#Rainfall Rambles

[everlasting-rainfall]

How would your ocs of your choosing react if a celestial dragon came up to them and said he’s going to marry them 🤔 (bonus if you include the darling yanderes reaction as well ) 

Oh thank you so very much for sending in an ask about my OC’s, dear! It makes me really happy! I’ll do my absolute best to answer it, and I’ll do my best as well to include the Yandere darling’s reactions

I also think that I might actually include some gifs as well in order to show the reactions just a bit better, you know?

Anywho before I start rambling, let’s get into it!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Celestial Dragon Bullshit, Murder, Hypothermia, Violence, Hypnotism, Typical Yandere Stuff

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

🐐-Arabella Monroe (S/O of the Admirals)-🐐

She would likely try to let the bitchass celestial dragon down easy by declining, and saying she’s happily married. Probably hoping for things to not escalate.

Internally though, she’s hoping that this bitchass dragon will suddenly be struck by lightning, or be erased from existence entirely.

Arabella also isn’t stupid, and knows she’ll be in serious trouble if she tries to attack one of those shitty ass dragons. So if things do escalate, her answer is probably just to leave and escape. Probably using her Devil Fruit to do so if she’s pursued. No one ever said she wouldn’t make them look like an idiot trying to catch a ram.

-Admirals Reaction- They might be symbols of Justice, but that kinda flies out the window when it comes to Arabella. They’d all stand up, and set out to take someone down.

It’d all depend on who found the bitchass dragon first as they’d all handle it somewhat differently. Fujitora would appear very calm at first saying he needs to talk to them about something concerning their safety in private, then “Trying to marry a married woman isn’t the best idea for your safety…”

Meanwhile Kizaru would probably be more laidback about what he’s doing, probably even talking to the Bitchass Dragon about Arabella. About everything he likes about her, then asks if they want her. They say yes, and suddenly “Too bad, she’s taken…”. Proceed to murder.

Akainu, and Aokiji both give vibes of not waiting a single second. It’s on sight as soon as they have the chance. They won’t say anything, they won’t interact with the bitchass dragon beyond melting them with lava, or freezing them solid and breaking them. Ryokugyu is probably in the same vein except he’ll drain the fucker of all nutrients until they’re literally just a skeleton. Possibly walking away with some kind of comment of how gross that was.

💍-Oakleigh Vinsmoke (S/O of Judge Vinsmoke)-💍

Oakleigh’s answer to this would probably be to sigh at first, she’s already had to deal with one person who married her against her will.

Much like Arabella, she would try to refuse, but probably be more professional instead of gentle. Probably cold, and sounding uncaring as unlike Arabella, she likely isn’t thinking of what could happen if the situation escalates.

When things escalate, Oakleigh probably doesn’t get to have a reaction. She hasn’t died, but Judge has found her and is taking her away. Probably as the bitchass dragon is shouting, and throwing a fit.

-Judge’s Reaction- I feel like at first, Judge would simply try to ignore the Celestial Dragon like a “You’re bit worth my time or energy sort of thing” as he keeps Oakleigh away from them. But if the bitchass dragon won’t leave her alone, and tries to put their hands on her. That’s when he’ll have enough. He doesn’t care who this person is, he’ll have them dead or locked up in Germa to rot.

He’d probably also be the type to say “No witnesses” just to avoid further headaches or trouble. So unless you’re Oakleigh, or one of his kids. Expect to die.

🏕️-Esther Figarland (S/O of Figarland Garling)-🏕️

Considering Esther is married to a Celestial Dragon, I’d assume that her reaction would probably be confusion at first. Upon realizing that they don’t know who she is, she’d probably tell them to run away while they still can. Of course with it being a Celestial Dragon, they won’t heed the warning. Esther will insist, and the situation will escalate. Overall Esther would be trying to get them to leave in any way possible.

Not because she cares about them in any way, shape, or form as Fuck Those Guys. It’s because she knows what Garling will do and doesn’t wanna see it…

-Garling’s Reaction- No hesitation of murder. I doubt he would even bother with the execution at seeing someone trying to marry what’s his. Like one second, they’re talking and the next. They’ve been sliced in half.

Garling does not give two shits about if the person would be on their knees begging for forgiveness. This person tried to take his wife? That’s all he needs to hear… Off with their head!

☃️-Talvi (S/O of Dalton)-☃️

Talvi barely understood what Dalton was doing when he proposed to her. So I guarantee you that she’ll have no idea what this bitchass Celestial Dragon is doing. She’ll probably wait until they finish speaking then try to greet them, and she thinks screaming is how you greet someone. So she’ll let out this horrified sounding screech for a second before speaking.

If things escalate from there then Talvi doesn’t know nor care about the status of this person, she’ll freeze them and their guards solid. Or kill then with hypothermia by starting a blizzard so they get lost. You have to enter the wilderness a lot of the time to find her after all.

-Dalton’s Reaction- Considering the circumstances of this encounter, Dalton might not even know it happened until it’s over. But if he does then I can imagine him trying to very briefly talk things out first. When that very clearly doesn’t work, Dalton’s patience will wear thin and either kill them himself, or for the sake of keeping Drum Kingdom safe. He’ll look the other way while Talvi freezes the bastard. He’ll blame it on the wilderness when asked, and he can have Talvi alongside keep the people of the island safe.

🎃-Lyra (S/O of Absalom)-🎃

Lyra is a big time scaredy cat, and is pretty bad at interacting with people. Her first instinct would probably be to just go quiet in all honesty like deer in headlights kind of thing. Honestly Lyra probably wouldn’t really know what to do… She’d probably start trying to figure out what to say then somehow get completely sidetracked, and start thinking of other things…

Might even result in her rambling under her breath about things related to death, or things like that. The situation might escalate from there, and when it does. Lyra’s final decision would probably be to just run in all honesty.

-Absalom’s Reaction- I feel like since Absalom can turn invisible, he wouldn’t have to worry at all when it comes to fucking with a Bitchass dragon. So I can imagine Absalom using this to very brutally murder the fucker. He doesn't mind if Lyra fears him more from it, he still has her at the end of the day after all. Plus it’s an extra way to keep her around too. “Oh Lyra… Where will you go, Darling? I’m sure that Celestial Dragon death will be blamed on you, you’ll need me to keep you safe…”

✨-Ophelia (S/O of the Gorosei)-✨

Honestly Ophelia would think they’re joking at first, she’d laugh a little and probably say they need to work on their delivery.

Upon finding out that it’s no joke, she’d turn dead serious and decline before trying to leave. The situation will without a doubt escalate from there because bitchass dragon…

Ophelia is queen of the fairies so her first instinct would be to not even hesitate, and do something to make their life absolutely miserable then she’ll continue with her day like nothing happened. They had their chance to drop it when she walked away, they didn’t take it, and now they’ve suffered the consequences. She won’t lose any sleep over it.

-Gorosei Reaction- I really don’t think that I have to say anything, do I? If even one of them were to see this, then I think death would be a mercy… Especially as Yandere’s…

They might sentence the bitchass dragon to horrific torture, they could also strip them of their title completely. Banish them from the holy land, and leave them to fend for themselves. We all saw what happened to Doflamingo’s family… They’d definitely want the fucker dead, but a quick death is far too lenient of a punishment for trying to take what’s theirs. The only thing, they wouldn’t do is hand them over to the fairies.

They know the fairies can provide a brutal punishment for such an act, but they’d rather not allow the bitchass dragon to lay eyes on Ophelia ever again.

💌-Tender (S/O of T-Bone)-💌

Tender would probably be incredibly surprised at first. She’s a skeleton lady that a lot of people on her island find unnerving, so having a Bitchass Dragon want to marry her? She’s surprised.

Surprise will turn to disgust however as although Tender believes everyone is beautiful if you love them, she doesn’t love this person plus they’re very ugly on the inside.

Regardless Tender is trying to be polite, she’s trying to excuse herself from the conversation as much as possible. Of course, the bitchass dragon isn’t allowing it.

If the situation does escalate which it probably will, Tender will use her ultimate method for getting people to leave her alone. Eating something, and letting the person watch as it goes down an invisible throat into her stomach.

-T Bone’s Reaction-

So honestly I feel like he would have a rather simple reaction. He does know that attacking his darling’s harasser is a bad idea, it could get them both in some serious trouble so he has to hold himself back to not commit assault, or murder…

He’d probably do something like come up to her, and kiss her with the wedding ring on full display. Just as a subtle way of telling the dragon to “Fuck off, she’s mine and you can’t have her”.

Afterwards he’ll pull back, and probably not even excuse himself from the conversation. He’ll just put a hand on his wife’s back, and usher her away. Tender is his, no matter what happens.

🛌-Estelle (S/O of Caesar Clown)-🛌

Ok so Estelle is asleep most of the time due to her Devil Fruit, she’s rarely awake… And when she sleepwalks or rather sleep fights, she’s an absolute menace…

Estelle has been known to rip through walls when she sleepwalks. If a bitchass dragon says they’re going to marry her, she won’t react at all. Nothing will happen as she’ll keep moving.

The situation will escalate of course because “How dare you!”, and when that happens. Estelle will become violent, and either beat said Celestial Dragon to death or completely KO them. Then she’ll keep going until she heads back to bed on her own, or is guided there.

-Caesar Clown’s Reaction-

Assuming that Estelle didn’t kill the bastard when she became violent, Caesar would probably be pretty pissed just like any Yandere would. He’d probably completely forget about getting Estelle back to bed for the time being.

All that Celestial Dragon would hear is the sound of “Shurororo!!” before the area that they’re in starts filling with poisonous gas. Caesar doesn’t care, and will take a lot of delight in poisoning them. Watching them gasp for air.

He’s not even thinking about the potential consequences from this. Taking his sleepyhead? Nope… They should be grateful that Caesar isn’t doing something much worse…

🌈-Ivy (S/O of CP0 excluding Fukurou and Spandam)-🌈

Okay so Ivy would probably be in a state of absolute shock, first and foremost. It’s not because the bitchass dragon is proposing to her. It’s because her S/O’s keep her far away from their work, so she’s more surprised this fucker encountered her.

After the shock in all honesty would be a feeling of nervousness like “I’ll be okay, all I have to do is say no… They’ll get me out of here…” so she does… Now I’ve commented on this before… Ivy’s bad ending is being taken by a Celestial Dragon, and her S/O’s not saving her…

The next emotion that she would feel is despair as her S/O’s don’t step in when the situation escalates, Ivy could try to escape… But there’s no telling what could happen, her brain is running a mile a minute and trying to process everything that’s happening…

Right now, her entire focus is on trying to get away though… She doesn’t know where she’s going, where can she go? She isn’t sure, but she needs to get away… That much she knows…

-CP0 Reaction-

Okay so her S/O’s despite what it may seem are absolutely pissed about what happened, they just aren’t stepping in because of their beliefs. The World Government, and the Celestial Dragons are always correct and must not be disobeyed.

Lucci, Kaku, and Jabra are absolutely enraged beyond belief. Their animalistic sides from their Devil fruits are screaming at them to brutally kill the bastard who dares to try and take their mate away, but they hold themselves back.

All of them are internally hoping that she gets away, they’ll even be half heartedly chasing her if they’re commanded to pursue her. Kalifa just barely misses catching her arm, Kumadori very dramatically trips over something, Blueno crashes into a wall when Ivy makes a “sharp” turn, etc.

They don’t want to hand her over, and they’re internally fighting with themselves over this. If Ivy does manage to escape too then they might breathe a sigh of relief. Stussy might even take matters into her own hands as well, and completely kidnap Ivy. Just to ensure that Ivy isn’t handed over to any Celestial Dragons, she’ll take her…

🎟️-Lyric (S/O of the Blackbeard Pirates)-🎟️

Lyric’s reaction all depends on what kind of mood she’s in. This girl has been known to knock away cannonballs like they’re flies when angry after all.

If Lyric is in a good mood then her mood will immediately sour, she’ll give an incredibly harsh “No”. Probably insulting everything about the Celestial Dragon if they persist. She doesn’t give a fuck, she already has a bounty on her head from being associated with the Blackbeard Pirates… Life can’t get worse…

If Lyric is in a bad mood then she’ll give the same harsh “No” but when they persist, she’ll probably just say “That’s it!” and completely KO the fucker. Kinda like Estelle except Lyric is conscious, and has a smaller chance of having killed them.

You might think that Lyric would be on board with being taken from the Blackbeard Pirates considering they kidnapped her, and burned down her circus. But no… Lyric knows what life will be like if she goes with this fucker, she’ll have way less rights if she goes with them… At least with the Blackbeard Pirates, she’s let outside if she’s good…

-Blackbeard Pirates Reaction-

Honestly seeing Lyric outright refuse the Celestial Dragons offer, and then possibly seeing her absolutely knock out the bastard? It’s probably arousing for some of them in all honesty…

They are Yandere’s after all, and seeing that makes them think “She loves us, she doesn’t wanna leave!”. They’d probably try to get a bit handsy with her afterwards in order to initiate something like when she’s made to sit next to Teach, one arm around her with his hand attempting to go down her shirt.

As for what happens to the Celestial Dragon? They’d just straight up kill him… Keeping him for other purposes like work would turn out to be far more trouble than it was worth…

The only reason that they’d keep him alive for so long though is because they’re debating on the method of which to go about it, and who gets to do it…

🌀-Faeleen (S/O of Kuro, Jango, and Fullbody)-🌀

Faeleen is under a constant state of hypnosis due to Jango, this has likely made her just as Yandere for them as they are for her. So if a Celestial Dragon tries to marry her, she’ll say no before they even finish their sentence.

If they keep persisting? On second thought, sure! You look like you’d be way better than my current partners… Listen, how about we go somewhere private for a bit, and enjoy ourselves for a while?

When they get there, Faeleen will show absolutely no mercy… She’ll come out of there completely covered in blood, you might not even be able to tell that the bloodbath left behind was a person…

Faeleen loves her darlings more than anything in the world when she’s under hypnosis, she’d kill for them… If she wasn’t under hypnosis though, she wouldn’t have done any of this… If Faeleen wasn’t hypnotized then she likely would have tried to say no, attempted to run when things escalated, and either died or got captured…

-Kuro, Jango, and Fullbody’s Reaction-

Honestly I don’t know if they’d even know if Faeleen killed a Celestial Dragon for them. She might not tell them, and probably explain the blood on her clothes as just a few punks gave her trouble on the way back to them but she took care of it.

The only way that they’d probably find out is if what’s remaining of the bastard is identified, and linked back to her. Now she has the highest bounty out of anyone in the crew, but although this is headache inducing. It does somewhat make them happy to see how in love with them the hypnosis has made her. Before the hypnosis, she was trying to ditch Kuro for being a pirate and now? Willing to kill for each of them!

Despite being happy though, Jango probably has to redo her hypnosis to make it so that she’s less willing to murder people. Simply because it causes less problems that way.

[autophobiastar]

Guys help me my air conditioner is broken (because of the roof incident) and my room was already the warmest room in the whole house before…

(I live in one of the hottest places in California + we’ve been in a severe drought as long as I can remember 🐬💖✨)

I’m sitting in my room with both windows open, my baggiest pair of shorts, and a prayer. Send help.

[badshah-cornelius]

It's wild to be living in lower NY right as the area is being blasted by multiple wildfires, which may or may not be put out because we're getting our first show of the season

[istariray23]

Best moment ever ❤️

The bed and the weather = comfy sleep

[facetsofthecloset]

Got caught in a big summer rainstorm for the first time in a while—it was kinda fun, provided things don’t get astronomically worse and damage things from now

[alteredphoenix]

If it can stop raining for one day like it has the past three nights, I might actually be bothered to try and get some writing done without having to worry about the power flickering and going out for a hot minute :V

[albiclalepsza]

Ok but the Croat guys who have these helmets with saws and they just headbutt zombies to kill them are so goofy

[shinmiyovvi]

That feeling when that earthquake almost made you dizzy and could throw up any minute

[naffeclipse]

Petal Pt. 2

Botanist!Reader x Naga!Eclipse

Commission Info

I have another little fic which was a blast to write for @bluemoon1331! We have more Blackwater Lure (naga) Eclipse with a sweet and slightly spooked botanist reader who was promised something precious in the last fic by the terrifying but adoring naga. There are flowers abound and joy to be given.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

A sickly sweet smell hangs in the air, hot with a green moisture that prevails through the jungle. Sometimes, you can enjoy the gentle aroma and sit in reassurance that there is beauty and goodness here. The air can change, sharpening with a bitter lethalness that speaks to poison in plants and venom in fangs. The nature of the jungle is ever swiftly twisting like a serpent’s body, crawling along towards you before you realize it is there. 

The humid heat of the day clings to your skin, but you are too far engrossed in the aechmea to notice. The flower is bright and soft pink, as pale as the inside of a seashell. The ocean is far from here as you sit in the heart of the jungle and study its thick, flowing rivers and vast and sprawling vegetation. 

The flower is tuff-like, spouting beautiful bracts in pointed, wispy tips like a tiny bird in the aftermath of a windstorm. It sits upon the trunk of a rubber tree, clinging to its host plant without harming it parasitically. The flower is unique in that it simply requires a host in order to take in rainfall into its small root systems and gather dust and insects for nutrients. 

The top of the aechmeas grows heavy. Paired with a thick and robust blossom and sharp, tiny spines along the margins of its leaves, it will grow unbalanced and yet, perfectly suited for these conditions. 

Aechmea. You say it softly under your breath. EEK-me-uh. A Greek word meaning spear tip. You’ve already pricked your fingers on its yellow-green fronds and marveled at the gorgeous flora. You carefully take your camera, aching fingertips pressing down to snap a picture of the flower hooked upon the trunk of the rubber tree. 

It is incredible how it leans upon the host plant. It could easily decide to infect the tree and steal its nutrients, draining it of life while gorging itself, but the flower is kind. It merely asks for a place to stay, and the tree provides for the sprawling flower in return. 

The quiet click of the camera echoes through the area. You lift your head once, surveying the nearby trees and the moisture-heavy air for signs of a visitor. You haven’t seen him for an hour or two. How strange for him to give you time to study when you are usually well interrupted by now. 

The jungle seems calm. It buzzes with its tiny creatures that attempt to nibble at your neck or sit on your boonie hat, and you’ll swat them away with a lazy hand before returning to your poor research journal bursting at the seams. You still only have a few pages left. 

You lower your camera and uncap your pen. The ink is dark and thick against the heavy pages, but you make note of the unique relationship this type of bromeliad has with the tree. There is still so much you have yet to uncover. You already climbed a tree containing passion flowers. Well, the more accurate description is that Eclipse carried you up a towering tree to reach the delicate blossoms and lounged with you for the rest of the afternoon in the shade of the canopy as you rambled about the flora. He seemed content in the way snakes are after digesting a large meal.

Your absence was not unnoticed.

Vanessa and Michael have gone to great lengths to see you keep human company with your ventures in the jungle, but it’s clear that they don’t entirely have the patience for your slow and methodical work, nor do their presence put you at ease. The last thing you wish is for Eclipse to find them near you, and take a dislike to their presence.

You shiver with the thought. Again, you reach out to try and brush against the outer edges of the aechmea leaves and end up pricking your thumb on the sharp spines. You draw back, alarmed at the sharpness of the pain before sticking your thumb in your mouth to nurse the small wound. You pull it back out to examine the small hole. Yes, the plant’s defenses are well attuned to this harsh environment.

Returning your hand to the pen, you take it up and ignore the pulse in your thumb as you describe the petals of the aechmea. Pink and tuft-like, and striking in the green environment.

The buzzing of insects has mercilessly left you. Occasionally, you will catch the chitter of monkeys or low grunts and growls of creatures off in the distance, but the quiet leaves you to describe the flower perfectly.

Oh. The jungle is never quiet. Not without good reason.

He must be here.

You lift your head again, and survey the trees around you. You sit near a cluster of them beside an opening of thick, low-level vegetation almost akin to a meadow. You peer across the short distance to the other side ringing the small space. There are more trees, perhaps walking palms, and is there something slipping in between their forked roots, watching you? Are those eyes or the wings of birds sitting still? Is that a predator or a friend?

Your skin prickles. You pose your mouth to call out, and ask who is there, but you don’t see anyone. Who would you be speaking to?

Perhaps you hope to see him, and are barely containing your own wistfulness.

You breathe slowly, feeling the silence.

Nothing reveals itself against the jungle. A frown crosses your mouth but you return to your journal, bowing over it as you jot another note about the sharpness of the spiny margins of the fronds. 

A rustle of leaves gives way to a rushing of scales. Before you can gasp, arms wrap around your waist and pull you from the jungle floor. The world twists and a powerful, serpentine body coils your legs in a vice as an embrace secures you to a defined, smooth chest. Your cry of surprise is muffled by joyous, sonorous hissing. Finding the arms caging your chest, you cling to them while noting the green hue of the naga’s scales, dotted with black, and the orange-yellow striping falling down the sides of the tail that now currently holds you hostage.

You breathe out, your pulse racing against the soft squeeze of powerful muscles and the overwhelming length that has folded you within its cage.

“Happy day, petal,” he laughs softly in hissing waves. “Did you miss me?”

“Eclipse,” you finally regain your breath from the strike of his touch. “How did I not see you?”

At least your arms are free this time to trace along his forearms, feeling the smoothness of his scales. His lower half constricts as you attempt to adjust your posture, as if trying to push free but you wouldn’t dare. You understand how he reacts to any struggling movements from you.

You fight to lower your pulse as it pounds in your skull. The mist of a breath falls upon the shell of your ear. The brilliant burning orange hues of Eclipse’s frills touch the corner of your vision when he bows low to murmur against your hair.

“I was right in front of you,” he chuckles, “Your human eyes don’t see very well in this jungle. But don’t feel disappointed. Nothing may see me when I don’t wish to be seen.”

You of course understand that anacondas have the perfect coloring to blend among the deep and yellowed greens of the forest, despite their massive size and length. Snakes have long since used their environment to their advantage to hide and lay ambuses, but you are a botanist, not a zoologist, and you are still stunned you did not see the massive predator right before you.

Yet, you do wish you could have noticed his presence. That something would have been familiar to your eyes despite the never-ending expansion of the vegetation.

He gives you a slight squeeze, and your lower half endures the slightest pressure from a fraction of his strength. Very easily he could crush you. He could steal the air from your lungs by only preventing your ribcage from filling with sweet oxygen. You have yet to discover if there is venom in his fangs.

But he nuzzles softly behind your ear, snuffing your hair as if a flower itself with the sweetest scent. 

“Were your eyes closed?” you ask softly, “I would have seen your eyes. They’re unmistakable."

The jewel-dark tones of his two different colored eyes are unmistakable. Emerald and sapphire. The sharp glints of an unmistakable predator using bright, glaring hues to hint at their lethal nature.

He pauses. You watch the end of his tail slip along the ground and wrap a little tighter around your ankles. A hum, deep and pleasing, rolls through him.

“No. I was watching you, my favorite flower,” he hums. “It is a good thing I was here to ensure your safety. Anything could have snatched you from your studies.”

You laugh albeit nervously.

“Eclipse, I think, uh, I have only ever been carried away from my work by you.”

He hums and it drowns out your concern. A quiet squeak leaves your lips when he caresses your throat and his tail twists slightly, pulling you further away from the aechmea and your dropped notebook, pen, and camera. The camera catches on sunlight, shining in the rare slant of sunlight reaching the jungle floor.

“I have a surprise for you.” He muses, glancing down to your equipment. He moves carefully, dragging you along with his movements as he takes your things. You suck in a sharp breath. 

“Careful,” you whisper, anxious.

He glances down at you, his eyes amused, before he unlocks you from his grasp and places the items in your arms. You immediately cling to your things, checking the journal for any water damage, much to your relief. 

“Hold onto those,” his eyes wink brightly in the wilderness, “We’re going for a stroll.”

A surprise stroll. Again. You hardly have a moment to speak before he unwinds his tail from your lower half. Straightening, he easily towers above you, poised on the great, muscular length of his tail before he scoops you into his arms as if you were a doll. His smile grows, revealing the wicked ends of his pearly white fangs before he turns away and zips you out of the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you gasp. “Eclipse, wait, Vanessa and Michael—”

“They are not here,” he replies with a coolness that sends icy shivers down your spine. “Come, petal, you will find it as lovely as I do.”

Your stomach flip flops as you marvel as to what it could be. Eclipse has carried you off into the depths of the wilds several times. 

“What is it?” You glance over his shoulder where he has you cradled against his chest. His body is lithesome and especially large. The lower half of his form moves in strong waves through the undergrowth and over fallen trees without missing a beat. You stare, memorized, at the pattern of black spots and yellow-orange stripes combined with the incredible stamina of his person. The naga is as impressive as he is impossible. 

“Ah, ah! There will be no spoiling the surprise,” he simpers. His tongue flicks out, a dark, sinuous thing with a forked end. He boops you once upon the head with his mouth. A peck of affection. You grow warm in the face.

He is excited. You can feel his hands flexing along your person, feeling your sides and legs, squeezing you a little closer to his heart. Your head is tucked back into the cage of his body. He hums, sissing softly as he winds into the emerald shadows.

But you feel safe. There is a reassurance that the apex predator of the jungle has you in his arms instead of his mouth. 

Unless he grows hungry.

You clutch your journal a little tighter and stare up at the brilliant adornments around Eclipse’s face. Like staring up at the sun through the canopy of the forest. The rays sharply frame his face and recount his dangerous aspects, but he looks down at you with a wide grin.

But you are a curious mind, and though you have accepted that your study of the aechmea has concluded for the day, that does not leave you lacking with new exploration.

“Are we going to take another nap in an angelim vermelho?” you try quietly, musing over the possibility. 

He once stole you up one of those vast trees. You were dizzy from the height but he wrapped his tail around you like a security blanket and sang you into a doze. You’re not sure how he knew you had suffered a particular rough night of itchy bug bites and restless dreams, but you woke up grateful for the moment, and glad that he did not let you fall.

“No,” he chuckles. “Be patient.”

But your mind is whirling with possibilities.

“You are not showing me another… kill, are you?” you ask with barely contained apprehension.

You nearly fainted at the sight of the black caiman he showed off to you. The sight of it, punctured with fangs, made your stomach curdle and your head grow faint, but he quickly took you by the shoulders and guided you away, albeit with a look of disappointment upon his face.

A single finger with a sharp claw presses to your lips. Your eyes widen. Eclipse bows low over you, never breaking his serpentine glide through the woods.

“It is a surprise, petal,” he hums and hisses all at once. “It is just ahead.”

You catch the chirr of many insects. You glance past Eclipse to the trees and vegetation hanging overhead, realizing that a water source is close by to support such flora.

He stops suddenly. You taste the sweetness of water upon the air. He lowers you upon your feet, and you brace for his tail to quickly wrap you up again.

Instead, his hands fall over your eyes, and you are blind to the world.

“Eclipse?” your voice quivers slightly.

“Trust me,” he singsongs. “Use those pretty legs and walk forward. Turn, just a little. There. Now, keep going.”

You move slowly, carefully. You cling to his wrists, vulnerable and exposed, and your heart falls into a quick gallop at what might lay ahead.

You feel the slope change slightly downwards. Eclipse murmurs for you to lift your feet above a fallen log. 

Then the toes of your boots come in contact with the soft splash of water. You gasp quietly at the coolness of it soaking into your socks.

“A gift for you, petal,” Eclipse says softly and lifts his hand from your eyes.

You blink against the glare of light refracted from the green surface of a pond. A beautiful, robust aquatic ecosystem teeming with giant lily pads.

You gape. Eclipse leans close behind you, his chin almost brushing your hair as you gaze over the stunning sight.

“Amazonian lily pads,” you look back at him. “They’re incredible. I have never seen them in person.”

He promised to show you them, and he delivered.

His eyes are wide and hungry, gazing upon you. He seems content with what he finds.

“Go on, do what you wish.” His encouragement is met with a nod of his brightly adorned head towards the pond.

You do not hesitate. You pick up your camera and immediately turn back to the water. The lily pads are enormous, spanning almost 10 feet in diameter, crowding the surface. The famous circular leaves turn up at the corners to form a shallow cup, and the outside margins are red and veined. You have been desperately hunting the lily pads since you first entered the rainforest, and Eclipse has brought you directly to them.

He does not restrain you from snapping pictures and cracking open your notebook to begin jotting down everything you see. The flowers are blooming. Oh, what beautiful timing. They only bloom for 48 hours. You find yourself sinking down to the ground, but before you can find wet earth to sit upon, the thickness of Eclipse’s tail becomes a seat, and his cool, green scales allow you to concentrate entirely on the flowers.

He lounges nearby, leaning against a tree while observing you. The very tip of his tail twists around by your feet, brushing against your ankles but never squeezing or distracting you from your study.

The flowers are white, sitting upon the surface with dozens and dozens of soft, silky petals that beg beetles to come and collect their pollen. They are so tiny compared to the lily pads, but they are vital to the plant's continuation. 

You write until your hand aches, and you write more before snapping a few more pictures. Then, you stop, and stare, breathlessly, at the sight.

The quiet serene breathes upon you. Turning to face Eclipse, you gaze softly at him. His eyes are half-slits, as if he were close to napping. His attention, however, is entirely upon you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much, Eclipse.”

He straightens. Slowly, he holds out his arms, and when he takes you against him, your middle floods with the sensation of bird wings. He carefully sees your journal and camera are put aside before he reclines back with you upon his chest.

“You are welcome, my favorite flower,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “They are lovely, are they not?”

“Oh, they are stunning!” You beam as you find your head pressed against his chest, right above where his heart beats. The drum of it is strong and constant, You sigh as his tail coils softly around your waist and down your legs. “The lily pads are beautifully unique. Do you know how they pollinate?"

He hums sweetly, and strokes the top of your head with tapered fingertips.

“Enlight me, petal,” he hums. 

You beam. Lifting a finger to trace the lighter color of his chest, you begin to describe the process of the petals closing up on the beetle as the flower changes from female to male in preparation for the bugs to exchange the pollen among the other flowers.

Eclipse does not seem to mind your rambling.

[everlasting-rainfall]

Hey, guys! This isn’t a story or anything but I made these aesthetic boards for my OC’s and I wanted to show them off

They include the characters appearance and before you say anything, I use Gacha because it’s easier for me and I can’t draw worth shit

This isn’t all of my OC’s and the other boards will likely be done at a later date but I hope that ya’ll enjoy the ones that I’ve made!

Also the other people in Willow and Ivy’s pictures who were made with Gacha, those aren’t other people. It’s the same person.

The person above Willow is an idolized version of herself that she she sees known as Witch who is everything that Willow wants to be

The person in Ivy’s picture is just her having the energy to dress up in the way that she likes

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL

THIS IS NOT A PLACE FOR YOU AND I DO NOT WANT YOU ON MY BLOG

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

[writingwisterias]

Caring for you (Part 1)

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!fem!Reader Warnings: MNDI (Future smut) , Fluff, Light Angst, Strangers - Lovers, Slow-burn, Drinking, awkward moments, Creative!Reader , Summary: Sometimes strangers have the biggest hearts Words: 2.7k This was meant to be a longer fic but in writing it I think it works best as a series!!! I hope you enjoy, Feedback is always welcome! Thank you to my wonderful 🪡for helping me make the playlist and listen to me ramble about this. Let me know if you would like to be tagged on other parts

The rain was something Leon always struggled with. Whenever it was the way, it whipped at him continuously battering his cheeks until they tinged red with the cold or the sounds of the wind howling or thunder was like a night that will forever haunt him. Which is why he currently clutched a brown bag filled with his latest remedy to his chest, the paper already tearing from the raindrops he failed to protect it from. The bottles clanging against each other with every step was proof enough of it contents, if no one could already tell with the slight stumble in his step. He would have to say it was one of his best performances to convince the store to let him get it. Maybe they pitted him with the darkened circles under his eyes along with the grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  

Everyone around him either had an umbrella or at least wore a coat with a hood to protect them from the rainfall as they rushed home. Their quickened footsteps lightly splashing his boots and dampening the bottoms of his jeans. A little rain wouldn’t harm him anyway, not with what he has been through, getting his hair wet was the least of his concerns. It was his already tipsy mind that suggested the random side quest to get more, the idea stemming from that internal itch for the drunkenness he craved that eased him into a blank sleep. In his mind that's all he was, a blank page filled with creases and lines from where it’s been passed around to everyone in the room whilst he waits for a masterpiece to form on it. He wonders if it was his destiny for it to get soaked with rain and eventually ruined before someone saw its worth.  

With his perception ruined he was unable to observe the behaviour of the people around, to distinguish which one would be the most likely to attempt to steal his liquid gold. Would it end up being the tired businessman as he looks for a rundown bar to ease the stress on the Friday night? Or could it be the hooded figures who were standing on the edges of the alleyways with a roughened look on their partially hidden features? His mind was running through every stereotype he could think of as he walked through the streets to his apartment, subconsciously giving each silhouette their own trait before he had even had a proper look at them.  

There was one however that he couldn’t quite figure out, someone sat in the park hunched over look at something in their lap with an umbrella precariously balanced above them. The streetlights around them were highlighting them like a point of interest, at least with his current mindset that is what it seemed. A sign to him from the world that this was his new side quest on his way home. Perhaps they were upset? Or maybe hurt? That could possibly be the reasoning behind their position, with his job he figured it would be better to look and help if he could. He’s seen the outcomes of horrible disasters and nightmares that started in situations like this but unlike the common goodhearted civilian he had the proper training to prevent anything from escalating should that become the outcome of his drunken side quests.  

Which why he supposed that was how he found himself drawn towards them. The closer he got the more their mutters of frustration were heard, and the quick movements of their arms were visible as they swiped against what looked like a book.  

“How the hell do people do this without the ink smudging?” You muttered to yourself, your hands covered in splotches of black ink, the page filled with a drawing of what was meant to be the streetlight in front of you. Despite your attempts to shield yourself and the page from the rain it had become crinkles from where the umbrella clearly didn’t want to co-operate with you. As his feet came into view, you jolted at his sudden appearance, clearly too absorbed in your activity to register his approach. A pair of worn black boots (the kind that clearly have seen some shit) stood just in front of you peaking above the sketchbook. At least you amused him with the comically slow tilt of your head as you lifted it to see him evidenced by his small smirk, his hair was stuck to his face, his cheeks lined with a Rosey tint.  

The rude words that wanted to spill from your lips to “politely” shoo him away and stop his intrusion on your peaceful night fell short when you met his tired eyes. Evidently showing a longing for something that made you grow curious to figure out what it was. With how they were widened slightly, showing of the beautiful shade of blue they were in the dim lighting, made him look just as shocked that he had initiated this interaction. However, despite every other man that has attempted to bother you this evening he was rude or invasive. He just stood there with a disintegrating brown bag in his arms and watched you with the pair of tired eyes that looked like they were silently asking for permission to sit next to you.  

A strange thing to do in hindsight since there was another park benches, he could go and sit at, yet despite all the other options for some reason he was insisting to sit on this one with you. Surely if you did question his silent request, he could just create an excuse that blamed it on the umbrella being a chance for a breather in the onslaught of rain on his journey home. Instead, before he could speak, you did.  “Are you okay?” You asked cautiously, your voice now timid compared to the volume of the grumbling you were doing moments ago.  

You had frozen like a deer in your activities, the small bubble of peace you had created for yourself broken by Leon standing there. He knew you had every right to be cautious anyway, after all he was just a man standing wordlessly in front of you holding a brown bag of alcohol and that was hardly a sign of good companionship. “Sorry, I was just curious on what you were doing. I wanted to make sure you were okay since you were hunched over but it looks like you are...drawing?” He stated bluntly, his voice rough around the edges slightly from spending most of his evening like all the others in silence.  

“Oh! I’m all okay, just frustrated with my poor decision to attempt an ink drawing in the rain.” You chuckled. “I mean I tried to combat it with the umbrella but that plan clearly hasn’t worked very well.” 

Leon watched as your body shifted slightly, the umbrella falling slightly once again but there next to you was now a dry spot, your way of a silent answer to his previous silent request to sit next to you. It could have been the lonely look in his eyes that somewhat matched your own desire for companionship, or the way his voice was so raspy it was clear he hasn’t spoken to anyone for a while that caused you to allow him into your space and continue to engage in the conversation he seemed unsure about starting.  

You didn’t make a comment about the bottles that clattered against the ground as Leon placed them, his thigh twitching as he was unsure if he could lay it down next you due to your proximity. He was conscious about the space and time he was taking from you. Remaining perched at the edge of the bench as if he was half a second away from coming to the decision to get up and continuing his meaningless trek back home. Until you spoke to him again now holding out the handle of the umbrella with a kind smile, “Do you mind if you hold this here? Just as I finish this piece off. I won’t be long.” 

Leon nodded silently, his hand gingerly taking the umbrella from your hands - the small scars and other bumps on his fingers you felt as they brushed against yours were telling you their own story of the quiet man. Your name fell off your lips carelessly just as every other action you made with him tonight. Taking a chance with a random stranger was always a guessing game. Yet with the way he was shocked at the fact he was even replying to you, his own name falling from his lips perhaps just as careless as your own did, you felt comfortable enough with him. “What type of person tries to draw with a fountain pen in the rain anyway?” Leon teased, his mouth finally quirking up into a small smile again.  

His body relaxed into the cold wood of the bench, the warmth of his smartly dressed thigh seeping into yours as they touched. “I mean I bought an umbrella! I just didn’t think holding it in place would be more difficult than battling the material I’m working with. This is my second day attempting to draw this lamp post.” You admitted, flicking through the pages briefly at the other failed attempts. Leon’s aftershave invaded your senses briefly as he leaned over your shoulder watching as the ink from the fountain pen scratched against the crinkled page.  

The rain drops that fell on your page despite your attempt of preventing that gave the piece its character. Almost like you were making beauty out of a damaged product. You didn’t care that the page had this character, instead worked with the imperfections to create a nearly accurate drawing of the lamp post. You could feel his head move as he followed your eyeline towards the lamp post comparing the details you had picked up to the object in front of you and how well you translated them onto the page. “It’s good even with the circumstances of the weather.” Leon complimented, there wasn’t much else he could offer considering his state of mind. He also wasn’t an avid art critic to give you any form of a meaningful comment, so instead of making a fool of himself any further tonight; he continued to sit there in silence as you finished.  

You felt him jolt again after you snapped your sketchbook shut, the pages probably smudging all your hard work. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You replied, turning to face him slightly. Leon murmured words of acknowledgement to your apology, handing you the handle of your umbrella. You situated your clothing, what looked like a handmade scarf hung tightly around your neck, a beanie with one of the cute bobbles matching it. He felt undressed for the current weather, his shirt already growing damp as the rain leaked through the stitching of his leather jacket. Yet, despite the cold, it wasn’t as brutal as anything he had felt before. 

The streets had since emptied, leaving them to walk alone towards the exit of the park in the dim glow of the streetlamps above their heads. He didn’t talk only listened, followed you like a lifeline instead of the whirlpool of thoughts that invaded his headspace in the silence that always seemed to follow him. When you arrived at the corner that would separate your journeys home, the umbrella shielding you both from the rain as you laughed about some corny joke he let out, your eyes met his. They were so innocent, filled with wonder and creativity compared to his own that stared back at you, they told a story of hardship and horror – the remains of whatever bothered him lingering physically despite him verbally seeming okay.  

Ther was no way he could look at a streetlamp and find the inspiration to draw it like you, let alone come back for a second day when you didn’t quite get it right the first time. “I guess this is where we part ways.” You spoke; the smile you wore was softer this time as you looked him, catching the slightly darkened under eyes, the frown he wore on his face the entire walk back was now nowhere to be found in this moment. “I suppose so.”  

The silence stretched, neither of you risking moving away from the space just yet in fear that the forever lingering sense of loneliness would creep back in.  

Your fingers touched briefly as you handed him the umbrella back for just a moment as your ink splotched hands searched throughout your bag to find the small black sketchbook and pen. Your handwriting was somehow neat but messy, as you frantically scribbled your number and a note of your name, like he would forget it as soon as you walked away. The tear wasn’t clean either as you separated the page from the book, the paper at a slight angle giving it more character.  

“Text when you can, something tells me you are a busy man, Leon.” You smiled sweetly, exchanging the paper for the handle of the umbrella. He nodded, his eyebrows pinched together in a fashion that made him almost question the interaction, like he almost baffled you would want to talk to him after the way he approached you tonight. “Risky giving a stranger who you just met your number,” He joked, folding the paper carefully and placing it in a pocket that wasn’t quite ruined by the rain just yet. “Let’s just say it's a gut feeling that I can trust you aren’t some creep. You were more respectful and better dressed than the other men who bothered me today,”  

You took the first step, the rain falling into his browning hair once more as you bid him goodnight. He lingered for a moment, the brown bag once again getting damaged in the rain making it urgent to return home but he couldn’t find himself to do it. Not until he watched your frame walk into the door you had previously told him was your apartment block. Just like everyone else in his life he needed to make sure you were safe. His frame retreated moments later, you watched the silhouette of him from your window not flicking the light on just yet encase he looks back. A precaution you might later laugh at when your hopefully got to know him more.  

Leon’s keys clattered to the table along with his bottles he had bought hours ago, the bag finally giving up just a few blocks back. He rummaged through his pockets for the ivory piece of paper, praying to the heavens that the rain didn’t get to it and the ink wouldn’t be smudged. He smiled at the note,  

‘I get lonely too sometimes’ 

Leon turned the page over, only to find the sketch you had been drawing for hours. The ink splotched on the page, some of the carefully drawn lines now smudged slightly. He felt bad ruining it, owning it, after you had spent so many hours trying to get it right. He moved from the kitchen to the living room, toeing off his boots as he moved. The cushions slumped with him as he sank onto the couch, his fingers carefully putting each number into his phone before typing a message. The wording was off, holding more of his character that anything he had said tonight. The apologies mixed in with the actions he was willing to do to return the simple practice to you was cute. Stumbling over his own words like he was writing exactly what he was thinking and would have said over the phone or in person.  

It was stupid of him to make himself into anything but a stranger tonight, to place himself in your mind as a fond memory when you would flick back in the sketchbook and see the remains of the torn page. There was so much of himself to give you, but he couldn’t. Yet, despite all that - the message swoop was still heard, and the text bubbles of your reply still showed up on his screen. Marking the chance for him to have someone outside of everything he had been through. You were easy to talk to, the drinks he had bought remained in their spot he had put them in once he got him. Instead in the darkness of his bedroom he was smiling at the screen of his phone as you wished him a goodnight. With a lighter heart, he fell into his first sober sleep in years.  

Taglist: @senawashere @danigirls-missions @lxzy-bxby @074calicocat @gut1ess @shymoob @vesperaominosum

[romanticaacore]

Sunday's love would come to him in waves.

It starts like the gentle pitter patter of rainfall, just barely there. He notices the way you look out for him, how you go out of your way to make things just a little less awkward for him. He could not figure out if this goodwill was due to pity or a genuine desire to show him a sliver of kindness but regardless of that, the thought of knowing that he was not entirely all on his own was just... Comforting.

He would sit on a cozy chair, cup of tea in hand, his mind racked with guilt from his crimes of the past. The vast emptiness of the cosmos stares back at him, millions upon millions of shimmering stars all there right before him, just out of hands reach, each one a new promise for a better and brighter future. Just as when he feels as though he is going to fall apart, how his grief stricken heart is enveloped in more sharp thorns, Sunday feels a presence behind him. A warm hand is placed on his shoulder and he immediately knows who it is.

No words are exchanged, not even a single glance is necessary in order to enjoy this soft moment of tranquility. After a while, Sunday makes the bold move of placing his hand on your own, gloved fingers just shy from entwining together.

The soft pitter patter soon shifts into something much stronger.

Sunday makes sure to analyze absolutely anything that catches your eye and he is not even aware that he is doing it at the start. He talks and talks for what feels like ages, to which the Astral Express crew usually gives him flack for, telling him to just calm down a little.

You never did that. You would let him speak his mind, eager to hear his thoughts, even if his rambles could take some time to wrap up. Sunday would always feel so bad for making you listen to him and would apologize every single time, but whenever he would look into your eyes he was met with warm acceptance.

A man's heart could only take so much.

Sunday soon felt himself choking on air whenever he would see you, always eager to stay composed and charming. His biggest desire was to impress you and he was no stranger for faking it till he made it.

And it would all crumble to dust whenever you would just stand next to him, his heart racing so hard and fast in his chest that it left him puzzled on how he was still alive.

He figured that you had cast some sort of spell on him. It was an irrational thought, a downright foolish one even but it was the only one his brain could come up with. How else could he account for the loss of sleep? How else was he going to explain away the sickness in his stomach whenever you grazed by his side, your smell enticing him to follow you to the end of the universe if need be?

It was all but too late when he realized in just what sort of predicament he was in. The blinding thunder in his soul was too powerful to ignore. The wicked thorns of love had taken root in his heart and would not budge. You had become a part of his routine, something so comforting and sweet that it felt like a sweet dream.

Sunday had always been a dreamer ever since he could walk. But now, he had discovered a new one, a dream which he was not sure he could ever let go of.

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Rainfall and Realizations PT.2

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: A rainy afternoon in Kitty’s and your dorm brings you closer to her charming but flustered friend, Minho. Between teasing remarks, upcoming secrets and an unexpected walk, sparks begin to fly as Minho starts to see you in a new light.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello again!,

I just want to say, I'm so surprised that the first little drabble has reached about 100 people at this point, thank you to everyone reading and leaving a like <3

While I didn't think I'd be continuing the first part, I am very very happy to do so. I have a couple Ideas, so lets see how long this little slowburn is gonna take, but do feel free to give feedback, ideas or corrections :)

Thank you again, and I hope you have fun with this next part, and the newest little secret (Y/N) possibly has

Taglist!! <3: @finnbbl, @literallysza(tysm, ily)

The days following Minho’s first meeting with (Y/N) were…confusing. For someone who prided himself on being the most self-assured person at KISS, Minho now found himself unsettled, distracted, and unusually tongue-tied.

He hated how much he found himself looking for excuses to hang out in Kitty’s dorm, pretending to help with her chaotic plans or offering to grab coffee with her, only to find himself scanning the room for (Y/N).

And then there was (Y/N) herself. If she noticed Minho’s newfound awkwardness, she didn’t let on. She greeted him the same way every time—calm, composed, and polite but never overly enthusiastic. It drove him crazy.

One rainy afternoon, Minho found himself at Kitty’s dorm again. It had become a ritual of sorts—Kitty would ramble on about her latest love triangle (or square, depending on the day), and Minho would half-listen, his attention split between her words and the hope that (Y/N) would walk in.

“…and then she had the nerve to ask if I wanted to go shopping with her,” Kitty was saying, pacing the small living room.

Minho leaned back on the couch, pretending to listen. His attention kept drifting to the door.

“And you’re not even listening,” Kitty said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“What? No, I am,” Minho said quickly. “Shopping with Yuri. Terrible idea. Definitely don’t do it.”

Kitty sighed, flopping onto the armchair across from him. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

Before Minho could respond, the door creaked open. (Y/N) stepped inside, balancing a tray of fresh cookies. She glanced at them, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Kitty, I made a little something for you,” she said, setting the tray on the counter. Her gaze flickered to Minho briefly. “Oh. Hi, Minho.”

Minho straightened up instinctively. “Hey.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “Cookies? You’ve been spoiling me lately, (Y/N).”

“It’s nothing,” (Y/N) said, putting a couple of them on a platter for Kitty and sliding it across the counter. “I wanted to take some time to bake something again anyway.”

Minho hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Any left over for me?”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before nodding. She prepared another plate and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly as he took it, and Minho felt his stomach flip.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a bite to hide his reaction.

As the rain pattered against the windows, the three of them settled into a strangely comfortable rhythm. Kitty alternated between brainstorming ideas and scrolling through her phone, while Minho and (Y/N) exchanged occasional remarks about the weather and school.

Minho found himself watching (Y/N) more than he intended. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her plate balanced precariously on the edge of the table. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, and she wore an oversized sweater that looked impossibly soft.

“So,” (Y/N) said suddenly, looking at Minho. “What’s your role in Kitty’s master plan today?”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I’m the…idea guy?”

“Really?” (Y/N) said, raising an eyebrow. “Because it seems like Kitty’s doing all the talking.”

Kitty snorted. “Exactly. He’s useless.”

“Hey,” Minho protested, feigning offense. “I’m providing moral support.”

“Moral support doesn’t count if you’re just sitting there looking pretty,” (Y/N) said, her tone light but teasing.

Minho’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment—or was it an insult? He couldn’t tell.

“Looking pretty is a full-time job,” he shot back, recovering quickly.

(Y/N) smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Must be exhausting.”

Soon after, (Y/N) excused herself to work on her writing, leaving Minho and Kitty alone again.

“You’re staring,” Kitty said, not looking up from her phone.

“What?” Minho said, snapping out of his thoughts.

“At (Y/N),” Kitty clarified, smirking. “You’ve been staring at her all afternoon.”

“I have not,” Minho said, a little too quickly.

“Right,” Kitty said, drawing out the word. “You’re so obvious, it’s painful.”

Minho groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not…staring. I just think she’s—”

“Gorgeous?” Kitty supplied.

Minho sighed. “Fine. Yes. But it’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Kitty said, her smirk widening.

The tea that was made to go along with the cookies was long gone, the rain still drumming softly against the windows, and Minho couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in his head. Her words—“Must be exhausting”—had been light, teasing, but there was something about the way (Y/N) looked at him when she said it. Not dismissive, not disinterested. Amused, maybe even intrigued. Or was he imagining that?

“Minho,” Kitty’s voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

“Huh?”

Kitty rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re really bad at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” he said, attempting a casual shrug that probably looked as awkward as it felt.

“You, staring at her like she’s some mysterious treasure map you’re trying to figure out,” Kitty said, her smirk firmly in place.

“I don’t stare,” Minho said defensively. “I glance. Occasionally, and don't mention it again, we just talked about that 20 minutes ago!”

Kitty let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re in trouble, I'm just trying to get that into your head”

“I’m not,” Minho insisted, though the heat rising in his cheeks told a different story. “I just think she’s…interesting.”

“Oh, she is,” Kitty agreed. “But don’t think you’re going to win her over by just sitting here and looking pretty.”

“I don’t—” Minho started, but Kitty cut him off.

“Please. I know you. You think a few charming smiles and a well-timed compliment are all it takes.”

Minho scowled, but he couldn’t exactly argue. That had worked for him in the past. “And what, oh wise Kitty, do you suggest I do?”

Kitty tilted her head, considering. “Maybe try talking to her. Actually talking. Ask her about her life, her interests—be genuine for once.”

Minho opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to (Y/N)’s room creaked open. She stepped out, clutching her laptop and a notebook, her hair pulled into a clip-up hairstyle.

“I’m heading to the library,” (Y/N) said, glancing between them.

“In this weather?” Kitty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s quieter when it’s raining,” (Y/N) said with a small shrug.

"Besides, I want to meet up with a guy that needs tutoring, he's hopeless"

"Just some guy, huh?" Minho pauses for a second, watching her every move.

"A random guy that you're bringing some of your cookies?"

(Y/N turns around, facing him with a judging look: "If you really think about it, you're also 'Just a Guy' at the moment"

Minho's brows furrow, and you could almost hear Kitty's low wince in reaction to her statement

“I’ll walk with you,” Minho said, standing before he even realized what he was doing.

(Y/N) blinked, clearly surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Minho said, his tone a little too eager. He quickly added, “I mean, I’ve been cooped up here for hours. I could use some air.”

Kitty barely stifled a laugh, but (Y/N) simply nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Minho grabbed his jacket, ignoring Kitty’s smug expression as he followed (Y/N) out the door.

The rain had softened into a light drizzle by the time they stepped outside. (Y/N) pulled her hood up, clutching her laptop bag close as they walked.

“So,” Minho began, struggling to find a topic. “The library, huh? Big plans?”

“I just need some quiet to work,” (Y/N) said, glancing at him briefly.

“On what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “I write sometimes. Nothing major.”

“Like essays?” Minho guessed.

“Not exactly,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “More like…thoughts. Stories. Poetry, sometimes.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” (Y/N) said lightly.

They walked in silence for a moment, the rain-soaked campus unusually quiet around them. Minho found himself stealing glances at her, trying to piece together the puzzle of who she was.

“What about you?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, catching him off guard. “What do you do when you’re not hanging out with Kitty or obsessing over your wardrobe?”

“I don’t obsess over clothes, or only hang out with Kitty” Minho said defensively.

(Y/N) gave him a knowing look: "You cant deny the fashion thing, and you do hang out with Kitty a lot at the moment, you seem to be attached at the hip"

“Okay, maybe a little, but not the Kitty thing! She's nice don't get me wrong, but..” he admitted, stopping his rant when he saw (Y/N)'s expression

“But I do other things. Like…uh…” He faltered, realizing he didn’t have a good answer. “I’m pretty into music,” he said finally. “I play piano.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her tone teasing. “You don’t exactly give off ‘classical music prodigy’ vibes.”

“First of all, I’m not a prodigy,” Minho said. “And second, I’m full of surprises.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” (Y/N) said, her faint smile returning.

They reached the library steps, and (Y/N) paused, turning to face him.

“Thanks for walking with me,” she said.

“Anytime,” Minho said, and for once, he meant it.

(Y/N) hesitated, like she wanted to say something else, but instead, deciding for an alternative.

"Minho?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever get lonely when Kitty's out causing chaos, feel free to stop by anyway, alright?"

Minho and her shared a smile before she nodded and disappeared through the library doors.

Minho stood there for a moment, watching the door close behind her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, replaying their conversation in his head. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress.

By the time he got back to the dorm, Kitty was waiting for him, sprawled out on the couch with a knowing grin.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “How’d it go? Did you manage to form a complete sentence?”

“Very funny,” Minho said, kicking off his shoes. “We talked.”

“And?”

“And…she’s interesting,” Minho admitted, flopping onto the couch.

She gave him an expecting look, leaning forward towards him

He have her a judgy up-and-down look before asking: "What?"

Kitty groaned and shook her head.

"And? There was something else I know it"

Minho's lips twitched into something resembling a smile before gaining back his facial control

"Well...", he hesitated for a second, "She did indirectly invite me to hang out?"

Kitty’s grin widened. “You’re so doomed.”

That night, as Minho sat at his desk, he found himself scrolling through his phone, staring at the submission screen for the anonymous blog everyone at KISS loved. He didn’t know why he was considering it, but something about (Y/N)’s quiet confidence had gotten under his skin.

Without overthinking, he typed out a message:

“How do you get to know someone who’s completely different from anyone you’ve ever met? Someone who makes you feel like you’re not as put together as you think you are?”

He hesitated before hitting send, then shook his head and closed the app. It wasn’t like she would ever see it.

Or so he thought.

part 3

[simplyhughes]

Reunion | Evan “Buck” Buckley x Reader

WC: 2.2K

Request: “Pis pls plss do a childhood friends to lovers w buck like she moved to La to be close to buck and everyone at the 118 thinks they're dating because of how close they are but they aren't dating YET and can you please try to throw in a heated argument between them that ends with a heated kiss!!!!!! Pls plss plsss”

Pairing: Evan Buckley X Fem!Reader

Warning: sad childhood ?? Idk nothing rlly

A/N: Please give me feedback!! I hope you like it!!!

It was always Buck and Y/N—everyone knew that. The two of you had been inseparable ever since you moved in next door in the second grade. It all started with Maddie babysitting you for some extra pocket money. You adored her; she was the sister you’d always wished for. And when Buck began tagging along, the rest was history.

The day Buck told you he’d been kicked out of community college, your heart broke for him. When you pulled away from the hug meant to comfort him, he shared that Maddie had given him some money to figure out his next steps. You questioned him, pestered him, trying to keep him from doing something irrational. By the end of the conversation, he stormed out of your apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving you sitting there in tears.

Once Buck hit the road to California, his regret set in. He knew he had to do this for himself, to find himself. His guilt poured in like rainfall. After a couple hours of driving, A few hours into the drive, he pulled into a rest stop with a diner and ordered coffee and pancakes. Without thinking, he dialed your number, desperate to make things right. The two of you talked for over an hour, hashing out everything. You understood his need for a fresh start, but it devastated you that it wouldn’t include you.

When the call ended, both parties felt relieved. You promised to come visit when you finished school and both of you vowed to stay in touch. The vow was never broken. Everyday you hear new thrilling anecdotes of Evans' life. The trashing fire he put out, now that he was a firefighter, or the crazy new fling of the week. Though every time he brings up a new girl you feel your heart pang, you stay happy for him and you're grateful to hear his voice.

After you received your diploma, you wasted no time. With your degree in hand and a mix of nerves and excitement in your chest, you booked the next flight to the City of Angels. Maddie, now living in Los Angeles herself, was the one who gave you Buck’s current address.

You’d thought about this moment for years, imagining how it would feel to see him again. The two of you had kept in touch, but phone calls and texts could only do so much. You wanted to be there in person, to see him in his element, living the life he’d always dreamed of.

When you arrived, standing outside his apartment door, you hesitated. What if things had changed too much? What if the years apart had built walls that even your bond couldn’t break? But before you could overthink it, the door swung open, and there he was—Buck, with his boyish grin and those familiar eyes that held both surprise and joy.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Hi, Buck,” you replied, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, he engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug, sweeping you off the ground and spinning you around like a rag doll. When your feet finally touched the floor, his hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. I missed you so much,” he confessed.

Before you could reply, his excitement took over. “Oh! You have to meet my team! They’re going to love you…” He rambled on about how great they were, how much he’d missed you, and how everyone already knew all about you.

Grabbing your hand, he led you out of the apartment and down to the parking lot. It was crazy—like no time had passed at all. Everything between you felt natural, just as it had before he left.

Buck opened the door of his Jeep, helping you into the passenger seat before rushing around to climb in himself.

“Wait… Are we really going to meet them?” you asked nervously. You’d heard so much about his team, but this was all so sudden.

“Well, I was already on my way to work. This is perfect! Don’t worry—they already know all about you,” he assured you with a grin.

The firehouse was bigger than you’d thought. Buck leads the way with you trailing closely behind him, almost hiding yourself from the fire fighters inside the house.

“HEYYY BUCKAROO!” Echoed through the house, originating from on top of one of the fire engines.

“Hey Chim! Look- I brought someone!” Buck chirped.

“You brought someone?” Spoke a man who had walked out of the locker room. From all the pictures that Buck sent of his new LA family, you were pretty sure this was Eddie. Now standing in the middle of the fire house, Buck tugged on your arm pulling you out in front of him. You are now face to face with three members of Evans team. Chim, who was on top of the Engine, climbs his way down standing next to Eddie.

“Guys, this is Y/N!” Buck exclaims, acting as if this was an elementary show and tell.

“Wait, the Y/N?” A woman you “knew” as Hen questioned.

“Like Pennsylvania Y/N?” Eddie followed up.

“That's me.” You reply sheepishly, giving them a small wave.

“It is very nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Bobby” The older of the four introduced himself, sticking out his hand for you to shake.

“Captain Nash, right?” You question, shaking his hand softly. In return, he nods with a sweet smile.

You shuffle back, finding your place next Buck, whose beaming smile never left his face. He loops an arm around your waist, giving you a reassuring nod. Buck announces he is gonna give you the “grand tour” of the fire house. He clasps your hand with his as he pulls you off upstairs.

Hen, Chim and Eddie lounged across the couch, subtling watching you and Buck. Your elbows rest on the kitchen counter sipping on a glass of water Buck poured for you. His mouth is talking a mile a minute, subconsciously always keeping a hand on you. The other firefighters watch Buck, noting his eyes gleaming with awe. Buck sweeps his large hand across your forehead sweeping a strand of hair out from your face.

“I missed you” He whispers as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I missed you too—” You began to respond before you got rudely interrupted by the piercing sound of the alarm.

“Hey, you can go back to my place or hangout here. Whatever you want, mkay? I gotta go, but I'll see you too.” He quickly explains releasing you from the hug, placing a soft kiss against the top of your head. You didn't even have time to respond before he ran away with a grin. He shoots down the firepole meeting the rest of the team for departure. Overlooking from the banister, you watch him in action. The engine pulls out, sirens blazing. Now you are left all alone.

After a minute, you decided to call an uber back to Buck’s place. Only one problem, you couldn't find your phone. You retraced all your steps and still couldn’t find it. Ten minutes later is when you realize your phone was left back at Buck's apartment. You didn't want to take Buck's car and overstep, so your only option left was to hang around until the 118 got back.

A couple hours later, the truck pulls back into the bay. You watch the team file off the truck, shedding their heavy gear and recapping about the recent call. After a minute you spot Buck and his group.

“So, what's with you and Y/N?” Hen asks.

“What do you mean?” He hums, tossing his jacket over his shoulder.

“You’re like attached by the hip!” Chim jokes.

“You guys together?” Eddie pesters nudging Bucks shoulder.

“Huh? What? Nonono, she has been my best friend since forever! Like a second sister!” He defends himself. That felt like a kick to your gut. Suddenly, your stomach swirled with lost hope. A gloss film spread across your eyes, but you tilted your head up to rid the tears.

After the team put all their stuff away, Buck spots you in a similar spot to where he left you. He gestures you to make your way down to him. You sluggishly trot down the stairs, approaching him.

“I thought you woulda left.”

“I forgot my phone back at your place, I wanted to call an uber.”

“You could have taken my car! But m’sorry, I hope you were able to entertain yourself.”

“It was no problem.” You shrugged.

“You good “Y/NN?” He questioned, voice laced with concern.

In return, you nod offering your best smile. “Just jetlagged.” You lied.

“Here i'll get you an uber. I'm on call for a few more hours and I'll be home ASAP.” He smiled, opening the app on his phone.

You sprawled out against Bucks couch, flicking through the channels on tv. But you are too lost in your head to decide on a show. Not only did you realize your feelings for Buck but how could you have been so foolish to think he thought of you that day? He is a jacked firefighter with all the gorgeous LA girls at his disposal. You were just next door neighbor Y/N.

Buck arrives back at the apartment a few hours later, exhausted but grinning when he sees you sprawled on the couch.

“Y/N, you here?” he calls out, dropping his bag by the door.

“Yeah, on the couch.,” you reply, sitting up, though your voice lacks its usual spark.

He notices. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You hesitate, but the events of the day are still fresh. He tosses a pillow off the couch, making room for himself, plopping down next to you. Finally, you blurt out, “Why did you say that to them?”

Buck freezes, confused. “Say what?”

“That I’m like a second sister to you,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Buck’s brows knit together. “Because that’s what you are! What’s wrong with that?”

The emotional dam breaks. “Because I’m not your sister, Buck! I flew across the country to be here—to be with you. Do you even realize how much you mean to me? And to hear you say that…” You trail off, your voice cracking.

He steps closer, his voice softening. “Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“You just don’t see me the way I see you,” you cut him off, tears threatening to spill. “And that’s fine, Buck. But I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”

Buck’s jaw tightens, and his frustration rises. “You think I don’t care about you? I care about you more than anything—maybe too much. That’s why I said it, okay? Because if I lose you, I don’t know what I’d do!”

His words hit you like a freight train, and the room goes silent except for your uneven breathing.

“Then stop saying things like that,” you whisper.

Buck stares at you, his chest heaving. “You have no idea how hard it was to be that far away from you. And now to be this close to you and not—”

“Not what?” you challenge, stepping closer.

His restraint snaps. “This,” he whispers, and in one fluid motion, he cups your face and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is searing, all pent-up frustration and years of unspoken feelings spilling over. Your hands tangle in his hair as you pull him closer, melting into him as though the world outside doesn’t exist.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, his forehead resting against yours, the only sound being you struggling to catch your breath.

“I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. It killed me to leave you.” he admits, his voice hoarse.

Your heart swells, and a small smile tugs at your lips. “Took you long enough to say it Buckley.”

He pulls you into another hug, his strong arms wrapping around you tightly like he’s afraid to let go. “So…does this mean you’re not leaving anytime soon?”

“Not unless you want me to,” you tease, your voice lighter now.

Buck leans back, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t want you to go. Ever.”

“You’re stuck with me, Buck,” you murmur, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hair.

[muiitoloko]

It's me... Hi, I'm the problem it's me... ok, it's only fun if you like Taylor Swift haha If you have inspiration, do you think you could write a very, very, veryyyyy fluffy story ? I let you choose the character, the oc just need a lot of comfort, love and support haha

Title: Soft Spot

Summary: Sinclair Bryant has one for you and you’re starting to suspect you’ve got one for him too. Especially when he brings you tea, calls it a potion, and kisses your forehead like it’s sacred ground.

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: Sorry for taking so long to respond to this request.

Also read on Ao3

It all started with a sneeze. A small one, barely there. Then another, and another. You’d tried to hide it, of course—you always did. You tucked your face into your sleeve, turned away from the barn door as if the cold wind was to blame. But Sinclair Bryant noticed.

He always noticed.

Even when he pretended not to. Even when his mouth kept moving with some ramble about wool quality or rainfall percentages or the way sheep could recognize up to fifty different faces—“scientifically proven, love, I read it somewhere, probably in New Sheep Weekly or the Lancet, not sure which.” Even then, he’d noticed.

And by that afternoon, you'd been banished.

Well—not quite banished. Relocated. Relocated firmly to the old wooden porch swing wrapped in at least three layers of patchwork quilts, a mug of scalding tea in your hands (ginger, lemon, honey—he’d quadruple-checked the ratios), and orders not to move.

“Sinclair,” you croaked from under the wool blanket fortress, “this is ridiculous. I just sneezed.”

“Six times,” he said pointedly, head popping up from behind a small herd of lambs like a disapproving meerkat. His blond hair glinted under the late sun, a straw hat pushed too far back on his head. “Eight if we count the ones you tried to stifle in the hayloft.”

You sighed, nursing your tea. “I work here, remember? You don’t have to do my job and lecture me.”

He was already herding the fluffiest of the ewes toward the pen, still talking. “You used to work here. Now you’re my girlfriend. Entirely different category. No sick days when you’re just an employee, but when you’re someone’s treasured, beloved companion in life’s brief and chaotic adventure—”

“Clair.”

“—you get tea, and blankets, and an absurd number of nose kisses if you’ll ever let me near your face again.”

Your lips twitched.

“You’re doing my job,” you called out after a beat, quieter this time.

“And loving it,” Sinclair chirped back. “Marigold and the twins told me I’m doing splendidly. Didn’t you, sweet girl?” He bent down to stroke one of the ewes, cooing softly. “She says I’ve got a natural herder’s soul.”

“You paid me to do that. You shouldn’t be out there—”

“Nonsense,” he said, waving a hand. “I’d pay double for the privilege of chasing these woolly creatures about if it meant you’d stay put and let me take care of you. Honestly, you’ve been here months, and this is the first time I’ve had an excuse to fuss.”

You tried to suppress a smile, cheeks warming. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I know,” he beamed, already knee-deep in mud, one trouser leg caught in a fence. “Isn’t it grand?”

You sipped your tea, watching him gently scoop up a stubborn lamb and cradle it against his chest like it was made of glass. There was a gentleness to Sinclair that never quite matched his brilliance. He could talk for hours about economic fluctuations, quote poetry from memory, and then trip over his own shoelaces because he got distracted by a particularly soft-looking cloud.

But his eyes—those ever-changing hazel eyes—were always on you when it mattered.

Ever since Natalie. Ever since that betrayal, Sinclair had been cautious. Wary, yes, but watchful. Not possessive—never that—but attuned. Even when he rambled about the chemical structure of lanolin or how sheep recognized pitch in human voices, you knew he was watching your fingers tremble around the tea mug. Clocking the flush in your cheeks. The tired slouch of your shoulders.

And now here you were, bundled up and warm, doing absolutely nothing but basking in the golden hour light, watching your reclusive, sheep-obsessed, softly brilliant boyfriend whisper secrets to his flock while you got to fall in love with him all over again.

“You’re gonna catch a cold too,” you warned, sniffling.

Sinclair paused mid-step, glanced up, and grinned. “Then you’ll have to take care of me. And I quite like the sound of that, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, but the fondness in your chest bloomed like spring through frost. You looked around, letting your eyes sweep across the familiar sprawl of land now bathed in the warm blush of late afternoon. The farm had changed—more than you’d ever admit aloud. Two years ago, it had been barely hanging on, a sheep farm in its final wheezing stretch of breath. The fences were half-rotted, the barns crumbling, the staff overworked and underpaid.

And then Sinclair Bryant had arrived.

He’d driven up in an ancient Volvo and a coat too expensive for mud, stepped out onto gravel in gleaming brogues, and declared—with the sort of breezy finality only a man with millions could afford—that he was buying the place.

You hadn’t believed him. None of you had.

But he had. Bought it outright. Kept the staff—every last one, including you. He didn’t fire anyone, didn’t tear it down to build a wellness resort or some corporate retreat center like everyone feared. No, Sinclair had just... moved in.

The first few weeks were strange. He barely left the main house—some grand, creaky Victorian heap with ivy strangling the brickwork and chimneys that coughed when it rained. He kept odd hours, wandered at dawn in robes and slippers like some misplaced philosopher, and spent most of his time pacing the fields or sitting in the barn with a lamb in his lap and talking.

God, the way he talked.

Not just to the animals—which was bizarre enough, considering he held full-blown one-sided debates with a sheep named Lord Baa-bington—but to you, to the others, to himself. Endlessly. Passionately. One minute it was Greek stoicism, the next it was whether or not sheep experienced envy. You’d learned more about pasture rotation and planetary retrogrades in a week than you had in all your years on the job.

At first, you dismissed it. Chalked it up to rich-people eccentricity. Maybe he’d lost a bet. Maybe it was a tax shelter. You tried not to think about it too much.

But then weeks passed. And he stayed.

He fixed the fencing himself. Badly, but with conviction. Painted the front gate a shade of blue he called optimistic periwinkle. Donated money to the local school, hosted an accidental sheep yoga class (you still didn’t know how that had happened), and learned all the animals’ names by heart. He brought books for the break room. Memorized everyone’s birthdays. Hired a therapist for the overanxious border collie.

And slowly—painfully slowly—you began to understand.

He hadn’t come here to turn a profit. He hadn’t come for prestige or because it made sense. He’d come here to stay.

You’d watched from a distance, wary at first. Always quiet. Always withdrawn. You’d never been the kind of person who filled silences. You didn’t like being noticed, didn’t trust ease. But Sinclair... Sinclair made space.

He talked and talked and talked—and never once asked you to match him. He just... filled the room with his gentle, earnest noise, and let you breathe in it. Let you exist beside it. He didn’t demand conversation. He offered it like bread.

And, somehow, you found yourself changing. Without even realizing it.

Now, as you sat beneath the porch awning, watching him wander through the field with a crooked fence post tucked under one arm and a paperback stuffed in the back of his jeans, you let the moment wash over you.

Sinclair paused halfway through the pasture, his blond hair lit up like a halo in the evening light, and turned suddenly as if sensing your gaze.

“You’re thinking again,” he called, grinning. “Don’t deny it, your face always does this thing when you’re thinking too hard—it’s very serious. Very noble. Also slightly terrifying.”

You raised your brows. “It’s my face.”

“Yes, and I adore it,” he called back. “Even when you’re giving me that look like I’ve just asked if sheep should vote. Which, by the way, not the worst idea—”

“Clair.”

“Yes, love?”

You smiled. “Nothing.”

He beamed at you from across the pasture, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the other absentmindedly petting a lamb that had ambled up to his side. The wind caught the hem of his jumper, tugged it just enough to show the ridiculous sheep-print boxers he insisted on wearing for luck.

And somehow, in that absurdly perfect moment, you realized something simple and true:

You weren’t just grateful he’d saved the farm.

You were grateful he’d saved you, too. Just by being exactly who he was.

Soft. Brilliant. Rambly. And yours.

Later that night, with the sheep finally tucked away in their pens and the sky spilling stars across the quiet countryside, Sinclair Bryant was still fussing.

You sat curled on the battered old sofa in the sunroom, one of his oversized cardigans swallowing you whole, a book open on your lap—though you hadn’t turned the page in fifteen minutes. Not with him pacing the floor like a man preparing for battle.

“Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice low and distracted as he examined the tray he’d brought in. “Chamomile or peppermint? Wait—what did the book say again? Something about antihistamines and natural oils—bugger it, where’s the ginger?”

You sneezed.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just a small, exhausted, perfectly average sneeze.

Sinclair’s head snapped up like someone had just set off a flare in the room.

“There it is again!” he declared, hazel eyes wide with alarm. “You’re not better. I knew it.”

You groaned softly, burrowing deeper into the cardigan. “Clair, I’m fine. People sneeze. It’s a normal bodily function.”

“Not when I’m responsible for your wellbeing, it isn’t,” he replied, rushing over with the urgency of someone delivering an antidote, a fluffy pair of socks clutched in one hand. “Feet. Give them.”

“I already have socks.”

“Yes, but do you have these socks?” He held them up like a magician unveiling a rare treasure. “Cashmere. Purple. Warm enough to trick your toes into thinking it’s July.”

You stared at him, utterly defeated by the glint in his eye. “I love you,” you mumbled, sliding your feet into his lap.

He beamed. “I know.”

As he tugged the socks over your toes—gently, reverently, like you were some recovering Victorian invalid—he started to ramble again. “I read this thing once—well, skimmed it really, I was in a queue and it was printed on the back of a cereal box—but it said colds thrive when people are stressed, so really, your recovery is directly linked to how thoroughly I can pamper you.”

“That’s not science.”

“Could be. If we believe hard enough.”

You sneezed again. He froze.

“Right, that’s it,” Sinclair said, standing so suddenly your feet bounced off his lap. “I’m making the lemon potion again.”

You blinked. “Please stop calling it that.”

“Potion,” he insisted, already disappearing into the kitchen, “because elixir sounded too dramatic, and tonic made me feel like I should be wearing suspenders and selling it off the back of a wagon.”

You could hear him rattling in drawers, humming something that suspiciously resembled the theme song from The Muppet Show. Despite your sniffles and the persistent tickle in your throat, you smiled. He was ridiculous. He was overbearing. He was utterly relentless.

But God, he was yours.

Five minutes later, he returned—triumphantly balancing a steaming mug, a plate of biscuits, and a hot water bottle shaped like a cartoon sheep. “Name’s Fergus,” he said, plopping it beside you with pride. “He’ll watch over you while you rest.”

“I’m not dying, Clair,” you laughed, but you snuggled Fergus anyway.

“I know,” he said softly, settling beside you with a sigh, tugging you gently against his chest. “But every time you sneeze, it’s like my whole nervous system goes into alert mode. You know those ducklings that imprint on the first thing they see and follow it forever?”

“…Are you the duckling in this scenario?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you. “And you keep sneezing, so my instincts are screaming tend! protect! administer honey-based liquids!”

You snorted into his jumper.

His voice dropped to a murmur, breath warm against your temple. “Let me take care of you. Just for tonight. No sheep. No chores. Just you. Me. Fergus the hot water bottle. I’ll even read to you.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him suspiciously. “From what?”

He grinned, already reaching into the pocket of his cardigan. “The thrilling and highly underrated classic ‘The Secret Lives of Sheep.’”

You groaned. “Clair, no—”

“Hush,” he said, flipping it open, clearing his throat with exaggerated pomp. “Chapter Eight: Social Hierarchies in Ewe Groups. ‘Though often underestimated, sheep display a wide array of social—’”

You laughed until you coughed, and he immediately paused, rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Alright,” he said gently, voice still warm with amusement but laced with concern. “That’s enough academic seduction for tonight.”

You leaned against him, the sheep book abandoned on the armrest, your fingers twisting into the wool of his sleeve.

“I really am okay,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But you don’t have to prove it.”

You closed your eyes, the sound of his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The farmhouse creaked softly around you, the scent of lemon and ginger in the air, and the warmth of Sinclair’s arms wrapped around you like a second quilt.

Maybe you were a little sick.

Maybe the sneeze would come back in a few minutes and he’d spring to life like a golden-haired butler hopped up on Victorian medicine ads.

But for now, you were safe.

You were warm.

And Sinclair Bryant—rambling, over-attentive, hopelessly endearing Sinclair Bryant—was exactly where you wanted him to be.

[lucydixon]

The Ties that Bind us All

Euro Masterlist 𐴱 Lords of Chaos Masterlist 𐴱 Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 More Roommate!Reader 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog A/N: Okay, so this is a LOC/Eddie Munson Crossover. I got a request for something along these lines and tweaked it a little. This story takes place in the Roommate!Reader AU. This will be broken up into a few parts, but nothing crazy!! Eddie can't stay for too long, or else it fucks with any other Roommate!Reader fics that occur after this.

Summary: When a familiar face from your past finds you across the world, Øystein gets incredibly jealous and refuses to believe that history will not repeat itself when he learns just how close the two of you were back home.

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, you were finishing up band practice at the henhouse and asked Øystein to wait for you in the car so you could run up to the old house and check for mail. 

Every once in a while, some got dropped off, so you’d made a habit of checking every time you were out in the studio for band practice. 

Sure enough, there were a few letters, and you were beyond surprised to see that one of them was for you. 

You very rarely got mail, but when you did, it was always from the same person. 

When your eyes darted to the return address in the corner and you clocked the American zip code, you couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across your face. 

You tore it open, right there on the porch while heavy rain hammered against the tin roof loudly, and balled up the envelope to toss in the makeshift garbage bin that lived out there. 

Øystein pulled up to the house and shouted a quick ‘hurry the fuck up’ after opening his wondow a crack. 

You’d barely heard it over the rainfall.

Clearly, he’d grown tired of waiting for you and was getting impatient. 

You tucked the letter, along with the rest of the mail, into your coat pocket to keep it dry and ran the short distance to the car. 

The door was locked when you tugged on it, and you couldn’t help but be annoyed about it. 

It took him a moment to realize. 

“Asshole.” You grumbled when you finally fell into your seat, “You did that on purpose.” 

“No, I didn’t.” He snapped immediately, scowling “if you hadn’t taken forever, I would be paying attention instead of being pissed.” 

“So, you admit that you weren’t paying attention!” You exclaimed with a tone that very clearly said ‘gotcha’. 

“Shut up.” 

You rolled your eyes and pulled the letter back out so you could read it. 

The smile was back as soon as you saw the familiar handwriting, and only stretched wider with each paragraph of chicken scratch. 

“What are you smiling about?” Øystein couldn’t pretend he wasn’t interested. You never got mail. 

“A friend from back home is coming to visit!” You grinned excitedly. “My best friend.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” You were so happy that even he couldn’t help but crack an amused little smile. 

“On the 29th,” You hummed thoughtfully, counting on your fingers before huffing out a laugh. “That’s this Saturday! I wonder how long this thing’s been sitting on the porch. I don't think I checked last week, did I?” 

He just shrugged.  

It was nice seeing you excited and happy. It made his chest feel warm. 

But then, it all came crashing down, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. 

“I haven’t seen him in so long, I can’t wait!” You rambled, mostly to yourself, “I wonder where he’s gonna stay? If he already has plans, then great. But he’s never been much of a planner, so he’ll probably end up staying with us.”  

Him?

Your best friend was a man?

In all fairness, you’d been stuck living in a house full of boys the entire time he'd known you, but still.

 

“Is that okay?” You only glanced over at Øystein, oblivious to the vice grip he had on the steering wheel and the hard flex of his jaw. 

“There’s no room.” He reminded you stiffly, but you were too hyped up to notice. 

“He can have my bed.” You waved him off, “Can I borrow your car to pick him up at the train station?” 

“Then where are you gonna sleep?” Øystein had to fight not to growl at you, dreading your answer. 

“We can share.” You waved him off. “So, can I?” 

“Maybe.” He grumbled, “So, what. Is this guy your boyfriend or something?” 

“Or something.” You shrugged. 

That wasn’t a no. 

“We’ve been best friends my whole life.” You smiled softly “We were attached at the fucking hip up until I left.” 

“So you’ve fucked, then.” Øystein snapped, unable to hold back. 

Your head whipped to the side so you could glare at him, finally picking up on his tense posture and gritted teeth. 

“That’s none of your fucking buisiness.” You scoffed despite knowing that if things were the other way around. If he had a girl best friend who suddenly showed up out of nowhere, you’d feel some type of way about it too. 

“I just want to know if I’m gonna need noise-cancelling headphones to block out the sound of the two of you going at eachother.” 

“You’re not gonna need them.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest “There will be no fucking.” 

“But there has been.” It was supposed to be a question, but he sounded so sure that it came off sounding like a statement. “Before.” 

“Well, yeah, but that was ages ago.” You shrugged as if it was no big deal. “We tried it a few times when we were teenagers, but mutually decided that we were better off as friends.” 

Øystein refused to believe that any man on earth was capable of just wanting to be your friend. 

You were too pretty and kind and fuck-

He needed to make sure this guy wasn’t going to swoop in and take you back to America to live happily ever after. 

“I’ll take you to the train station.” Øystein blurted suddenly, “To pick him up.” 

“Okay,” You stretched the word out, your tone full of suspicion and your eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna be a dick though, are you?” 

“No, I’m not gonna be a dick!” He all but snarled. 

“Fine.” You crossed your arms over your chest and faced the road. “Thank you.” 

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ride to the store. 

You couldn’t help but worry about the two boys clashing. They both had big personalities and took on leadership roles in just about every setting. 

Øystein was very clearly jealous, which tended to make him behave like a possessive, dickhead.

You were hoping for some growth, though. 

Things had been peaceful for the most part after your recent move into the store. 

The two of you were finally getting along, and you were a little scared about ruining all that progress. 

You really did like Øystein. Despite his general grumpiness and his tendency to snap at you for seemingly no reason, you’d gotten to see a softer side of him. A side that you could love if you’d just let yourself. 

You didn’t want to make him jealous. 

This wasn’t just some game to you. 

But the relationship you had with your childhood best friend was sure to rub Øystein the wrong way. You’d always been overly affectionate with one another, holding hands or hugging, cuddling up on the couch while you watched movies at night, but it really was platonic. 

There had been a time when you’d both considered the possibility that it could be more than that. That there was some kind of romantic spark between the two of you. After trying out a different kind of intimacy a few times, all that came out of it was awkward, clumsy sex that left you both worried that you’d made a terrible mistake and ruined your friendship. 

It had been an uncomfortable conversation to have, but the relief in the air when you’d realised that he felt the same way was palpable. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. 

When Saturday morning came around, Øystein was in a mood, and you were bouncing off the walls with excitement. 

You were determined not to let him ruin this for you and had been ignoring his sulking for the last few days. 

Every heavy sigh and grumble under his breath left you seemingly unbothered, which just annoyed him further. 

Not a single word was uttered on the way to the station. 

You’d popped a cassette in the tape deck when it became clear that Øystein had made it uncomfortably quiet on purpose and cranked the music up to fill the silence. 

The two of you stood at the edge of the train station platform, propped up against the side of Øystein’s dad’s Volvo. 

He was smoking and deliberately hadn’t offered you a cigarette for the first time since you’d moved into the store together. 

Asshole. 

Before you could dwell on it too much, you spotted a familiar mop of curly brown hair stumbling out of the train and broke out into a grin. 

You pushed off the car and left Øystein standing there as you made your way towards him. 

“Eddie!” You called out to him once you were close enough and started running when his head snapped over in your direction, and he started shrugging off his bag and carefully setting down his guitar case so he could open his arms to you, beaming. 

You threw yourself into his arms and wrapped yourself around him as he lifted you right off the ground and spun you around, squeezing you tightly. 

“Fuck, I missed you” He muttered into your hair when you buried your face in his neck. "I can't believe you're here."

“I missed you too, Eds.” You sighed into his skin. 

And you had. 

You hadn’t realised to what extent until that very moment. 

The smell of Irish Spring and detergent enveloped your senses. The cheap one that Wayne had always bought, then complained he hated. 

You’d always liked it.

Eddie smelled like home. 

You couldn’t be sure how long the two of you stood there, wrapped around one another, but you could feel Øystein’s eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. 

When you pulled back finally, Eddie cradled your cheek in his palm, not quite ready to let go yet. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” You asked, looking up at him with a pinched brow, “Not just to see me, right? You said in your letter that you were already coming.” 

“There’s a label that liked my Demo.” He shrugged, standing so close that you could feel his breath on your forehead. “I came out to see if I can get signed, maybe get into a studio somewhere and record.” 

“That’s great, Eddie!” You beamed, “Didn’t know anyone out here was into heavy metal like that.” 

“Said they were trying to branch out.” Your friend explained, “I kind of had to come out, though. You fell off the face of the earth, Sweetheart. Where the hell have you been?” 

You couldn’t hold his gaze, so you dropped it down to your shoes. 

You’d been good at sending letters when you lived up at the house. 

He usually got a response after a week, two at the latest. 

But you hadn’t written in months. 

There was no tapering down or anything of the sort. Just radio silence on your end. 

“I-” You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the words. 

“Hey,” Eddie's finger hooked under your chin to force you to look at him.  “What’s wrong?” 

The worry in his eyes was almost too much to bear. 

“Um,” You cleared your throat, “You know my roommate? The one who, uh-” 

“Pelle?” He frowned. 

God, he remembered. Of course, he remembered. Eddie had always been so fucking attentive and you were so glad because you weren’t sure if you could finish your sentence. 

“He killed himself.” Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, eyes darting up to the sky in an attempt to keep them from falling. “I found him and it was-” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, and a tear slipped, rolling down your cheek. 

Eddie was quick to wipe it away. 

“It was bad.” You forced yourself to finish. “Eddie, It was so fucking bad and I spiralled, hard.” 

“Oh, honey,” you could hear the sadness in his voice. As if he were trying to take it from you. To bear some of its weight as he pulled you into his chest. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I should’ve called you.” You breathed shakily into his vest, “I’m okay now. I have been for a while, and I should’ve at least written you. I’m so fucking sorry, Eddie.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He muttered into the top of your head. “I’m not mad or anything. I was just really worried, sweetheart.” 

It was taking everything in you not to fall apart in his arms right then. 

The two of you stood there until you could pull away and not burst into tears. 

It felt like hours, but it could only’ve been minutes. 

Øystein would have come over there if you were taking too long, and he hadn’t. 

“So,” you wiped any stray tears from your cheeks and looked up at Eddie, “What’s the plan? Have you got somewhere to stay?” 

“I booked a hotel.” He nodded, brushing your hair out of your face before collecting his belongings. “Thought I might have to look for you a bit.” 

“That must’ve cost a fortune!” You looked horrified. “And the plane ticket? Jesus, Eddie, now I’m really sorry.” 

“I was gonna come anyway.” He shook his head. “Label, Remember? I had a little money squirreled away.” 

“Right.” 

“I’m actually planning to swing by their office this afternoon. You know, let them know I’m serious and all that.” 

“Do you want a ride?” You offered, nodding towards the brooding metalhead glaring at the two of you at the edge of the station. 

“Let me guess,” Eddie raised a brow, “Øystein?” 

A laugh bubbled out of your throat as you nodded. 

Clearly, you’d painted an accurate picture in your letters. 

“He’s not so bad anymore,” you led the way back to the car. “We’ve bonded.” 

“He looks like he’s waiting to deck me in the face!” Eddie groaned. “You didn’t tell me your boyfriend looked like a serial killer.” 

“Eddie!” You grabbed his arm and made him stop so you could look up at him with wide eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend! Don’t say that out loud.” 

“Why’s he so pissed then?”  He started to sigh, but then a knowing look took over his features, signed with a teasing smirk. “Ohhhhh, I get it. He wants to be your boyfriend, doesn’t he? Or maybe you want him to be your boyfriend?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck Øystein wants.” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. It wasn't lost on him that you hadn't commented on the second half. “Listen, it’s complicated. There’s a lot I need to catch you up on.” 

“Like,” You side-eyed your roomate/bandmate/occasional flirt “A lot.” 

Eddie just chuckled and promised quietly that he wouldn’t use the word boyfriend at all on this trip.

Despite the teasing look on his face, you knew he wasn’t going to deliberately embarrass you. 

“We’ll drop you off at your hotel, and you can do your thing. Wanna meet up later, and I’ll give you a debrief? There’s a bar by my place.” 

“Perfect.” Eddie sighed in relief. 

He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if you were standing there waiting for him to get off the train. 

“Øystein.” You called out to him once you were within earshot. There was a slight tone of warning in your voice: “This is Eddie.” 

“Eddie, Øystein.” 

Eddie held a hand out for him to shake, but Øystein just blinked at it, unimpressed. 

“Don’t be an asshole!” You hissed, jabbing him in the ribs with your elbow. 

He ignored you too, and got into the driver’s seat. 

“Dick.” You muttered under your breath, looking up at your friend apologetically. 

“It’s okay.” 

You could hear the tension in his voice that very clearly told you that it was not, in fact, okay. 

But he’d do anything for you, and if that meant he had to let your asshole ‘not boyfriend’ drive him to his hotel, so be it. 

He was just happy to see you. 

Øystein didn’t say a word the whole ride, and it was making you increasingly angry. 

He’d promised not to be a dick. 

Yet, here he was, 

Being a dick. 

The closest thing to conversation you got was a half nod when you told him which hotel Eddie was staying in. 

You tried to ignore him and asked Eddie about your friends back home and his Uncle Wayne, struggling not to smack the driver upside the head. 

The whole time, all Øystein could think about was how you’d held eachother. 

He’d never seen you so excited, and to know that it was someone else making you happier than he ever could had cut deeper than he thought it might. 

The way he’d spun you around like it was some fucking romantic movie irked him. 

The hand on your cheek stung. 

But what had really gotten him was when Eddie had tilted your head back. Øystein had been so sure that he was about to watch you guys kiss. 

That one, he’d felt like a knife in his gut.

Instead, he was pretty sure that he was watching you cry.

And then came another hug. A moment of comfort that he couldn’t offer you. 

He knew it had been stupid to go with you to the train station but, at the very least, he wasn’t at home wondering if you were fucking your secret boyfriend in the backseat of his dad’s Volvo. 

By the time he rolled to a stop outside Eddie’s hotel, you were fuming. 

The air inside the car was full of tension and Eddie, ever the shit disturber shot you a mischeivious smile and planted a wet, loud kiss on your cheek before getting out of the car. 

“I’ll see you later, Sweetheart.” He said loud enough for Øystein to hear, and ducked out of the car before you could so much as blink.

“I should’ve just asked Jan to borrow the van.” You muttered angrily when the car pulled back onto the main road. 

You weren’t far from Helvete. 

Walking distance really. 

You could just get out of the car and walk back. 

But you didn’t.

“Why, so you could slide a mattress into the back of it for your little reunion?” Øystein snarked, very clearly not understanding just how upset you were. 

“Øystein.” Your jaw flexed with the effort it took not to lose your shit on him “You promised me that you wouldn’t be a dick.” 

You sounded far too calm. 

He hated it when you did that. 

It made it clear that you were at the end of your rope, and it freaked him out every time. 

It was better when you yelled. 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. God, You’re such a fucking asshole.” You shook your head, looking out the window until he pulled up in front of the store. 

You didn’t even wait for him to come to a complete stop before getting out of the car and storming into the store. 

The door slammed shut behind you, and you let out a little frustrated groan, stomping your foot like a toddler.

You’re cheeks warmed when you turned and saw Faust staring back at you from behind the counter, looking awfully amused. 

“It’s not funny.” You grumbled, shuffling past him to flop down on your makeshift bed. “He’s being a prick.” 

“Are you okay?” The boy’s face was flecked with concern when he saw that you were genuinely upset. “What did he do?” 

“He was just rude as fuck to Eddie!” You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face to block the light and muffle your loud huff. “After insisting on coming with me!” 

“Eddie?” Faust frowned, and you lowered the pillow to squint at him. 

“You know, the friend I was picking up this morning?” 

“Oh. I thought your friend was a girl?” 

“Øystein knew!” You sounded exasperated. “He knew, and I told him that nothing is going on with the two of us, and he still acted like an asshole, even after promising that he wouldn’t.” 

“I told all of you when I was talking about it yesterday!” You remembered, even more frustrated as you groaned loudly. “Does anyone ever listen to me?” 

In all truth, you’d been wearing a low-cut top the night before, and he was pretty sure that his eyes hadn’t left your chest the entire time you’d been talking, apart from flicking up every few seconds to make sure you hadn’t caught him. You weren’t talking to him directly, so he only listened up to ‘so my friend is coming out’. 

Usually, he listened. 

Hung onto your every word. 

But you’d caught Jan staring just a few minutes before and just rolled your eyes, so he figured that he was allowed too. 

Now, he could see that he’d focused a little too much of his attention on your tits. 

“Too much beer, maybe.” He muttered, averting his gaze as his cheeks warmed. 

Øystein stormed through the store and into his office, slamming the door behind him, drawing both of your attention. 

You scoffed, and Faust frowned.  

Jan showed up with beer a couple of hours later, and you sipped yours from your bunk, quickly forgetting about how angry you were at the man locked in the back of the store. 

You were with your friends and had plans to see Eddie in a few hours. Øystein being a dick was nothing new, and didn’t matter. Everything was fine. 

As long as Øystein stayed the fuck behind that door, there wouldn’t be a problem. 

As it turns out, you were focusing on the wrong door. 

You didn’t flinch when the bell above the front door chimed. The conversation going on around you continued, and you were engrossed in it until you heard a familiar voice. 

“Uh, I’m looking for Euronymous?” 

“Eddie?” You pulled yourself to your feet and looked just as bewildered as he did.

“What are you doing here?” You both spoke at the same time, and both Jan and Faust shut up to watch. 

Occultus was still talking, but Faust shoved him hard enough to snap him out of it and pointed towards the two of you. 

Someone flicked off the music blaring through the speakers. 

“Looking for Death Like Silence.” He frowned, brows pinching together in confusion. “Do you work here?” 

“Sort of?” You grimaced, realizing the wasn’t caught up on the whole you living inside a record store thing. 

“Why are you looking for-” You cut yourself off, eyes widening with realization. “Oh.” 

The label he’d flown all the way to Norway for. 

He’d been writing back and forth with Euronymous.

And now, he was looking for him, not knowing that they’d already met. 

“What?” Eddie didn’t like how freaked out you looked. 

“Why is it so fucking quiet out here?” Øystein emerged from the back office, already looking annoyed. 

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath. 

“Eds,” You gestured towards him awkwardly. “Meet Øystein Aarseth, better known as Euronymous. Founder of Death Like Silence.” 

“Øystein, I give you, Eddie Munson, which you would have known if you were paying attention at all this morning.”

Part 2

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us