your... Holy crit! You watched when Chance was back in his muttering bubble and you sweat-dropped.

You couldn't even blame him since you were the one who egged him on. Leading you to wear your character's clothes and well… you already know the rest.

Chance managed to calm down once more and he looked in your eyes, before looking at your lips, then at your eyes again. You shook your head, and leaned in to capture his lips against yours once more. This time, you both savored how tender it was, and taking your time.

You're going to be the death of him—and he's going to be the death of you.

“About the costume… uhm…”

“Chance, lover, I already know.”

“Oh.”

a/n: this is all i got (for now), internet's been cutting me off due to storms and earthquakes, so stay safe ya'll. hoping to release the pt2 of dirty fantasies before the semester starts. (my D&D knowlegde is a bit rusty cuz i'm only self-taught for 5 years with zero real-life player experience. damn...)

#date everything x reader #x male reader

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deveondog · 7 days ago

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hello! I have no idea if you write for Rollo or no since I just found your blog(I think so since I checked that you write for every character) but if not you can replace him with Kalim. Anyways may I request one of them with prompts 1, 13 and 30 as an imagine? Like in your Jamil fic I imagine Yuu/reader as a pirate being watched by either one of them(except they’re oblivious to it while the rest of the crew caught on and tries to warn them) Anyways Yuu/reader goes into a grotto to look for treasure and suddenly gets jumpscared by either one of them. Instead of getting attacked they just give Yuu/reader a pearl because they think Yuu/reader is pretty or just a good person based on their observations. I imagine your inbox is probably flooded by now so take your time with this🫶

💌Request received! Thank you for your message~

Dw anon I do write for Rollo! Sorry it’s taken so long, this ended up being more of a one-shot than an imagine. I hope that’s ok, and I hope you enjoy!~

Rollo Flamme, ft. Pearl, Sirens, & Grotto

It all started when Rollo heard you singing.

As your ship pulled into the harbor, your song - a haunting Fleur City melody about the mysterious bellkeeper - reverberated over the waves. Rollo had been underneath the docks when he heard you. Being a siren, he was drawn to song, although he rarely sang himself. But he never expected such loveliness from a human.

You were sailing with your friends on the Red Queen to Fleur City for their Festival of Fools. Finally, after weeks at sea, you could finally eat some real food! You munched cheerfully on a croissant while ambling through the streets, unaware that below the docks, you were being watched.

As Rollo skulked under the docks, careful not to make a sound, he scowled. Humans were a stain on Fleur City - with their buildings, ships, and their infernal merry-making festivals. Rollo sneered disdainfully, bringing his handkerchief up to his face. Such uncouth rowdiness. Abhorrent.

But you were a curious human. Your eyes were filled with innocent curiosity as your ship docked, and you weren’t like those other noisy humans arguing and laughing. No, you were quiet, awe-struck. Rollo’s eyes widened as the sunlight caught on you, illuminating you on the ship while the wind tousled your outfit. You must be different from the others. Your voice was as lovely as the Bell of Solace.

Currently, you were relaxing on the dock. You kicked your legs, singing a silly tune you overheard from the festival called “Topsy-Turvey” with a large grin. Below, Rollo watched your legs, soundlessly pressing his handkerchief to his face with a frown. Even that infernal song sounded angelic with your voice.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps from the far end of the dock. He narrowly escaped beneath your legs, swimming rapidly away. He mustn’t be seen watching you. Not by you, other merfolk, or your infernal human friends.

“Hey! (Name)!” Ace sat down next to you, chatting about the festival. You smiled animatedly, excitedly showing each other the souvenirs you got, unknowing that Rollo was still watching you from afar, this time concealed by his grotto.

“-and this guide talks about the treasure of Fleur City!” You gestured excitedly to the pamphlet at Ace, who was sweatdropping already. “Legend has it that a mysterious sea creature watches over the city and hides in a cave nearby!” Ace rolled his eyes, “that’s just a kid’s story, no way there’s actually a sea creature in these waters.” You smacked his arm, “have some imagination!” The two of you chatted, until Ace looked over at the ocean.

”Uh, (Name)?” You glanced over at Ace. Your friend looked at you with some discomfort, “you think there’s something following you?” You frowned, “no, why?” Ace shrugged, “thought I saw something in the water whenever we came near the docks. It only seems to be around you, though.”

You merely rolled your eyes, “quit it with your tall tales, Ace.” “Wha- Me and Deuce saw it!” Ace blustered as you stood, dusting yourself off, “so did Trey and Cater!” You ruffled his hair, laughing when he swatted you, “whatever, dummy. Let’s go find the others!”

Rollo watched you go, intrigue in his eyes. (Name)… Your name echoed in his head as he slunk back into the shadows. Interesting.

Later that day, the festival was in full swing. You could help but grin. People with stilts walked through the streets, and musicians were on every streetcorner playing merry tunes. Laughter filled the air, and you grinned behind your festival mask. As you leaned back against a railing, watching a man on stilts throw a baton of fire in the air, you heard a splash behind you. You glanced back, catching a glimpse of strange green eyes and a weird tricorn hat.

You frowned slightly, watching the trail of bubbles swish away in the distance. You quietly slipped out of the reverie and into the night. As you padded closer, you heard a song echoing from a nearby cave. The voice was low, haunting, and sent a thrilling chill down your spine. Who’d be out here, instead of at the festival?

You yelped when a hermit crab skittered across your show, and the song stopped. Heart pounding, you peeked into the cave. There was no one there, except for small trinkets. Large swaths of ship sails draped the bare walls, and glowing from a large pool in the center illuminated the cave.

Was this where the treasures of Fleur City were buried? You walked into the cave, careful not to disturb anything, when a stern voice comes from the side. “What are you doing here?”

You flinched, looking up to see a stern looking man on the rocks. He wore purple and magenta robes, with a tricorn hat sitting on his silver hair. Shineless green eyes bore into yours, and a ruby ring glinted off his hands as he tapped his fingers impatiently. “I-well, I…”

Your mouth went dry when you realized he wasn’t standing up. His robes were the same color as his… tail?

Softly shimmering scales caught your attention, hidden under his robes. You showing up here was not what he’d planned. Rollo cleared his throat, “you shouldn’t be here.” He frowned with disdain, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You rushed out before he could continue, “I’m sorry for breaking in! I didn’t mean any harm.” He merely waved off your comment, “I am not upset at your intrusion. Rather, I’m pleased to meet you,” he regarded you with a strange look. After exchanging names, he clasped his hands and smiled slightly. His eyes bore into yours without ever breaking away.

“You must be weary after dealing with the other humans’ absurdity at that festival. I don’t blame you for taking refuge.” You frowned, “no, I’m not tired of it… oh! The festival!” Your friends must’ve noticed your absence! You rose from your seat on a rock next to Rollo.

Rollo hummed, “you should go back to the other humans. Surely, your… friends,” he said with disdain, “will be looking for you?” Your eyes widened. You’d been gone for a little while. You nodded, turning to leave. As you were about to step outside the grotto, Rollo forced a word out, “wait.”

You stopped, looking back. Rollo had went into the pool of water for a moment, and surfaced holding a clamshell in his hands. “For you,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Will you come back?” He’d seized your hands, looking at you imploringly. You smiled and nodded, “sure! When I get some time off tomorrow,” he let go of you, watching your leaving figure wistfully.

As you walked back, your curiosity got the better of you. You turned the clamshell over in your hands, gasping when you pried it open. A glittering gray-green pearl sat nestled inside, seeming to glow as it caught the light. Your eyes glistened. It was pretty big too. Was this the mythical treasure of Fleur City?

Meanwhile, Rollo watched you leave. Seeing you return to the human world made his mouth curl into a sneer. Instinctively, he covered his mouth with his handkerchief, never taking his eyes off your back. For now though, in this indulgent moment, he would wait patiently, hopefully, for your return to him.

#twst x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 9 days ago

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leona having a clear preference on his underclassmen is so funny to me. he gaved ace a salad he didnt want anymore, just to turn around and gift epel a bunch of merch from his favorite spelldrive team AND do this with deuce

#twst fandom

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deveondog · 9 days ago

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wait im back :3 loved the holly piece ty!!!! i just thought of this while watching someone's play though but-

post-love route Timothy x gn reader ,specifically towards the beginning of their relationship. maybe on a cute date! i had in mind maybe something ti do with cleaning his watches! and then maybe we put one down a bit to hard or do something wrong and it breaks :( something unable to be fixed. I imagine him in the moment being very upset and even getting angry at reader. Sending them away, and for a couple days not speaking to reader– to absorbed in trying to fix his beloved watch.

Then one day when reader visits him he has a very apologetic look on his face. saying hes done some reflection and is very sorry!! he isnt used to having someone. (perhaps an other object pointed out that he made reader upset so thats what caused the reflection)

yeah thats it idk where this was going but i thogubt it was cute hehdbx, again thanks for the holly work!!! it was super cute :3 (may i add that i LOVE ur formatting and layout style uggghh) ☀️

welcome back, and i'm glad you liked the holly piece!!! i love the amount of thought you’ve put into this prompt - i hope you enjoy this :))

(and thank you for the compliments on both the work and on my formatting / layout style!! it’s really fun making these for the characters :DDD)

asynchronous

pairings: timothy timepiece x gender neutral reader, timothy and amir

content warnings: angst (reconciliation at the end)

word count: 1.4 k

It’s as if time slows to a standstill as the pocket watch slips out of your grasp.

Everything had been going well this morning - ‘capital’, as Timothy would say. You had arrived for a scheduled date at nine, and had planned to care for his timepieces - a necessary routine of his day-to-day upkeep, and one that you’ve been following along ever since you managed to snag him as a partner.

Timothy had explained to you that all the watches you were caring for were hand-wound, different than quartz as they required constant maintenance and turning of the crown in order to function Though technological progress had allowed for self-winding watches (‘and,’ he had reluctantly added, ‘smartwatches’), the mechanical watches meant the world to him, which is why he had amassed so many. You had praised his devotion, touched that you could share this moment together. It was a perfect plan for a perfectly planned date.

At least, that was what you had thought.

You’re wiping down the brass exterior of the pocketwatch with a microfiber cloth, just like you had been taught, when something just happens. You’re not able to tell exactly when you lose your concentration, but in the next moment the watch is teetering on your palm and tips over the edge.

You try to catch it, but are nowhere near fast enough, powerless to watch as it topples out of your reach, hits the ground, and splinters. The sound is delicate, like ice, but it is nonetheless deafening in your ears. You gasp in shock.

In front of you, Timothy stiffens, his ears flattening back against his head. He whips around and screams as he sees one of his beloved timepieces on the floor, rushing over and kneeling to examine the damage done; it lies in a dozen pieces, shattered in what no amount of tinkering or time will ever fix.

When he finally turns to you, his face is pale and his hands are trembling. His lips press together in a thin line, but his eyes give away how he feels - they are blazing with rage, his irises narrowed to slits.

‘I think you should leave,’ he says, voice clipped, barely controlled.

You stumble, take a step forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. ‘Timothy, I’m so sorry, it slipped out of my hands and it fell. I didn’t mean to -‘

‘Just LEAVE,’ he spits at you suddenly, the tension breaking, his shoulders hiking as his hands curl into claws, inches away from sinking into you. ‘Go anywhere but here.’ He turns away from you, begins sweeping the mechanisms and the glass, as if he still believes - or desperately wants to believe - that it can be fixed somehow.

So you leave. What other choice do you have? You have a couple more charges on the Dateviators left that day, but elect not to use them, staring numbly out the window as you wonder how things could have gone so wrong.

Questions race through your mind: how did it come to this, how do you fix this, and - most prominently - how could you betray his trust?

—— ‘Oh, that is the look of someone who has deeply messed up.’

Timothy flinches, snapping his head around to face Amir; the silver-clad man is staring daggers at him, scowling from where they stand in the bedroom.

‘I saw them today. They looked like they had been crying, you know? They did not get enough sleep last night, and it has pushed down their self-confidence even more than they usually do. What in god’s name did you do to them?’

Timothy scoffs, trying to project bravado while avoiding the hurt expression he can see in every inch of Amir’s clothing. ‘They broke the pocketwatch, not I. They have not apologized even once - staying away.’

‘You are the one who told them to leave. Did it not even occur to you to check if they were hurt? Did you think about them at all?’

‘I-‘ Timothy’s expression sags, contemplating this. You’ve been avoiding him lately, yes, but you still look at him without the glasses on, and the look on your face each time you did so - expression not joyful as it normally is, but pained - made him ache. You’ve been giving him time in an attempt to make up for what you cost him, something you should not have to put yourself through for at all.

‘You’re right,’ he whispers, ears drooping. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘Na baabaa.’ Amir narrows his eyes even further, but his expression is one of firmness rather than mockery, betraying real concern in his gaze. ‘You are the one who needs to apologize.’

‘But - goodness, Amir, what would I even say? How would I be able to make up for such a wrongdoing?’

Amir directs Timothy to sit and stare at him and the mirror at once, a mind-melting conceptualization that forces him to look at nothing but what is directly in front of him - someone searching for answers to express his faults.

‘Look in the mirror. Face yourself. What do you think you should say?’ —— Inevitably, you go back to talk to Timothy. You can’t really afford not to - even though you try to keep yourself busy, from force of habit, you check the clock every day and it only serves as another reminder of him each time you gaze at the hands, each tick its own little reprimand. If nothing else, you need to talk to him for peace of mind - whether he accepts you back or rejects you is for you to find out.

You find him in the living room, gazing over his collection as usual, and approach, padding softly over the floorboards. His ears prick at your presence, but he does not turn around - his hands seemingly busy themselves with their work, although they seem to ghost over the mechanisms of the watches as if he is waiting for you to speak.

‘Hi, Timothy,’ you mumble.

It is then that he turns, shifting uncomfortably from where he sits. ‘Good morning.’

A stretch of time passes between you both. Timothy seems to be deliberating what to say, eyes darting around the room. Finally, he speaks hesitatingly: ‘Are you… were you hurt?’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ you say. It’s the truth, after all, even though you both know that there’s more that goes unsaid in that sentence.

‘I’m relieved.’ His face twists once again, mouth working, as if he were struggling to get something out, the words stuck in his throat. You wait for him to speak anew, your expression carefully blank.

‘I’ve done some… reflecting… lately,’ he finally manages, his words labored. ‘I am not accustomed to a life with another person, and I am someone who can be rather… hesitant to trust in others. When the watch fell, I reacted as if it were the only significant thing in my life, and I neglected you, choosing to try and fix something that could not be saved instead of asking if you needed fixing yourself.’

‘It hurt my feelings,’ you say, quietly.

‘Yes.’ He looks down in shame. ‘I want you to know that I am truly, deeply sorry. I have told you that my heart beat in time with you, and I have cherished it - but over the past few days, I have felt mine slip out of rhythm with yours. And, if you’ll allow me, I would like to sync it again by making up for my mistake in any way I can.’

He looks at you, then, eyes shining with guilt. ‘Will you still accept me? Accept my love?’

You move to him and embrace him around the middle. His breath hitches, reflexively raising his arms, before lowering them to circle yours in kind, and you hug, his tail twining around your leg, his whiskers brushing your neck.

‘I’m sorry again about the pocketwatch,’ you murmur. ‘I really didn’t mean to - I know how much these mean to you.’

‘It’s alright,’ he responds, his voice a grateful whisper, and he clutches you tighter. ‘I’m more relieved you’re not hurt - and you matter more to me than my watches; there’s only one of you, after all. Thank you for having me back.’

You stand there for an indeterminate amount of time - minutes, hours, you're not sure. In this moment, you feel like you have all the time in the world.

a/n: since you mention timothy did some reflecting… the perfect character was right there lmao

farsi word (apologies if i’ve used it incorrectly): na baabaa = no, really? / no shit (sarcastically).

#date everything x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 9 days ago

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not you again. "scaramouche x male reader"

YOU were the smart kid in high school till he came along and ruined it. Now that he got you shipped away to your grandmother's, you're out for revenge. To beat him is your greatest wish but would that change now when he's your seatmate, partner. and roommate? Oh for fuc—

warnings: physical violence/fighting, the occasional underage drinking, heavily sexual themes and intercourse + some kinky shit (honestly, who knows), scaramouche is scaramouche 🤦‍♂️, exes to academic rivals to lovers, vulgar language, angsty(mentions of SH, suicidal thought, OD/ED), slow updates, homophobia (sort of), i know nothing about law so don't come at me, slow burn, and i think that's it!

written pieces will marked with 📖

pheonix wrights — miles edgeworths

ᴥ season one — glow up, dick up

episode one — who the hell are you and why is your bitchass tryna fight me?

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

episode three — if im sent away, im taking my dignity with me / fuck you

episode four — yes grandma, i'll rub your bare feet. just don't call grandpa over to tell his war stories again... 📖

episode five — i wonder how much he's suffering right now

episode six — in my slut era!! (i stay home with grams and gramps watching family fued)

episode seven — you'd think being the new kid is shit but it's actually worse since i'm hot

episode eight — who is juicytoot124 and why are they liking my tweets??

episode nine — fuck the school, fuck the students, and fuck the chairs too / who is he talking to

episode ten — this is NOT the USA miley cyrus was partying in 📖

episode eleven — holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

episode twelve — kaeya, pass me the bottle; i’m getting wasted tonight

episode thirteen — holy shit. am i hallucinating or do i see a bobble-headed bitch coming my way? 📖

episode fourteen — it might be the paranoia coming in but i hear cops 📖

episode fifteen — how's my day? oh i was hiding in a fucking closet with my ex boyfriend from the police because of someone decided to steal alcohol. i wonder who.

episode sixteen — so i can't be a whore but my enemy can fuck around with his ex? not cool.

episode seventeen — wait, summer's over? i was just getting ready to rot in bed!

episode eighteen — basically what i'm hearing is that i'm a god and everyone loves me! /sarcastic

episode nineteen — yeah, so, what i just said previously was a fucking lie. 📖

episode twenty — ah shit, here we go again. 📖

ᴥ season two — and they were roommates?

episode twenty one — my clear conscience can't take this anymore; time to escape prison!

episode twenty two — everything i say was a joke unless you're into it, then it's not 📖

episode twenty three — first day of hell

episode twenty four — am i interfering someone's love triangle??

status: ongoing

started: 04/13/24

taglist: @m-march7th , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku , @featuredtofu , @yourfavoritefreakyhan , @b2tr09 , @ell1e2010 , @pwaap , @vxcmx , @vamxpi , @moonslie04, @allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead , @somnium-kiss , @crxwned-mxnarch , @khisuko , @jad3-n , @emptydinner-plate , @popcorn-milk , @liuaneee , @neversore, @alicerosejane

(@simonisferal 2024)

#genshin x reader #x male reader

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deveondog · 10 days ago

Text

in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.

wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.

ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!

ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!

PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)

the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar.

alhaitham.

the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%.

you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal.

(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)

disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win?

anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.

though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings.

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU.

alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him.

that was what he always believed, but then he saw you.

the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.

as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.

(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)

when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)

likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with.

he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.

by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.

but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.

(they are.)

ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.

your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.

unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.

you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.

his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.

with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away.

“what was that about?”

alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway.

you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”

“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.”

his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”

“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”

“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó… nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”

because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.

you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.

“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”

so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.

his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.

“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”

but… none of them can compare to me, right?

your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you.

his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.

feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.

his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”

your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.

"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."

he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.

"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”

your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.

alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”

“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”

because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.

why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!

you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.

ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.

you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.

there’s still time till your next class.

maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…

did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.

he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.

without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake.

for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.

instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow.

you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.

you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.

you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window.

alhaitham.

he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why?

you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”

“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”

you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”

his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”

a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”

he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”

you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.

“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.

“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”

if anything, i think highly of you.

your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”

“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.

the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”

despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.

“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”

good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.

you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.

cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.

the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.

the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears.

when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.

there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.

alhaitham.

you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.

you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.

you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot.

glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.

it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from.

at this moment,

"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.

he feels like

there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

he's in heaven.

it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?

"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile.

the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.

each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—

"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."

—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you.

your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”

his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.

two strange things happened today:

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you?

huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still.

“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!”

"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.

just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”

alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.

“i’m leaving.”

"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“you’re outnumbered.”

alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.

(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)

ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?”

across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening.

cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”

kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”

right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.

oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her.

(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)

“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”

sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could.

for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.

his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.

for him, it’s a language without words.

dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."

and what sealed their suspicions?

definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”

alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”

oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.

alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.

the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.

now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.

“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”

“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.

—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.

...make that 110%.

(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)

ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE.

the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.

he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.

"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl.

"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.

“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.

"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.

unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.

he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."

you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”

"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."

your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance.

alhaitham.

you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.

"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.

alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.

his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave."

the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”

alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction.

the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.

but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold.

“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”

the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable.

“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you.

"are you alright?"

you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you."

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.

streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."

your stomach twists with guilt.

"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.

he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.

"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."

you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."

"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.

the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.

you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.

“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”

if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.

your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear.

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.

“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”

“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”

his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”

you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically)

“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”

you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”

“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”

(oh this bastard!!!!)

you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?

after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.

he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.

“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."

you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.

you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.

it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket.

intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting.

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN.

To [Name], I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise. You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you. If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly, Alhaitham.

you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.

tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it.

alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay.

(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)

of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.

for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.

ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.

“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”

maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.

“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”

how so?

if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?

you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.

the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.

in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.

“haitham.”

the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours.

his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?

“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.”

“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue.

“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.

“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."

suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops, until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.

his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.

“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”

you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.

his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm.

it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”

you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”

reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin.

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.

“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”

slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it.

“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”

there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.

his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.

“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub.

nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”

kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.

“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”

“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)

…

“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.

(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?”

alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."

you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”

you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?”

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”

“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.

“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.

you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.

in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.

you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.

“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."

he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.”

"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”

he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly.

“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—"

he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"

you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”

his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.

this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx

vietnamese — @https-sourlimes

tagalog / filipino — @vxnuslogy

arabic — @ughscara

chinese, japanese — me!

ty @mitsvriii for proofreading, love u all <3

and thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated ^^

pspspss check out the cool fanart / comic based on this fic here by @rei-plswork 🤍

MASTERLIST.

#genshin x reader #gn reader

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deveondog · 10 days ago

Text

Broken Ribs (pt.2)

Carl Grimes X FTM! Reader

Summary: Over time, Carl Grimes grew on you. You finally realized you had feelings for him and planned to admit them to him, but things didn’t go as planned.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language, violence, dysphoria, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Pronouns: He/Him

(Part one here)

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ever since you joined Ricks's group, you’ve been through a lot of traumatic events.

The governor, the prison falling apart, getting separated from the group, some of the group members that you called family passing, and Terminus.

It all changed when you found Alexandria.

A secure and safe camp where your group could stay and hopefully even settle.

It was difficult to settle for you due to all the incidents that have happened in Alexandria. Especially being attacked by people with W’a on their forehead, the walls collapsing causing walkers to break in, and lastly, Carl’s eye getting shot out.

You were there for all of it.

Carl was your best friend. He was there for you when you were both complete strangers to each other. You had to be there for him like he was when your ribs broke back at the prison.

Every incident brought you closer together. Although, it made you gain feelings for the brunette boy. You realized this when he was in danger. You couldn’t live with the regret of not being completely honest with him if he was gone.

The problem was he and this girl named Enid also grew close to each other.

This made you realize you needed to do it now or never.

You refuse to lose him.

“Michonne, I’m terrified.” You spoke to the women pacing around your room in the house you shared with Rick, Michonne, Judith, and Carl. “What if he says no? And I just ruined our friendship?” You continued. Michonne was absorbing this with her arms crossed, smiling, eyes following your anxious movements. “Y/N, after all, you’ve been through, this is your biggest concern?” She spoke.

“This is different! I’ve never felt like this!” You replied, starting to bite your nails, continuing to pace. “Awe yes, a teenager in love with their best friend. A mixture of feelings. But hey-“ Michonne stopped you in your tracks, making you and her make direct eye contact.

“If you don’t do this, it will eat you up. You have the choice to share how you truly feel, not a lot of people have that choice. No matter what happens, Carl will still be a part of your life because you are a part of his and ours.”

Michonne’s words gave you the exact motivation you needed.

You nodded in agreement and she pulled you into a comforting hug to reassure you, no matter what happens, it’s gonna be okay.

“Now, Go! Before the walkers get 'em!” Michonne piled you back causing you to gasp. “Don’t joke like that, dude!” You lightly pushed her shoulder causing her to chuckle. “But seriously, I saw him head over the walls, you should hurry before it gets dark.”

“Are you kidding?!” You burst out. You grabbed your bag and quickly head out of the house towards the walls.

You started to climb over the Alexandrian walls with caution to avoid getting caught by the guards. Once out, you started to walk into the woods.

You have no clue where he’d be, so, you used your knowledge of tracking that Daryl taught you back at the prison. Daryl was like an uncle to you with all honesty and you appreciated how he tried to understand your gender identity. Same thing with Rick, although, he’s like a father figure. You loved your found family.

Pulling out of your thoughts you heard a conversation from afar. With instinct, you approach quietly and hid behind a tree. You focused your eyes on the conversation and saw two people.

It was Carl!

And…Enid?

“I thought he was alone?” You thought to yourself. You were hoping to find him alone so you could admit your feelings. But, time had other plans.

“We’ve been walking for forever, can we please stop?” Carl announced. Enid stopped in her tracks. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.” She replied. “What’s up?” Carl replied. Enid turned to face Carl, “I’ve been thinking about you..a lot lately.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean??

You continued to hide behind the tree, still eavesdropping on Carl and Enid. Your heart started to pick up a little.

“How so?” Carl replied. Enid moved closer towards Carl, “I don’t know if I can bring myself to speak it.” She paused, “But I can show you.”

Your eyes widen at the sight.

Enid is kissing Carl

Your Carl Grimes.

Your heart is aching, feeling as if it’s bleeding. The more you stand there, staring at them. Your eyes water, threatening to spill.

You slowly back away from your hiding place. You had to get out of here. You couldn’t stand to see this any longer. Although, you overlooked a tree root picking out the ground, causing you to fall backward.

Carl turns around, breaking the kiss. Hand on his holster ready to defend himself, but, he only saw you.

“Y/N?” Carl spoke. But before he could say anything else, You got up and ran off. “Y/N, wait!” He yelled, wanting to go after you. Then, he felt a hand on his wrist, resisting him to chase after you. “Let him go. He’s fine. He only fell.”

Carl turned around, but his face was serious. “Are you kidding me? He’s alone. I’m not leaving him out here.” “But you’ll leave me out here?!” Enid added.

Carl huffed in frustration, “Y/N is my-“ Carl paused, catching his words “-I need to know he’s okay…just go home.” He finished, walking away from Enid to find you.

You ran.

You ran as far as your body could take you.

It was now dark and you could barely see anything or anyone in sight.

Your legs became limp, letting your body fall into the grass.

You had no idea how long you’d been running. You'd do it again if it kept your mind after what you just witnessed.

You were too late.

When that thought came to mind, you broke down. Tears spilled from your eyes. Your lips shaking and your breathing is uneven. A pain grew in your chest. Making you realize you are back to where you started.

Overbinding.

But, this time, you didn’t care.

Dysphoria already made you want to cause harm to yourself, but the mixture of heartbreak, made you want to die.

Hyperventilating took over you and you didn’t even notice the walker in front of you. But, you didn’t care. If you couldn’t be who you wanted to be with someone you loved, you didn’t want to be here anymore.

Suddenly, the walker was stabbed in the head, falling to the ground revealing a boy with a sheriff's hat, Carl Grimes.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay?” The boy questioned, fear written on his face. You didn’t answer, only your hard, fast breaths came out. Carl was checking for injuries on you. He lifted up your shirt to examine more and only saw the bandages on your chest. He remembers Hershel informing him of this binding technique. Concern falls onto his face.

“I thought you stopped binding like this? We need to get this off of you. You’re breathing is uneven.” You started to cry again, making Carl treat you carefully. “I know, I know, I'm sorry. But I need you in one piece okay?”

Oddly enough, you weren’t crying because of the bandages coming off, but Carl decreased your dysphoria. Maybe it was because you felt like yourself and didn’t have to prove that you were a boy, because, through his eyes, he sees you as a man.

But your tears spilled because you couldn’t have him like this daily.

He finished removing the bandages and covered you back. You continued to cry still lying in the grass. “Please don’t cry, Y/N. I hate seeing you cry.” Carl spoke softly, reaching to pick you up from the ground into a hug. You hugged him back, crying Into his shoulder. He ran his hands over your back hoping it would calm you down.

Why was Y/N still crying? Was it the dysphoria? The close-to-death experience? Hun seeing Enid kiss Carl-

Wait…

Carl ran a Problem in his head. It couldn’t have been the dysphoria. You’ve mentioned to him once or twice you’re comfortable not binding around him. And the walker? It was only one. You could’ve taken that walker out like that, even in this state. The kiss? Why else would you have run away and ignored his calls toward you.

It all started to click.

After a few minutes, your cries turned into soft sniffles. Once he realized you were calm, he pulled back to see your face but kept his hands on you.

“Y/N, be honest, why were you there with Enid and me? Carl questioned. Your heart picked up, fear picking itself back up. Where did your confidence go?

“It’s okay, I'm not mad. You can tell me.” Carl reassured. Those words gave a tiny amount of strength. You already knew who we wanted, so why not just admit it.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but…I wanted to tell you that I’ve grown to care for you. Deeply. Like..” you paused, preparing to spit out the words you’ve wanted to say for so long.

“I love you, Carl Grimes.”

You lowered your face, hiding your watery eyes from him. “I-I know you like Enid, but I wanted to tell you because you deserve to know.” You stuttered. Lips beginning to shake again.

“I don’t want, Enid.” Carl broke the silence. You froze in place, trying to process what he just said. Suddenly, you felt hands on your cheeks, lifting your face to see Carl. Your eyes were focused on his, noses almost touching, you could practically feel his breath.

“I want you, Y/N. It’s always been you.” Those words were enough to make you close the distance. Carl instantly kissed you back, making you put your hands on his hands which were still on your cheek. You pulled away for air but kept your forehead against Carl. He grazed his thumbs over your cheeks, removing your cheek-stained tears, and smiled.

“I’m so in love with you, Y/N L/N.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

A/N: I decided to continue to "Broken Ribs" one-shot into a part two bc I kinda left a cliffhanger in the original and couldn't do yall like that! This is the final part so there will be no more updates on this scenario. But, I will continue to write an FTM reader for Carl! just other scenarios. I hope yall enjoyed this!!! Also, I do accept requests so id love to hear what yall would like to see! (atm only for TWD)

#twd x reader #x male reader

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deveondog · 10 days ago

Text

"Dick"

Carl Grimes x male!reader

This is part two to "Asshole", I didn't plan for it to have a second part but since there was a request I decided to come up with something, english isn't my first language so I apologize for any mistakes, contains description of masturbation and oral sex and alcohol usage, I've never wrote something like this before but I've tried my best so I hope you enjoy

Carl's once again found himself frustrated and of course it was because of (Y/N), again.

Grimes believed that the kiss will change everything, that they'll get closer, maybe start dating. That everything he'd dreamed of would come true.

Not only that did not happen, it made things worse, (Y/N) acted like nothing happened, like that kiss was nothing to him, but it was everything to Carl. It was supposed to help him find out something about his sexuality, which it didn't, but he didn't have time to think about it now, it only made things worse. It made things awkward between them, the other boy seemed unfazed, but Carl tried to insinuate that he'd like another kiss or maybe even more and when nothing happened, neither of them knew how to act around each other. They used to talk on walkies all night, sometimes they didn't even talk, they just sat there, in their own rooms and found comfort in the fact that there was someone on the other end, but know they didn't talk. That used to hang out together all the time, joke around, play video games at Anderson's house, go on runs together, now it was all gone. Carl hated himself for destroying their friendship, because he did, he destroyed everything. He made a mistake telling him about his feelings that day, he made a mistake thinking that something would change. It was all his fault. He should just accept the fact that nothing will ever happen between them and move on, try to fix their relationship, but he couldn't bring himself to. He still imagined what would it be like if their relationship became a romantic one, how they would go on walks and hold hands, hide behind the corners and kiss so Ron wouldn't see and yell at them, how they could... How that could be intimate with each other. He imagined how (Y/N)'s body would look like, they saw each other shirtless a couple of times but that's it.

"Fuck" he sighed, feeling the heat in his abdomen at the thought of the other boy's body. He couldn't help it, he was a stupid teenager, he was horny all the time, especially now, after he tasted his crush's soft lips.

He started to undo his pants, remembering how it felt to have those sweet lips against his. How good he smelled, how beautiful his eyes were, looking into his, how fluffy his hair were.

It drove him on the edge, he slid his hand into his boxers and hesitatiantly grabbed his cock, like it was his first time doing this.

He felt a blush creep on his cheeks as he imagined that (Y/N) was sitting between his legs, that it was him stroking Carl's cock.

How would he do it? Would it be fast, trying to make him come fast, wanting to see Grimes panting, bucking his hips into his hand? Would it be slow, teasing, wanting Carl to beg him to go faster? Would he say that he's handsome, that he looks good like this, that he sounds good, moaning and desperate to cum?

It didn't matter, it would've been perfect any way, because (Y/N) was perfect, everything he did was perfect.

Carl, he'd pant, getting aroused himself, Carl, he'd say his name and it'd sound so good, Carl...

"Carl!" it was real, (Y/N) was standing outside, throwing rocks to get his attention.

"Fuck!" he whispered, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to make himself look presentable.

He opened the window, his palms sweaty, his heart beating fast. What if he'll find out? What if he'll find find out Carl was masturbating while imagining him being the one doing this to him?

"Finally, I thought you were ignoring me" Anderson sighed as he crawled inside.

"I was just sleeping" the brown haired boy lied quickly. Last thing he wanted was for (Y/N) to think Carl's mad at him, at he's ignoring him, that he's the one who fucked up.

"With the lights on?" he chuckled, he knew that his friend was lying, hiding something and he wasn't going to push to get Grimes to tell him what he was doing. If he didn't want to tell then he'll respect that. He smiled when he saw that the other boy's face got red, it's cute when he gets shy.

"I- um" he tried to think of something to say but embarrassement got better of him.

"I got something" (Y/N) put his backpack on the floor and took out a wine bottle. The same bottle he found when they kissed.

They sat on Carl's bed and opened the alcohol. Of course this would end well, they've drunk together before and Anderson always ended up wasted. Of course it was fun, seeing him like this, loosened up, giggling every five seconds, hugging Grimes every chance he got. But with Carl being heartbroken, he wasn't sure it was a great idea, no, he knew it wasn't.

And who would've guessed, half an hour has passed and they were tipsy, half of the wine was gone and they talked like nothing ever happened. Though Carl wanted to kiss him again and blame it on the alcohol, he could get the thought out of his head.

Oh no, no, no, no, he thought when he felt himself getting hard in his pants, he didn't finish earlier, he was pent up and his crush was laying on a bed before him, his shirt slightly rolled up, his stomach showing, of course this would happen.

"And then I- Carl, are you even listening?" (Y/N) got up, sitting supporting himself with his hands to not fall on the bed again. His beautiful, clever eyes studied his friends face.

"Yes, I'm listening"

"Don't lie to me, you suck at lying. Tell me what's wrong" he got closer, much closer than he wanted to, their noses almost touching, their breaths mixing.

"It's nothing, really"

"Like you not knowing if you liked boys nothing?" he was irritated. He didn't mean to start this topic, not when he was drunk, but Carl was acting weird for a while and they needed to talk about it.

There was a moment of silence, silence full of frustration, anger and pain, before (Y/N) grabbed Grimes' chin and made him look into his eyes.

"What's going on with you Carl?" this time he didn't sound mad, he sounded sad, his eyes soft as he looked at his friend. He wanted to help him, fuck he wanted to help him so bad, but how can he do that when Carl didn't tell him anything?

"I don't want to say" lies, he wanted to say, he wanted to scream in his face how much he loved him, how much he desired him, how much he needed him.

"You absolute asshole! Can't you see I'm worried about you?!"

"I'm the asshole?! It's you who doesn't see anything!"

"Because you don't show me!"

"I show you every day and you just push me away!"

"I don't push you away! You're the one who's pushing me away!"

"I'm not!"

At this point they were both standing up, anger and desperation flowing through their veins as they yelled at each other, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time with each word they said.

"I'm sorry I fucking kissed you, okay?! I only wanted to help! I'm sorry okay? I'm fucking sorry" he started to cry, he could help it anymore, it was too much, too much being in the shadows, not knowing what's going on, too much of feeling guilty that he destroyed their relationship that day.

"I'm not" Carl said softly, he should've felt bad for making his friend cry but he felt better than he felt in ages, (Y/N) crying showed him how much the boy cared about him.

With his heart pounding like crazy in his chest, voices in his head telling him not to do this, his rational side clouded by the alcohol, he kissed his best friend.

Last time it felt rushed, hungry, now it started slow, like they wanted to burn the shape of each other's lips in their minds. This sweet kiss quickly became as hungry as their first one, but it was different this time, this time they both were sure that the other one wanted this, that it wasn't a joke, it wasn't just to find something out. They wanted this kiss, just as badly as they wanted each other.

"Carl" (Y/N) whispered when their lips separated, his hands clutched on the other boy's shirt.

"Don't talk, just let me- just- please" Grimes was practically begging. He knew as soon as this moment've passed it would all be gone, that it would become even more awkward between them and he didn't want that. He wanted this moment to last forever, to feel the boys lips on his, to taste him.

"I'm not going anywhere" Anderson said and in a moment of courage, he lead Carl's hand to his pants. He made Carl feel how hard he was for him, how badly he wanted him, this.

"You're drunk, you don't know what your doing" he wanted to step back, he needed to, before he did something stupid.

"The only thing I'm drunk on is you. Believe me, that kiss really helped me sober up"

And this is all Grimes needed, to know that this was mutual. He kissed him again, even more harshly than before, their saliva mixed and so did their scents.

They found themselves on the bed, Carl's hands struggling with his zipper, his hands shaking with stress and lust. He finally managed to get out of his pants only to find (Y/N) looking at him, like he was a beautiful painting.

"You're not-?" his brows furrowed. Oh fuck, what if he got ahead of himself? What if he didn't want this after all?

"I'm not drunk, but I'm still tipsy. I don't want to have my first time like this" he said smiling cutely, even though his eyes shimmered with desire. "But we can do this" he said as he put his hands on the outline of Carl's cock.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to, so fucking bad, Carl"

He felt those soft, swollen lips on his abdomen, kissing every freckle they found. His fingers slipped under the band of Grimes' boxers and slowly pulled them down.

"Mmh-" he moaned and closed his eyes when he felt (Y/N) kiss the tip of his cock. "Fuck" he bit his lips to stop himself from making too much noise, he didn't want his dad walking in on them and he wanted to hear the wet sounds that the other boy's lips made as his mouth moved, licking a stripe down his shaft. "Yeah, like that" he grabbed Anderson's hair and moved his head a little.

His toes curled as he felt himself get closer, he never felt so good in his life, he didn't know what felt better, (Y/N) actually reciprocating his feelings or him sucking on the tip of his dick.

This was heaven, he felt so good, he could practically high five God himself.

"Doing so good, fuck" he moaned as he felt more and more of his cock dissapear inside of (Y/N)'s hot, wet mouth. "So, so good"

He never wanted this to end, this feeling of being touched by another person, by his loved one. He felt tears running down his face, all he could hear in his head was a voice telling him that this was finally happening, that their friendship was indeed destroyed and from it's ashes something new, something beautiful emerged like a phoenix.

This was all too much, too much pleasure, too much happiness, he could stop himself, his fingers still tangled in (Y/N)'s hair, his head bobbing in a fast pace, his tight throat clenching down on Carl's cock, it was all too much.

"Carl is everything-" he stopped when he realized that he was crying, he thought he might've done something wrong and he definitely didn't expect for the boy to cum right on his face.

Grimes still moved his hips for a while, muttering something under his breath, sense of relief coming down on him.

When he finally came down from his high he looked down, just to see his friend's, or whatever the fuck they now were, face covered in his release.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, just, next time warn me before you cum on my face, you dick" he chuckled.

He probably would've laughed too if it weren't for those two words that overtook Carl's mind. Next time.

#twd x reader #x male reader

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