#Tide the Water-speaker | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlelamy · 1 month ago

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Request: Maybe Rafe and Reader have been dating for awhile but his cocaine addiction is getting worse and he thinks she is to pure/good for him, so in order to ''save her'' knowing she won't just leave if he tries to break up, he says he does not love her.......cue to him saving her when she is about to get hit by a car (but happy ending)

a/n: thank you for requesting!!☺️💕 pngs from @saizun

the moon hung low in the dark sky, its silver glow painting the beach in a cool, otherworldly light. the stars above flickered like distant candles, barely visible against the ink-black horizon. you knelt in the damp sand, your breath clouding in the chilly night air as you carefully cupped a baby turtle in your hands.

the little creature’s legs flailed against your palms, desperate to reach the sea. its determination was a stark contrast to the ache in your chest that hadn’t dulled in the two weeks since rafe cameron had shattered your world.

“this way, little guy,” you whispered, placing the turtle closer to the waves lapping gently at the shore. you sat back on your heels, the water soaking into the hem of your pants, and watched as the tide carried the tiny creature away.

you felt at peace in moments like this—away from everything, especially the memories of rafe.

but peace never lasted long when it came to him.

rafe sat in his truck a short distance away, his fingers twitching against the steering wheel. he shouldn’t have come here. seeing you again, after what he’d done, was a mistake.

yet here he was.

from where he sat, he could see you crouched on the sand, your figure illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. you looked serene, your hair tumbling over your shoulders as you reached toward the water.

he clenched his jaw. he didn’t deserve to look at you, let alone love you.

but it didn’t stop him from being here.

two weeks had passed since he’d told you he didn’t love you anymore. two weeks of torturing himself with the memory of your face—hurt, confused, desperate to understand. he’d lied because he thought it would save you. because he thought pushing you away would keep you from sinking with him.

instead, it had only made him sink deeper.

on the seat next to him, a bag of cocaine lay unopened. for once, he didn’t even want it. what he wanted was impossible—to turn back time and undo the damage he’d done.

his stomach churned when he saw the headlights.

you heard the rumble of an engine before you saw the headlights sweeping across the sand. you turned your head, squinting against the glare as the vehicle sped closer.

it was a blue jeep, its music blaring loud enough to drown out the waves. your stomach twisted when you recognized it.

topper.

the bass from the speakers shook the air as the car barreled toward the shoreline, its tires kicking up clouds of sand.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, standing up. you waved your arms, your voice cutting through the night. “hey! slow down!”

the jeep didn’t stop. instead, it swerved closer, the headlights making it nearly impossible to see.

your heart hammered as the car bore down on you, its speed relentless.

rafe’s blood ran cold as he watched the jeep hurtling toward you.

it didn’t take much to guess who was behind the wheel. ruthie and topper had been drinking all night—it was obvious from the way the car swerved recklessly across the sand.

the jeep was getting closer, and you weren’t moving.

“goddammit,” rafe hissed, throwing his truck into drive and flooring the gas.

the sound of tires skidding on sand drowned out the crashing of waves.

the jeep’s headlights blinded you, freezing you in place like a deer caught in a trap. your legs refused to move, your breath caught in your throat as the car sped closer.

“y/n!”

the shout snapped you out of your trance, but it was too late. the car was almost on you.

suddenly, a solid force slammed into you, knocking you off your feet. you hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from your lungs as sand scraped against your skin.

the jeep swerved at the last second, speeding past with a deafening roar and disappearing down the beach.

you lay there, stunned, the world spinning around you.

“baby! are you okay?”

you turned your head and saw rafe kneeling beside you, his face pale and drawn, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon.

“rafe?”

“you could’ve been killed!” his voice shook with anger and fear.

“i—what are you doing here?”

“are you serious right now?” he snapped. “i just saved your life, and you’re asking me that?”

his hands were all over you, checking for injuries. the touch was rough, desperate, and achingly familiar.

“i’m fine,” you muttered, sitting up slowly.

“you’re not fine,” he shot back, his voice cracking. “what the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the beach like that?”

“i was helping the turtles!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“turtles?” he stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “you almost died because of some turtles?”

“why do you even care?” the words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and laced with bitterness. “you don’t love me, remember?”

rafe froze, his expression crumbling.

“y/n…”

“no, don’t. you don’t get to act like this after what you did.” tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “you don’t get to pretend like you care.”

“i do care,” he said, his voice raw. “i never stopped caring.”

“then why did you say it?”

“because i thought i was protecting you!” his voice rose, echoing over the waves. “i thought if i let you go, you’d be safe from me. from all of this.”

“rafe—”

“no, listen to me.” his hands cupped your face, his blue eyes searching yours. “i didn’t mean it. any of it. i said it because i’m a coward. because i didn’t want you to see what i’ve become.”

tears spilled down your cheeks, blurring your vision. “you didn’t have to do this alone. i would’ve helped you.”

“i didn’t want you to.” his voice cracked, thick with emotion. “you’re too good, y/n. too good for someone like me.”

“that’s not your decision to make,” you said, your voice trembling. “you don’t get to decide what’s good for me. i do. and i chose you, rafe. i always chose you.”

his thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. “i don’t deserve you.”

“then be someone who does,” you whispered.

he closed his eyes, his forehead resting against yours. “i don’t know how.”

“we’ll figure it out. together.”

the words hung in the air between you, fragile but full of hope.

for the first time in weeks, rafe felt like he could breathe again.

“i love you,” he said, the words breaking free like a dam finally bursting. “i love you so much, and i’m so sorry i ever made you think i didn’t.”

you pulled him into a hug, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. he held you like you were his lifeline, his anchor in the storm.

“i love you too,” you murmured against his shoulder.

the night stretched on, the waves crashing softly in the background as you clung to each other. the future was uncertain, but for now, you had each other.

and that was enough.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl l @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

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luvtak · 7 months ago

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if you had forever, lfx x reader

✰ genre/tw fluff! a little hurt comfort? kisses, pet names, unedited <3

✰ w/c 1197

✰ hi my loves!! this one has been in my docs for six weeks now loll and as yesterday was my 21 birthday I felt now was the perfect time to post it!! i love you all 🤍

The air was hot, starting fires on your skin where the water didn’t touch, rising up and down your calf as the waves came and receded. Even with your eyes closed you could see it, blue green water rushing closer and closer until it falls back, that familiar shhhh rising in your ears as the salt-water reaches your legs. Skin sticky from sand and sunscreen, goosebumps rising on your thighs… cold water running down your legs like your lover's hands. Your friends sing along to the music flowing from half-broken speakers, a simple pop song from your childhood that everyone knows the words to.

You can hear them singing along, voices mingling together as they follow the chorus–good, bad, and gravelly; the song of summer.

Even from the outskirts of the party, you can feel the joy seeping into your sun bitten skin, mingling into the bluesy sadness that’s crept up on you. All the laughter, all the smiles remind you of fuzzy pictures of adolescence, here one day gone the next. Days just like this, nothing but a photo in a long forgotten album, waiting for this one to join them.

Your boyfriend is around here somewhere, enjoying the salt air and the fast-paced sound of his youth. You came here together, but you haven’t seen him since your first drink–about three drinks ago. He’s probably somewhere with Chris or Jisung, getting into trouble… He’s probably having the time of his life, smiling that smile that rivals the sun, and giggling at his friends. He probably looks beautiful.

It’s this reason why you’re yearning for him, staring into the wide expanse of the ocean and begging for him to show himself soon. The last drink seems to be working its way through your veins with the unwanted guest of melancholy; tainting your blood with the familiar fear that this will be the last time you do this. If Felix was here he’d hold you close and smile away the doubts, he’d remind you that as long as he loves you there’ll be beach days and good friends, oceans and laughter. If Felix was here, you wouldn’t be so sad, but you can’t seem to find him.

You’ve always been adept at the blues, wearing your sadness like it was a career rather than a fleeting feeling. Anxiety pooling in your belly like a sick desire for the worst to come, worries tickling your tongue, and pounding through your brain. The feeling eating at you now is one your know well–it’s the sinking acknowledgment of time moving, the melody of birthdays and holidays past, a happiness that is so diluted with sadness that the joy barely exists.

It's hard to explain why blue skies and your friend's voices make you sad, maybe it’s the tide turning… A siren song reminding you to hold them close. You wish you could find your boy, bury the listless worries into his chest, and rise again clear headed.

Countless minutes have passed by, just staring at the water, watching the waves pull in and ease itself back out. Breathing in and out in time with the tide, one with the living sea.

You hear him before you see him, the quick steps through the sand and his deep breath alerting you to his presence. The one person you wanted to see, staring at you like it's not your heart he’s made a home out of, like you’re just a pretty girl he wants to take a bite out of.

He’s devastating to look at, gorgeous and dreamy like a prince out of a storybook. A boy so beautiful he must’ve been born from the sun; radiant and blinding, and somehow he belongs to you.

The stars are peeking over the waves now, blinking down at you like his eyes when he first wakes up; the friendliest constellations you’ve ever seen.

“What’ya doing all the way out here?” his voice, brings a warm pool of light to sit in your gut. Oh how special this boy is.

“Nothing, just needed a couple seconds to myself.” you say.

“Does that mean you want me to go?”

“Never.”

Felix’s eyes, impish and fairylike, are alight with mischief. He’s looking at you like he’ll trick you and tease you and make you fall in love with him before the sun comes up, as if you weren’t already. His body hasn’t moved an inch, made no move to touch you, yet the way his gaze rakes over you mirrors all the times he’s felt your skin before. You can almost feel him, wrapping his hands around you and settling his rosebud smile down your neck.

With catlike grace, he moves closer, settling himself down next to you in the sand, and still he won’t touch you.

“Did you get sad again, Honey?” he’s slightly slurring, sliding one word into the next, but the warmth in his voice pierces your heart. You’re not sure how to answer, was it sadness? Really you think you missed him, yearned for his company in such a silly way that sucked all the happiness out of your lungs; took too many shots of nostalgia without his hand to hold and had to sit down.

“Just a little, but it’s better now that you’re with me.”

“My love, I’m always with you.”

You’re shocked, not for the first time, at the casual way he confesses his love to you. Speaking words of romance as easily as muttering off a grocery list–It’s the sincerity that gets you, the full body awareness that this is the truth.

At once, your arms slide over his shoulders and rest against his neck; breathing in the assurance that his scent gives. He responds in seconds, so fast you think this is what he’s been waiting for–waiting to touch you until you grasped for him. His hold is tight andeverything you’ve ever wanted, and his heart is beating so fast.

In his kiss is every wish you’ve ever made, safe and seductive all at once.

“I love you so much” murmured in between kisses, and you don’t know who says them. All you know is the feel of his lips on your skin–the spellbinding way he unspools you, untangling anything else but him from your mind.

There's no way you can go back to the party after this, covered in sand and kisses; drunk on Felix and his liquid courage, yet no part of you longs for home. You would stay like this, breathing his air and warming his bones.

If you had forever, every day would be like this–in love and dreaming into him. If you had forever you’d double not his veins to yours and live inside his skin… If you had forever, every moment would be this kiss.

Yet time keeps moving, and eventually the sand cools and the music is turned down. Felix moves away, close enough his nose swipes against yours, but far enough you can’t catch his grin. He’s smiling that perfect smile, the one that sinks ships in your belly and brings home to your heart.

“Should we go home, My love?” he asks.

And who are you to refuse him?

#k-labels #felix #felix fluff #felix x reader #skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #felix scenarios #felix drabble #stray kids images #lee felix #lee felix x reader

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velvateen · 1 year ago

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beach day with zoro! (zoro x reader)

you and zoro spend a lovely day at the beach!

no pronouns used :)

warnings: fluff ⭐️

You huffed out with the weight of a few too many bags as you emptied the car of your stuff. Your sunglasses slipped down off your head over your eyes, while you were relieved of some of the weight you held.

“Need help?” Zoro asked, grabbing nearly everything from you. You peered up at him through your disheveled sunglasses and he laughed, turning to walk toward the boardwalk that led down to the beach. You followed him, umbrella in tow, starting to get excited for the fun afternoon ahead of you two.

The sun bore down as you chose the perfect spot and set up a blanket and the umbrella, right in front of his condominium complex, the beach relatively empty of other people.

“Man, it’s hot,” you wiped your forehead, “I’m gonna go to the water, be right back.” You stripped of your cover-ups and walked to the edge of the tide. You stared down, watching as sand drifted under your feet, too distracted to hear the dull thump of running feet coming from behind you.

Zoro crouched and picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder with ease, and continuing his sprint into the blue water. Your squeal of surprise quickly turned into a fit of giggles as he slowed down from the waves pushing against him. Your laughter was cut off soon, however, when he reached a deep enough spot to fall, taking you right down with him.

When you both surfaced but before he could recover, you lunged at him, tackling him back down. You laughed, choking slightly on the water that had managed to get up your nose. He stood up, shaking off his defeat with a smile, opting to tread over to where you stood.

“Off to a good start,” he said. You turned and smiled at him, deciding to walk back to the shore.

You dried off and laid down, opening your book and queuing some quiet music up on the speaker as Zoro laid next to you, falling asleep almost immediately in the warmth of the sun. After a while had passed, a half hour if you had to guess, he woke up to you still delved further into your book. He smiled as he looked at you, and you felt it, looking up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, closing his eyes once again before getting back on his feet. “Gonna walk a little.” It could’ve been the sun, but his ears looked pretty red. Rolling your eyes, you returned to your book. The sun was finally getting to you too, it seemed, as you decided to close your eyes.

A quiet shuffling behind you woke you up from your brief rest, and when you turned to look, Zoro was crouching at the edge of your blanket, looking like a deer in headlights. It definitely was not the sun this time. You scooted over to what he was doing, and he sat next to you.

He collected a bunch of shells and had arranged them for you in the sand.

“I know you like the smooth ones, and the red ones, and the ones with holes in the top so you can put them on necklaces,” he mumbled, looking away from you, “I thought you’d like them.”

“These are so cool!” you oogled at the collection, and it was an impressive one at that. “Zoro, there’s no way we can take all these home, did you leave some for the rest of the beach?”

He chuckled. “I know we can’t take them all, just thought you’d wanna see them. There is one I think we should keep, though,” he held out his hand to you and dropped what felt like a small stone in your open palm. When he pulled away, a sizeable round chunk of green sea glass sat in your hand. Your eyes lit up.

“No way! No way!” The excitement in your voice was enough to bring a smile back to his lips as he watched you hold the foggy green piece up to the sun.

“How did you find this,” you asked, eyes gleaming with happiness. He shrugged, and you reached around his neck and pulled him in to kiss his cheek. “You’re the greatest.” He leaned into you and rested his head on your shoulder, watching your hands fumble with the sea glass. He yawned.

“Nap time?” His yawn was contagious.

“Yeah.”

After gathering your things, you proceeded to walk back to the condo parking lot to drop off the beach supplies. You sighed, the hot summer heat finally getting to you, the cool relief of the air conditioner hitting you as you and Zoro walked into the condo.

“I’m gonna shower, then you’re gonna shower, and then its nap time.” He nodded in agreement, words long driven away from the excessive heat.

After he got out of the shower, he found you crouched over the kitchen table, messing with some thin string. He leaned over you, warming the air around him and you breathed in the refreshing smell of his body wash.

“Look!” You had figured out how to entrap the sea glass in a small web of string, and showed Zoro your handiwork. “A necklace! Cute, right?” You looked up. He took the necklace from your hands and tied it around your nape.

“Very.”

You stretched and yawned, standing up and walking into the bedroom. The cool sheets fell nicely against your frame as you settled in, Zoro joining you, eyes drooping with exhaustion. He moved next to you, pulling you against his chest as he finally closed his eyes. Your hand fiddled with the necklace as you looked at your sleeping lover, a smile crossing your face as you let your eyes close for a quiet afternoon nap.

_____________________•.*_____________________

A/N i’m probably the # 1 believer that zoro is a sweetheart. i hate when people make him the meanest guy alive >:( i don’t think he has the emotional capacity to be mean if he wanted to LOL he’s simple 😽

guys leave me requests i have no ideas i just keep writing about the things i do every day as if zoro is there too. which isn’t creative it’s bonkers. anyways toodles

wait not toodles i was listening to dionysus by the buttertones while writing this. if you even care 🙄

#one piece zoro #op zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro imagine #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #modern au #one piece modern au #zoro fluff #fluff #PLEASE GIVE ME IDEAS AND REQUESTS PLEASE OMG PLEASE

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bectoshi · 5 months ago

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you lead, i'll follow - akaashi keiji

:: you thought you were used to akaashi's surprises for you, but this one's the best.

miniseries masterlist

akaashi keiji loves to tell you that he knows a spot.

and it is exactly those all too familiar words that come out of his mouth once he notices you becoming bored of watching the waves repeatedly ripple over your bare feet.

“c’mon, i know a spot.”

the sun glows red above the horizon as the stretch of ocean ahead reflects back the changing pink and lavender hues of the sky. the loud tide overpowers any surrounding noise, allowing only murmurs of faraway conversations and the soft tunes of a distant speaker to be heard.

but akaashi’s words reached your ears loud and clear.

you’re well aware of the fact that you’d follow wherever keiji led, as you've done many times before. so it comes as no surprise when you step back from the shore, with him helping you slide your sandals back on before turning your backs to the water and heading up the beach.

it’s only a short drive up before keiji pulls over and parks alongside the quiet freeway.

the sand is long gone from your feet and keiji’s hand grips yours as he guides you up the wooden steps. a brick walkway with shops lined on either side of it sat at the top.

the stars slowly uncover themselves from their day of hiding. the sky is now a cool shade of indigo and dim streetlights lit up the empty footpath ahead, illuminating the way the small business owners flip the signs on their doors from reading open to closed.

keiji still has your hand encompassed in his as he continues along the path, paying no mind to its residents going about their evening.

eventually you reach a clearing and your view of the sky expands. akaashi looks at you, waiting hopefully for your approval. his expression uncertain.

and the sight is absolutely gorgeous. you’re on a grassy cliffside, the beach now well below where you stand, and the rotating beam of a lighthouse shines on you momentarily before sweeping away again, soon to return.

“oh my god, keiji. it’s beautiful,”

"yeah. it is." you're still looking at the sky, so you don't notice how akaashi's eyes don't move from your face as he agrees.

“this used to just be my spot. but i want it to be ours, if you’re okay with that?” his tone is unsure, though he has no reason to be.

“yeah?" you tear your eyes away from the view to find him already looking at you.

"yeah. it's ours."

you have the cliff summit all to yourselves when he pulls you closer into him, sharing his body heat as the evening air becomes cool. you stay there, watching the scenery until nightfall finally takes over, completely enveloping the sky.

“so, same time next week?”

#akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji #akaashi fanfiction #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #akaashi #hq akaashi #haikyuu akaashi #beachmaxxing with bectoshi

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dollsvampi · 29 days ago

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Echoes of the Tide

Frank Castle x Reader

Description: Haunted by emotional wounds, only to seek solace in Frank's arms longing for a path to healing. [Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Life, Emotional Vulnerability] (Pet names used: Baby, Darlin') [No use of Y/N]

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Familial Dysfunction & Guilt, Emotional Distress. (3.2K words)

A/N: First post ever lol bare with me. I didn't like this sitting in my notes on my phone so why not share

Every once in a while, you reach that breaking point—a moment where everything feels too heavy to bear. A dull, residual numbness settles in, aching deep in your chest. It feels unbearable, as though your mind is trapped in an endless cycle—spinning aimlessly before crashing into an invisible wall, only to start again. You're stuck, caught in a loop with no way out.

Is this what shutting down is?

Only a few words passed between you and those around you it was hard to connect when you didn’t feel like yourself. It was as if you were caught in plunging, rushing water, one foot forward and the other behind, your body twisted mid-motion with arms outstretched, grasping for something to hold onto. You couldn’t take another step; your hips frozen, your body trying but failing to move forward. Instead, you were drowning in an endless tide of swimming thoughts, unable to tear your gaze away from the weight of the past.

No, it wasn't often you felt like this, but it was inevitable feeling overwhelmed and hollow, from the weight of the trauma of it all. Just thinking about or seeing your family can bring on a wave of triggers. Most of the time you check on them and it simply brings dread.

Sitting on one of the kitchen island stools to prep a few things for dinner, your brows are slightly furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Frank is polishing and cleaning his guns. He had a direct line of sight of you, studying you cautiously. He noticed each and every little thing about you. "Baby, you alright?" Frank didn't want to push—testing the waters. He didn't want to outright inquire; How come you weren't yourself? How come you didn't strike up a conversation? How come you aren't laughing? How come you aren't playing music?

The poor man thought back to his own actions—had he possibly done something wrong or forgot to do something? Glancing up from the scattered ingredients, you manage a faint smile, "Yeah." He didn’t believe you, but then again, neither did you. Your family, though—they would have, without question.

"I was thinking..." the vigilante, sharp and observant, piqued your curiosity. You hummed in acknowledgment as he went on, "We should eat outside and finally test out that hammock we got."

You thought some fresh air might be nice as you cleaned up the kitchen island, "Sounds good." Frank rose from his seat, heading off to store his guns, but paused. He walked over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his free hand lightly squeezing your hip, "Alright, I’ll go get started outside."

Once the food was prepared—delicious and fresh—it was carefully arranged in its respective containers and plates, ready for the little backyard feast. Frank quickly cleaned off the table and chairs before setting up the hammock. Propping it up was effortless—it was a sizable design made for two. The framed canvas, adorned with pastel blue stripes, even came with a matching pillow.

It took several trips to retrieve the food, beverages, and utensils. Frank assisted with the final touches of setup, including bringing out the speaker you have. He handed you his phone almost immediately after turning it on and connecting it, "Go on, play music."

You'd shared your playlists with Frank long ago; he knew exactly what music helped you unwind and relax. He needed you to be at ease. With a few taps on his phone, music began to play softly through the speaker, loud enough to fill the atmosphere but quiet enough for conversation. Frank wanted to bring up the subject, but he held back. He knew you well—when you were upset, your appetite was the first to go, which he didn't want. Patience came naturally to him when it came to you, so he decided to wait for now.

Sitting down and fixing each other's plates, you look around the backyard. The hammock was a nice addition, "Hey that hammock is not bad." He hums, as he glances where you are looking, "Easy to install too." Your eyes don't stray from the space as Frank begins to eat, "We really should get some shade, some trees would be nice."

The man was going to town on the food, which brought a smile to your face. "I wanted to put up the canopy tent, but some trees would be nice darlin'," he was subtle in his reasoning. You could definitely use some sunlight with the way things have been. He gestured with his hand, "We can get some smaller ones, and add on to the garden."

Frank is a man who resolved your words were law. As the both of you continue eating, you give it a good thought to how plans should be. "Yeah, maybe a decent-sized one, right at the edge where the small field begins." He followed your eyeliner yet again, "Perfect, anything my baby wants."

Lowering your gaze slightly you shook your head. Whatever he was doing was working, the sweet-talking, the way he had said it with conviction fulling meaning what he had said. The music in the background is a way to ground you. What had been circulating in your mind is distilling. You were now able to talk about what had been going on, you aren't completely shut.

Maybe you caught on—it was a sweet gesture. Yet, your thoughts still lingered on your family… how something so simple could never be accomplished with them.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in comfortable silence. Your gaze wandered, taking in the surroundings—the chirping of distant birds, the slow drift of fluffy white clouds across the sky. As you closed the lid on the bowl, your focus shifted, flitting between the patches of grass and the outhouse door, until your eyes began to glaze over.

"You haven't said much all day darlin', what's on your mind?" Frank's eyes were steady on you, and you had to get it off your chest. You couldn't tell him that it was nothing. It would be wrong not to. How was he supposed to understand if I kept holding back?

'Secrecy has a way of evolving—sometimes into something different, and other times into something far worse.' Frank had told you, almost in passing, as if it were a lesson learned from his own experiences. He’d seen how secrets, no matter how small or harmless they seemed at first, could twist into something darker over time. He spoke from a place of understanding, the kind born from years of keeping things buried—things he’d witnessed, things he’d done, and the weight it left on him. You knew he wasn’t just talking about others; he was speaking from his own scars.

Taking a deep breath, after so long being submerged you've breached the surface. "It's just- I don't know what to do... or feel with my family," you couldn't settle your eyes on him just yet. "With these people, it's this guilt, the sense of loss and not belonging. The exclusion they do or just the pure disfunction... it's a lot of things Frank."

He could see how it took you a lot to get to voice this, "That's a lot to carry and even worry about." There were brief mentions of what you had endured, and it really did anger Frank because you didn't deserve that.

"I know I've mentioned but all this stress is inevitable especially how they live out their life. At times I do believe I'm the burden. It's-" You do gesture you often make to stop yourself from crying. Frank knew what you were about to say and immediately cut you off. "It's not your fault, baby. Look at me... look at me." He moves his chair to sit closer to you placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's not your fault." You meet his eyes as tears begin to form in yours. "There you are, breath okay."

Frank grounded you as you focused on your breathing, steadying yourself. Finally, you continued, "Every time I check in or see their posts, I just feel like such an outcast. It’s a reminder that I can never truly be myself around them, and if they ever found out, it’d turn into a whole mess." You can practically hear the comments and insensitive remarks.

"Forget about what they might say, baby. Just be yourself." His voice was steady, resolute. He would defend you without hesitation, daring anyone in the world to challenge you or your worth.

"I know, Frank. With the way my family obsesses over their image, it’s almost impossible not to absorb some of it. All they ever do is critique others. Minding their own business is the last thing they’d consider. They love to nitpick, always searching for the smallest reason to argue or stir up drama." As you spoke you could feel the way he was gently squeezing your shoulder, his thumb moving soothingly.

"That’s not on you, though. You don’t have to carry their baggage or let it shape who you are. Let them exhaust themselves with their nonsense—none of it changes the fact that you’re better than that." He shifted slightly, his hand still on your shoulder, and his gaze softened. His movements were slow and deliberate, with a sense of calm assurance.

Culture played an important role, with traditions deeply ingrained across generations, creating an even greater sense of immersion. The idea that some individuals were unwilling to embrace new perspectives, choosing instead to cast others out, was a harsh reality.

You sigh, placing your hand gently over his. "This is why I feel bad. I mean, it's not entirely their fault either. I see how they choose to live their lives. It makes me feel like I should be doing something to help. But their world just revolves around their beliefs."

He says nothing at first, but his hand moves to hold yours, as if he is carefully considering your words. Finally, he speaks in his consistent, no-nonsense tone, "You cannot bear their burdens for 'em. All you can do is make your own decisions, ones that will keep you standing. If they can’t see that, that’s on them, not you." Frank leans in slightly, realizing that you're still torn. "I get it. You're worried about what they'll say or do if you stand your ground. But you cannot continue to live in fear of their judgment. You've already carried enough for them. You have to put yourself first."

His words hit harder than you had expected, sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. There is natural hesitation, your chest tightening, as if you were in cold harsh water. You try to push down the gnawing feeling of guilt. That fear still lingers, like a shadow you can't outrun.

You glance down at your intertwined hands, resting on your thigh, as if they can offer some relief, and in the rhythm of the music that envelopes the both of you.

You couldn’t help but think about how they’d always handled things—like when your boundaries were crossed, or when your choices didn’t align with theirs. It was never about understanding or compromise, but about control and making sure you fell in line with their beliefs. The idea of standing up to them felt like a storm waiting to break.

"It still eats at me. Every time I see them, it’s like the facade falls into place. We all act like nothing was ever left unsaid—thanks to my parents, I guess. They’re the biggest hypocrites I know." You squeeze Frank’s hand gently. "I was made to believe my problems didn’t matter, that my family had enough on their plate, so why add more? There are things I still don’t know about my own family, things they’ve kept from me. And it makes me wonder—am I even worthy of knowing? Am I not family?"

Frank scoffs, shaking his head. "Christ." He knew that tactic all too well the 'don't say anything to protect either party.' It was a way of keeping everything buried, even if it meant pushing the pain aside. He got an even clearer picture of your constant restraint that kept you from truly speaking your mind. The aftermath of emotional scarring has left its mark, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Uncertain if Frank would say more, you felt the urge to continue. "I have to force myself into a certain mindset whenever I visit... and prepare for the possible worst, just in case. That's what has been eating at me most of the time, even taking sleep away. It certainly was worse when I was younger."

Frank acted without hesitancy as usual. He was all too familiar with bracing for the impact of something that never felt safe. "You shouldn’t have to do that. No one should have to armor up just to face their own family." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes hardening in his seriousness. "But no matter how hard it gets, you don’t have to face it alone. You’ve got me. What did you do to keep your head straight, huh?"

The question brought a faint smile to your face—a real one, the kind that had been absent for far too long. You nodded toward the speaker playing your favorite tunes. "Listening to music. I had to distract myself however I could. Sometimes, I’d read or write down the things I wanted to say but—" You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, your chest tightening at the way he's so close to you, and outright providing you with unwavering warmth.

Frank reached up, cupping your face gently with his free hand. "It’s okay, baby. Let it out if you need." His voice was steady, but his gaze searched yours, piecing together what you’d shared. He could see how writing had been more than a distraction—it was survival. A way to give your thoughts a voice when no one else would listen.

You huffed a bitter laugh. "And that’s when I think—if I could just open my mouth and defend myself... but I never know how to say it right. I wish I really knew how to articulate what I feel to them." Your hand tightened around his wrist, grounding yourself in the comfort of Frank’s steady touch. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, a silent reassurance that he was there.

You lowered your gaze to your lap, the words catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. Frank’s jaw tightened, his heart sinking at the pain etched across your face. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would put you through this, why they’d leave you carrying such a heavy burden. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

The silence was pierced as you dropped your hand from his. "And to be real honest with you, Frank..." your voice trembled, and your lip quivered as you tried to keep it together.

His heart breaking at your vulnerability.

"I—I wouldn’t want you to go through that... to see it happen," your voice cracking under the weight of the admission. Tears welled up, and before you could stop them, a helpless cry escaped your lips. You turned away, trying to hide your face in your hands, but it was too late.

Frank exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as if willing himself to take your pain away. Then, with the utmost care, he let go of your hand only to pull you into a firm, grounding embrace. "C'mere," he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

You buried your face in his shoulder as the sobs overtook you, his presence the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely. One of his hands moved soothingly up and down your back, the occasional pat adding a silent rhythm of comfort. "Let it out, baby," he whispered, pressing the side of his head to yours.

Frank held you as though shielding you from the weight of the world, his jaw tightening as he listened to your cries. It hit him hard—how selfless you were, even in your pain. You’d been so considerate, worrying about how your situation might affect him when you were the one left battered by it all. The thought of you constantly lying, draining yourself to keep the peace, or worse—standing up for yourself only to be torn down again—cut him deeply. "

"'S okay," he said softly, his voice a firm anchor. "I've gotcha baby. 'S okay."

You cried into his arms until the tears subsided, leaving you drained but calmer. Slowly, you regained your composure, sniffling softly as you leaned back to meet his gaze. Frank’s hand was already there, gently wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks.

"I love you so much," you murmured, your voice still shaky but full of gratitude. You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the comfort of having someone like Frank by your side.

"I love you," Frank's tone filled with conviction. His arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the world. "I’ll always be here for you," he added, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to your cheek.

The tenderness of his words made your chest ache in the best way, and you fought the urge to cry again—this time out of happiness. Tilting your head back a bit, you let your gaze drift to the yard.

"Ah, shit," you muttered suddenly, catching sight of something.

Frank raised an eyebrow, already poised to ask what was on your mind.

"We really should try out that hammock," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Frank burst into a deep, genuine laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest and catching you off guard. You turned to him, grinning as you joined in his laughter. Before the moment could pass, he leaned in, closing the space between you and placing soft, lingering kisses all over your face, his affection as natural as breathing.

The weight you’d been carrying felt just a little lighter. You couldn’t help but lean into him, letting the laughter fade into a quiet peace. "Let’s go," Frank said softly, his lips brushing your temple before he pulled back, his hand still resting at the small of your back.

Together, you rose, the promise of something simple yet meaningful—like testing out that hammock—feeling like exactly what you needed.

The hammock swayed gently beneath you, cradling you like a soft ripple on calm swift waters. It was steady, unlike the turbulent currents that had once consumed you. Where your mind had felt like it was drowning in endless waves, here was something solid yet pliable—a quiet buoy against the storm.

Frank beside you, his presence like the anchor that helped you beach. The two of you settled into the rhythm of the hammock's sway, the soft creak of its frame blending with the distant chirp of birds. The past felt far away here, as if it couldn’t touch you in this cocoon of stillness and warmth.

For the first time in a long while, the tide in your chest seemed to ebb, leaving behind a strange but welcome calmness.

#frank castle x reader #Frank Castle #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic #frank castle comfort #the punisher fic #frank castle imagine #frank castle hurt/comfort #bye i wrote this like two years ago and finally decided to post something on here #DollsvampiWrites

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mushiemellows · 7 months ago

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Frinbei fic budding in my brain but it’s just them getting really protective over the fish tank’s maintenance

Like I already hc Franky as A Fish Tank Guy (you don’t build an aquarium like that without going down a rabbit hole or two in your life) so I think he’s already really careful about like. Saline levels, nitrates, algae blooms, coral growth conditions. The workshop’s below the lounge so he has easy access to the pumps and filters just to make sure nothing breaks down.

And then post-Wano Jinbei shows up and is properly impressed by the tank (as he is with almost all of Sunny) and he starts asking to get involved with the maintenance. And Franky’s excited because no one wants to help with it, he has to usually force Usopp to help or just do it himself. And he’s a little wary about the new guy overstepping, but he puts Jinbei on Inside Glass Squeegee Duty for a week just test the waters. Pun intended. But at the end of it, the tank’s never looked nicer. The glass is sparkling, the filter’s running clean, the substrate’s been changed out. Jinbei’s diving into the sea to find new grasses to plant and extra fish to support the ecosystem and the whole thing is just thriving.

Franky’s just sitting on the other side of the glass at the bar watching him work, eyes wide, a little turned on by Jinbei in just his swim suit, totally appreciative that someone sees what he sees in the project. They keep an extra eye out when they find tide pools and look for sea stars to fill the tank with. Someone Usopp accidentally throws some of those snails that reproduce like the devil in the tank on accident and they spend weeks trying to clear baby mollusks from the water.

The aquarium flourishes as they work on it together, and Jinbei starts to use a corner of it as a meditation space. Sometimes they leave the entrance hatch open so the sunlight can shine through and they both work inside the tank at the same time. Franky’s trying to figure out how to install underwater speakers. And maybe they kiss in the bubbles idk I don’t make the rules

#the people can’t get on board with frinbei because they are afraid of two dads kissing #frinbei #the imagery is simply too powerful #just did a quick Google #the Atlanta whale shark tank is six MILLION gallons wow #I’m not saying Jinbei lives in the aquarium he just likes to sit in it #the water displacement when these two go in at the same time would be wild tho

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wisted-twunderland · 1 year ago

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TWST boys go to the beach!

Heartslabyul

Ace: Challenges Deuce to a game of beach volleyball that ends up turning into an all out war that lasts the majority of the day

Deuce: He imagined coming to the beach and enjoying the sun and the surf for a relaxing time, but those dreams quickly dissolved when Ace began talking smack and challenged him to beach volleyball.

Cater: Doesn't care about the activities as long as he gets THE PICS. Volleyball shot, a selfie with a watermelon slice, and of course a moving sunset shot. #summer #NRC #nightravens4lyfe

Trey: He's like the dad of the group and everyone who forgot to bring sunscreen and doesn't want to buy it double the normal price from Azul goes to him. He lays on the beach under an umbrella and yells things like "Don't go too far out" every so often.

Riddle: Doesn't know how to swim, so he sits on the beach and hopes no one finds out he can't swim. Eventually Azul can't stand to watch him stew any longer, and gets in the water with him to teach him a few basics.

Savannaclaw

Leona: Naps in the sun on a beach towel until Lillia hovers above him and dumps a bucket of sea water on him. Leona chases him for a while, but eventually it is decided that a game of chicken in the water is the only fair way to settle this.

Ruggie: Once his empty tupperwares have all been filled with edible seaweed (it's nutritious OKAY) he enjoys roughhousing in the water. Sits on Leona's shoulders for the game of chicken.

Jack: Joins Deuce's team for volleyball doubles. Eats an insane amount of watermelon. Everyone asks him how he got such a sweet beach bod and he's very embarrassed.

Octavinelle

Azul: Comes to the beach with zero intention of getting in the water. He walks up and down the beach surveying the area for potential secondary Mostro Lounge locations. Eventually settles under an umbrella with a drink and fields work phone calls. Offers bottled water and suncreen to his classmates at double the store price.

Jade: Comes to the beach not in a swim suit, but in his outdoor gear. He spends the day hiking the hills and cliffs around the beach to "observe the flora and fauna."

Floyd: Changes into his eel form and has a great time popping out of the water to scare people or pulling them under by their ankles.

Scarabia

Kalim: This guy loves a day at the beach and will participate in all of it. Wants to sit on Jamil's shoulders for a chicken fight but Jamil firmly declines, no matter how much Kalim begs and pleads.

Jamil: Brought a speaker to listen to music while soaking up rays. He calls Kalim in every 2 hours or so to reapply his sunscreen. (He also brought extra water if you need some.)

Pomfiore

Vil: It's rare for him to spend a day at the beach outside of a photo or film shoot, and he comes fully protected from the sun with a hat, coverup, parasol, the works (skin cancer and premature aging are no joke, especially in his line of work). All of this goes out the window however when Ace antagonizes him into joining his team for volleyball doubles.

Rook: Marvels at the beauty of the sea, and especially remarks on the glistening beauty of youthful friends together on the beach during a fleeting summer and what a beautiful and treasured memory it will become. (???)

Epel: Really really wants to be part of the manly chicken fight, but Rook and Vil won't pair up with him. Ends up collecting pretty shells on the beach to give to his mom and his meemaw.

Ignihyde

Idia: He comes, but only because he wants it to be just like the beach episode of every anime ever. Brings the watermelon for the watermelon smash (which Jack smashes in one hit, to Idia's great dismay). He keeps going on about a cave down the beach that's haunted and something about a test of courage, but no one really gets what he's talking about.

Ortho: Excited to enjoy the beach, as his latest model of body is completely waterproof! Ends up being the only person going to the cave with Idia at low tide (Idia only goes a few feet in before he gets spooked, but assures Ortho that he will "definitely do it next year").

Diasomnia

Malleus: Arrives to the beach wearing a wetsuit that goes from wrist to ankle (everyone is collectively underwhelmed). Doesn't participate much, but observes all of the various human beach activities. Secretly enjoys himself immensely.

Lillia: After what he did to Leona he ends up on Sebek's shoulders for a chicken fight. Once it's all over he relaxes on the beach with a chilled tomato juice, as befits an older gentleman.

Sebek: He doesn't really understand why or how Lillia ends up on his shoulders, but as soon as Lillia says something about it being to "defend Lord Malleus' honor" Sebek is all in. Really gives it his all to win the fight of chickens so Malleus will see his victory and praise him (he doesn't).

Silver: falls asleep on the beach before applying sun screen and ends up burned (but not completely, as Lillia had written "I <3 my Dad" across his torso in sunscreen at some point).

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the-sky-queen · 6 months ago

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THE BOY!!! I noticed that the Splash sketches I made were getting pretty smudged in my sketchbook, so I inked and colored them! :D

#Sky Queen #Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic AU #sonic prime #sonic prime au #With Great Power Comes AU #Splash the Hedgehog Son of the Ocean #No Place Sonic #Torrent the Retribution #Tide the Water-Speaker #No Place Shadow #Oceana #art #traditional art #my art

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lilkrissmuffett · 27 days ago

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Tithonus Aeternus

Perfect Cell/Fem!Reader

NSFW. Approximately 4,800 words.

This was a request from a lovely anon :)

Read it on Ao3 here!

You had never believed in love at first sight.

Hell, you doubted you would ever experience true love at all, let alone have faith in something so…childish. Romance was a foreign concept, a magic word plucked straight out of some fairy tale— far removed from the cruel reality of your maddeningly dull existence. Such fantasies had no place in the real world, you thought, convinced that every person you met would just break your heart. The gods only knew you’d had your fair share of time spent picking up those pieces; prickly shards sticking in your skin like tiny splinters of glass, difficult to see if not for the pain.

Pain. Suffering. Debilitating dread for the future that lay ahead.

This was all you knew.

…Until you saw him.

You’d practically dragged yourself out of bed that morning, blinking blearily at the cheerful sunlight invading the slats between your dusty blinds. Steeling yourself for another long day of enduring your thankless receptionist job, you ground the heels of your palms into your sleep-crusted eyes until you saw spots, forcing yourself more securely past the waking threshold. The commute to the small dental practice in downtown West City was an absolute pain in the ass even with a semi-reliable car, but at least the pay was just enough to keep up with the rent on your tiny apartment and put food in your belly.

Pulling your fluffy pink bathrobe a little tighter around your bare shoulders, you shuffled your slippered feet into the kitchen to prepare a meager breakfast that might tide you over until your lunch break. After pouring some boiling water over a bowl of chalky-looking instant oatmeal, you plopped down on your creaky old futon and switched on the TV to catch whatever miserable news was occurring that day. How many innocent people had vanished without a trace during the night, only to leave a pile of rumpled clothing behind? You weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

In the past week alone, maybe less, multiple towns in the surrounding area had reported record-breaking amounts of missing persons cases, a few of which were either completely abandoned or evacuated altogether. You wondered just how long it was going to take for this bizarre epidemic to reach your own pathetic little village. Hey, at least it would save you from having to deal with all of the screaming children, the shrill whine of the dentist drill that could pierce your eardrums bloody even from behind the barrier of a noisy waiting room.

But the top story which greeted you this fine morning had come completely unexpected. Even as you flipped through the few stations that the cheapest cable package could provide, you found that you were inundated by the exact same image no matter what channel you landed on…a face to be precise, and a handsome one at that. Confused, but morbidly intrigued, you lifted your finger off the button and dropped the clicker, settling against the cushions to listen to this man’s speech, taking solace in the steaming aroma of comfort food wafting up from your lap.

At least, the mysterious speaker certainly appeared human at first glance…though truthfully, he was far too beautiful for you to consider him anything less than a deity. His name was Perfect Cell, he announced in a smooth, commanding voice, practically turning the already bland oatmeal to ashes in your mouth. He had wings like an angel, black as obsidian, and wore a pointed crown upon his head; resembling a prince from one of those old stories you resented with such vehemence. And those eyes–! You could’ve sworn that Cell’s penetrative, magenta gaze could see right through the cracks in your weary little heart…only to shatter it all over again with a charmingly devilish grin.

Oh, you were done for.

You didn’t even care what he was saying, or why he was saying it…all you knew was that you had to meet him. Witness such perfection for yourself, so that maybe you could say you had experienced something truly beautiful for once in your meaningless life. With your breakfast so quickly forgotten on the coffee table, you slowly crawled down to kneel on the rug with your robe hanging limply off your shoulders, your figure haloed by the cold, impersonal glow of the TV screen. Just…staring— drinking in everything that he was, imagining what it would be like to touch him, to run your fingers over that immaculate, ivory expanse of flesh between the elegant column of his throat and shoulder. You could see the finely-honed muscles twitch, either in excitement or agitation you knew not which. The way the definition of each tendon in his neck created a sinful hollow, shadows that dipped down into the junction between a pair of equally elegant clavicles.

Now you were salivating like Pavlov’s fucking dog, drooling at the mere idea of being close to something…someONE…so utterly flawless. You wished that he would swoop through your living room window and fly you straight to the moon. He could even crush the life from your body with his bare hands, collapsing your lungs before the vacuum of space could do the job for him. Despite all this, surely you would die happy having known his presence, however fleeting.

Worth it.

You stayed just like that through the remainder of what would soon come to be later known as the infamous ‘Doomsday broadcast’, eyes half-lidded and glazing over, trembling hands resting in your lap, resisting the urge to reach out and brush away the lines of static that threatened to obscure your beloved’s perfect features. Near the end, your ears perked up when Mr. Perfect Cell revealed the precise coordinates of where he would be waiting. Exactly what he was waiting *for* mattered not in the slightest as you frantically scribbled down every word he spoke onto a napkin, partially stained by coffee creamer. The delicate paper ripped several times in your haste, but you could thankfully still read it (sort of) when all was said and done. GPS would tale care of the rest.

In fact, you were so wrapped up in your blossoming infatuation with the monster, you barely registered the blast from Cell blowing a massive hole in the wall of the TV station with a lazy wave of his hand, the deafening sound clipping the audio of every microphone in the newsroom. Even the terrified cries of the numerous casualties he left in his wake were nothing compared to the frantic beat of your hopelessly twitterpated heart.

Much to your relief, the ensuing chaos that erupted throughout the city ensured that nobody would give a shit if you didn’t bother to call in sick that morning. After all, you had much better things to do. Bigger fish to fry, so to speak. Or maybe a bigger bug, you giggled to yourself, clutching the steering wheel of your old junk-box a little tighter. Veering off the beaten path towards a secluded grassland smack dab in the literal middle of nowhere.

That was all little more than a month ago, before Dr. Gero’s greatest creation achieved the ultimate victory at his own sinister game; hardly above flouting the rules and playing dirty to get what he wanted, despite his self-proclaimed perfection. You stood on the sidelines— the only one spared amongst the bodies and bloodshed littering the arena— and you watched, powerless yet rapt with fascination, as Perfect Cell descended upon the feeble populace of Earth like a one-man plague of locusts.

“Eat up, sir.”, you urged gently, nudging the plate closer to his spot at the table, only to be met with an icy silence. You frowned, having gone through a lot of trouble to procure enough ingredients for this dinner, wanting to make it special. Fresh meat was hard to come by without having to hunt down the damn cow yourself, and even basic produce like potatoes and carrots were a rare commodity now that most supermarkets were nothing but hollowed-out ruins, crawling with looters. Just one side effect of the collapse of society as you knew it. But despite it all, you put in the effort for him, you always did. To cook for him, feed him with your love. Your body. *Everything* was for him. It was the least you could do after he brutally murdered the family who once occupied the house the two of you now shared, gifting you a much finer home than you could ever have dared to dream of. You had to be grateful.

After all, what was left for you on the Earth’s rotting carcass but the angel of death who destroyed it?

Arms folded, stony expression barely glancing at the food, Cell’s upper lip twitched in mild disgust. You gave an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes towards the chandeliered ceiling. Never mind the fact you had never even seen the bio-android consume anything beyond whichever poor soul’s liquified innards he violently sucked up through his tail. You had wanted so badly to please him, and now the stubborn cicada was, well…he was just being himself.

“Pleeease? It’s gonna get cold…”, you tried again, taking a nibble of your own much smaller portion to show him what he was missing. Cell remained unmoved, only cocking his head slightly. Almost as if to say: You’ve got to be kidding.

“I don’t care if it’s cold or as hot as your planet’s pitiful sun, I refuse to ingest this…this human slop.”

“Please just try it…just one bite? Then I’ll leave you alone.”, you promised, fixing him with a certain pleading look, those irritating, sad-puppy eyes he’d come to detest for how horribly soft they made him. He grimaced, resisting the urge to grab you by the hair and smash your cute little face into the table…but he supposed he did like you better with recognizable features.

“Ugh, very well…”, Cell grumbled, picking up the knife and fork between slender fingers, pale as the fine china dish in front of him, “If it will shut that insufferable little mouth of yours.”

You couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that curled across your lips as Cell took a tentative bite of meat, a swift dilation of his pupils the only indication that he liked the taste. A tiny bit of dark juice dribbled down his chin as he chewed slowly, eyes narrowing as he instantly realized how wrong he had been.

“Tolerable.”, he reluctantly admitted, contemplating another bite even before he swallowed the first. A purple tongue flicked out to clean himself before adding a bitter: “At best.”

You knew he was lying, his programming wouldn’t let him. So you just scooted your chair closer to his, laying your cheek against the hard surface of his bicep, pleased as punch. Hungry for his approval.

“Soooo…I really did a good job then~?”

Cell huffed air through his nose, a non-committal sound that could’ve read as either dismissive…or ‘yeah, I guess.’

“Come on, then…tell me. You know how much I like when you say it.”, you prodded further, your tone almost cloyingly sweet as your hand slipped onto his thigh beneath the table.

Granted, it hadn’t taken much for Cell to warm up to you yourself, let alone your cooking— or at least, find you entertaining enough not to immediately vaporize. He thought it rather amusing that you had trekked all the way to his reclusive arena just to bask in his greatness like some insipid fangirl, and your little ‘crush’, as you had so quaintly put it, only piqued his curiosity. Your feelings were obviously of no consequence, but the novelty of having an obedient plaything to toss about and take advantage of…it was far too tempting to simply ignore your advances.

“Really, human…did you not say you would leave me to eat in peace if I—”, he started, a slight, impatient growl creeping into the already deep rumble of his voice. He tried not to let his body react, but the way your fingers teased at the uber-sensitive violet flesh nestled in the crevice where his armored groin and thigh met…he all but jumped out of his seat. Even more delicious, the implication of Cell’s desire to continue eating his meal despite the lukewarm reception was not lost on you.

“...if you say it, sir.”, you finish his sentence, well aware how much it would annoy him.

The android’s insectile wings began to vibrate, a low, ominous buzz behind the back of his chair. A surefire sign of his growing agitation. However, the way you continued to manipulate him beneath the table told a very different story. Cell calmly (or tried to anyway) set the fork down, peering down his nose at you in disdain. (Again, the keyword there was ‘try.’) His respiration quickened as your small hand caressed the shiny armor plate protecting his genitalia, allowing you to savor the feel of the smooth, chitinous surface softening underneath your touch. He knew exactly what you wanted him to say, how much you craved his sweet praise like a drug in your veins…but he was Perfect Fucking Cell, for Kami’s sake. He wasn’t going to let some lowly vermin get off that easily- or at all, for that matter. You would serve him properly and thank him for even letting you have the privilege.

And besides- tonight, like every other night since the two of you met, was all about him.

Faster than you could protest, he snatched your delicate wrist in a squeeze that made your fingers tingle, screeching his chair back so roughly that it was bound to scratch the floor.

“Presumptuous little fool…”, Cell hissed, his words cracking like a footbridge bearing too much weight. He probably needed this just as much as you did, judging by the way his inguinal carapace was already spread open, hot and leaking a clear, syrupy fluid. And oh, you could feel the prize that awaited you, slowly emerging, unfurling to its full, majestic length between your trembling fingers. Your mouth watered and he could practically smell your desperation.

It sickened him, how repulsive these base human desires could be.

“What makes you think you’ve earned it?”

You glanced up at the question with an innocence that made his face flush; the same shade of indigo that your numb fingers had begun to turn in his punishing grip.

“N-nothing, Mister Cell! B-but I…I can—”, you whimpered meekly, inevitably cowed by his raw, sexual aggression. It was all he needed. A cruel grin split across his gorgeous face, the only warning you would receive before being yanked clean from your chair and shoved to the floor at his feet. “Oh, no, no, my dear…” he chuckled, long legs shifting apart as he leaned back expectantly, making himself comfortable while also creating room for you to work.

“You will.”

How sweet you looked on your knees.

Compliant and willing, those pretty lips wrapped around his shaft like warm velvet. Cell’s cock was milk-white and obscenely thick, tapering to a sinewy, almost tendrilled shape at the lavender hued head, a florid blush of color that would only darken like a bruise upon reaching peak arousal. His entire length was covered in its own self-lubricating mucus, slimy and vaguely sweet to taste as you licked a stripe up the underside. Relishing every throb and twitch against your tongue, each muttered praise or growl of begrudging approval, you only sought one goal: to chase his pleasure.

“Mmm…so eager now, are we?”, Cell practically purred as you peppered a trail of wet kisses further south, watching with lazy interest while you lapped at the sensitive folds that surrounded the base of his member, “Filthy woman…you’d probably lick human waste off the ground should I ever command it.” Dipping your tongue inside just to tease him, your hand fell to stroking him up and down with a sure and possessive grip.

“Ahh, y-yeah…if it pleases you, sir…”, you murmured, lifting your head to happily resume slurping away at the android’s huge, pulsating cock like it was your last meal. Saliva and mucus oozed from the suction of your mouth to drizzle onto your heaving breasts, soaking through your shirt in the process. But Cell didn’t mind the mess. You would be taking all of him soon enough, though the question of which hole had yet to be decided. For the moment, he was more than happy to indulge your appetite, greedy pet that you were.

“Enough.”, he clipped, finally tiring of using your mouth after a few more minutes had gone by. Playtime was over, and now he was ready for a different kind of release. “On your feet, little one. Undress for me.”

Even with virtually no hesitation to obey on your part, Cell’s impatient nature won out, eyes flickering dangerously before he lashed forward. Sharp nails hooked into the collar of the t-shirt you typically wore as pajamas, suddenly ripping it open at a downwards angle. The tattered remnants hung open uselessly, baring your fragile human form to his gaze.

It was a good thing you weren’t wearing anything underneath, lest you risk subjecting yourself to another swipe of those claws.

“Ah, look at this~”, he cooed, almost pitying as his hand snaked between your quivering thighs, “And here I was going to make you beg…but it seems your body has already told me everything I wanted to hear.”

Cell’s large palm cupped your aching heat, marveling inwardly at the embarrassingly wet and needy state he could reduce you to. So adorable.

So pathetic.

“Come here…that’s a good girl.”

You barely registered the sound of those two little words you’d been longing for, drowned out by a cry of surprise as Cell dragged you forward with two fingers jammed up your cunt, his thumb applying torturous pressure to your clitoris. A sharp breath hissed through his teeth, feeling your snug inner walls cling to his digits like a vice, sucking him in. You grasped onto his powerful shoulders in response, attempting to steady yourself as the unexpected pleasure made your knees buckle.

“Hah! You certainly are a peculiar one, darling. Surprisingly durable for such a weak little worm…”

He drilled his fingers deeper, uttering an attractively nasty laugh at the pained whine it earned him. Positioned on two feet like this, tenuous as that stance may have been, you stood at just about eye level with Cell. It was an intimidating view, your small frame situated between his legs with his hand buried firmly between your own. The lewd squelch and slosh of his pumping fingers did precious little to quell your rising desire for the monster who had ended the world, yet there was no shame in the hectic color that painted your cheeks…nor the lust that dripped down your thighs.

“Yes! I-I’m weak, I…Cell, you- you make me this way…”, you confessed awkwardly, dropping the formal title he never really made you call him in the first place. What need did he have for petty human honorifics when he already had one throwing herself at his mercy?

“Cute…”, he muttered under his breath, capturing your mouth in a forceful, demanding kiss. Devoid of any real affection, it was meant as a simple display of ownership- a claim on your body that he marked with his teeth, digging into your lower lip until you both tasted blood.

“Alright then, my little *weakling*…”, he said, pushing you back against the table so abruptly you knocked over his untouched wine glass, a mistake that might’ve earned you a sharp slap were it not for the more pressing matter at hand. However, with the plans he held in store for you, perhaps be could afford to show a modicum of kindness.

Rising from his seat with a grace that belied his hulking, biomechanical frame, Cell leaned down to whisper hotly in your ear, rocking his hips against yours in a languid non-rhythm. His next words were frightening in their sheer dominance, nearly making you forget to breathe.

“Show me how you break for me.”

Slippery fingers worked their way into your obediently-parted mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue until you squirmed, fighting not to gag as Perfect Cell proceeded to fuck you right there on top of the dinner table. His pace was hard and unforgiving, tireless as the very machine he was birthed from. He hovered in mid-air, achieving the optimum height and angle to drive himself as deep as possible. Using you like a toy, he pounded your drenched pussy while his one free arm pushed your thighs so far back towards your chest that you feared he might accidentally snap you in half. Every thrust made him groan from how tight you still were, how inviting your contorted body remained despite the abuse it had endured.

“Hahh…You take me so well, my dear…Always so, mmnh…accommodating.”

“I…I try my best. I’d do anything for you…Anything. Just want to…wanna be yours.” you panted softly, your small voice muffled as you suckled on his fingers like candy. He was getting close now, but far from wanting the moment to end.

A rare, gentle peck of the lips graced your forehead, swelling your heart with joy. How could it be that the one person who understood you, the only man you ever truly loved, however brief…was no man at all? A heady cocktail of pleasure and euphoria fuzzied your thoughts as your own climax approached like an errant wave, and you found you could do little but succumb to its power, letting it wash you away.

“Aw. That you would, kitten…That. You. WOULD.”

One powerful cant of his hips had you screaming his name as you came hard enough to see a full galaxy of stars flashing behind your eyelids, his cockhead nearly piercing the yielding softness of your womb. You thrashed beneath his weight as your body spasmed, pawing at the pointed crests of his crown in an attempt to hold on for dear life. But Cell just flipped you over onto your belly as easily as if you were no more than a doll (or a corpse) the flexibility of his member allowing him to stay fully sheathed in the process. Evidently, he wasn’t done with you.

Not yet.

“Now that you mention it, there is something I’ve been wanting to try for a while. Something I’ve only done, say…twice before.”, Cell mused thoughtfully, a wistful air in his tone that hardly matched the brutality with which he continued to violate you. Past the point of overstimulation, and barrelling into outright agony, your pelvis and the tops of your thighs smashed into the table so roughly that the squared, wooden edge began to bruise and cut into your flesh. “To be quite frank, I suppose I never found you all that deserving of such an honor. But you’ve really stepped up your game this evening…and proven your commitment to perfection.”

A single claw traced the delicate arch of your spine, making you shiver in anticipation of the new game your lover wanted to play. But as you turned your head to peek over one shoulder, you were horrified by the sight of Cell’s elongated tail, swaying back and forth like some kind of venomous serpent. The needle-like stinger dripped with the same lubricant that coated his length, and every muscle in your body seemed to clench at the realization.

“Wh-what…what are you going to—”

Confusion and panic began to take hold, settling into the pit of your stomach like a heavy blanket. Cell savored the change in demeanor, your tight hole milking him like the good little cockwarmer he expected you to be.

“Mmm…Not that your consent has ever been a factor, love, buuuut I should warn you~ This is probably going to feel a tad...uncomfortable.”

Suddenly, his hands snuck underneath your arms, hoisting you up so that your back was flush with his broad chest. Nuzzling his nose along your neck, he moved to lift one of your legs, ankle dangling limply in the air while he slammed into you even harder. By increasing his speed, he sought to test the limits of his own impressive stamina. After all, what he was about to do next would take some time, and patience was a muscle he seldom exercised.

“Don’t be afraid…”, he growled, the tip of his tail hovering closer, too close to your face. His free hand grasped hold of your chin, tilting it up so that you could watch it swish and undulate, the motions mesmerizing. “You expressed your desire to belong to me, did you not? Well, here’s your chance.”

Right before your very eyes, the narrow end of Cell’s stinger expanded into the shape of a funnel with an alarmingly wet, meaty-sounding stretch, casting a shadow over you both. You stared helplessly up into the dark, sticky void of your fate, unsure of his intentions.

“Woah, woah, wait! Cell, you’re not gonna, like…eat me, are you? Like those poor people in Nicky Town…a-and Ginger Town?”, you asked, trying and failing to sound like you weren't absolutely pissing your non-existent pants in terror. But the android just giggled, downright giddy to be able to share this intimate experience with you. He was holding back so much now, the urge to fill your insides with his seed becoming as intense as his mounting need to devour you whole.

“Oh, of course not…though I’m sure you’d taste deliciousss.”, he added with a deep-throated rasp which unknowingly hearkened back to his imperfect days, “But no. I’m simply going to make sure you and I are never apart, even after I’ve finally eliminated this…nnnghh…revolting little mudball of a planet.”

“But I don’t under—”

Cell quieted your feeble complaints with a finger to your lips, his own covering your neck in uncharacteristically sloppy, fervent kisses. He couldn’t exactly say this was love, especially since he would be hard-pressed to even define such an abstract concept. But maybe the closest approximation was this hunger, this relentless compulsion to keep you near him. Always.

"Shhhh…I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and accept this- my final gift to the only human worthy enough to receive it.”

Pure darkness enshrouded you in that moment, hot and suffocatingly tight. It squeezed the air from your lungs faster than you could fill them back up again, and before long, you began to fade.

Further and further away, you were falling.

You weren’t even sure if Cell actually finished inside of you or not, because if he did, you never felt it. All you knew were the strong arms of oblivion, tenderly cradling you in its embrace until you reached the bottom. And through it all, even from deep inside that lightless, undying abyss…

You could hear his laughter, and it was the most beautiful song you’d ever heard.

“Nice and cozy in there?”

With no voice to respond, you could only listen. And wait.

“Good girl. Just hold on, love. We’ll be leaving this place...very soon.”

You heard everything that came after: a massive explosion, a burst of energy and heat that you could only sense the barest remnants of, given your limited faculties. Until there existed nothing beyond the silence of vast, empty space and Cell’s triumphant voice, echoing like a clarion call throughout your mind. Declaring yet another victory.

You were impossibly small now, but so safe inside. Just where you were always meant to be.

Surely that could be counted as a victory in and of itself.

Having discovered your true purpose in life and death alike, sleep found you at last. Everything that you used to be was now a mere speck of debris caught in the beat of Cell’s wings as he took off for another world to conquer, perhaps a new toy to bend and break. Just as he had done with a certain little human whose naive obsession had led to her own demise.

But that hardly mattered. Not even if you were replaced, or slowly forgotten with time. Nothing mattered anymore now that you were together. Free to follow your love into the ‘happily ever after’ you never believed in, you found your faith restored. Even as you were fully digested and absorbed by the god he’d become.

Now, you could be at peace.

Now, you were perfect.

#mister perfect cell 💚#perfect cell #dragon ball cell #my writing #ao3fic #ao3 link #thanks for the ask!

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sionisjaune · 1 year ago

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Part 2 of the problematic sebcedes polyamory by which i was consumed this afternoon:

The aftermath of the failed threesome is as follows: Seb spends Saturday evening watching Taskmaster with Lewis instead of dropping him off at Nico’s apartment, and he is awoken the following morning (read: the crack of dawn) by a spectacular blowjob. Lewis beckons him out of bed with promises of smoothie bowls and granola. Seb likes these things, but not as much as Lewis does. He wonders whether Nico gets this treatment when Lewis sleeps over there.

By 5:30 a.m., Seb and Lewis are on the way to the beach, Seb in the driver’s seat and Lewis blasting ENNY from the stereo speakers. When they arrive, Lewis changes into his tiny swim trunks behind the car, and Seb strips down to his boxers. It’s fucking freezing, and the sun is just peeking above the horizon. Seb shivers and wiggles his bare feet atop the sand while Lewis ties his hair back.

The polar bear plunge involves charging madly towards the tide with a few hundred other nutty participants and submerging one’s entire body in near zero degree water. Seb grabs Lewis’s hand and orients him towards the water. He can feel himself grinning. Lewis is already bouncing on the balls of his feet—he loves this shit too.

Seb and Lewis race down the beach, hand in hand, until the water is up to Seb’s waist, and he can practically feel his balls retracting into his body.

“Fuck, that’s cold!” Seb shouts over the sound of a hundred other freezing people shrieking.

Lewis giggles madly and pulls Seb under. He comes up sputtering and shuddering, but Lewis rewards him with a sub-zero kiss on the lips.

In the end, Seb has to drag Lewis out of the water and back to the car. He retrieves the emergency blankets from the trunk, and they cuddle up in the backseat with a thermos of mint tea.

“We should do this again next year,” Lewis says, knocking his head against Seb’s.

“I think my toes are going to fall off,” says Seb. Lewis snorts.

After the polar bear plunge, Seb savours a picturesque dinner with Lewis downtown before Lewis has to leave to start packing for a work trip. He wants to protest, but he knows it really will take Lewis most of a day to stuff his ridiculous, designer luggage. Lewis sends him a text when the plane is about to take off, and then five days later Seb is waiting in front of the airport to pick him up.

Seb helps him heave two suitcases and a compact duffel into the back before kissing him on the cheek. Lewis lingers in his arms for an extra second, his chin on Seb’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” says Lewis.

“Let’s stop at the pizza place you like,” Seb says.

Lewis pulls back with wide eyes. “Cauliflower crust?”

“Obviously,” says Seb.

Two days later, Seb is back at the airport, dropping Lewis off for the promised Bali trip. Nico is waiting at the gate with his own ridiculous mountain of luggage and giant, tinted sunglasses sliding down his nose. Lewis jogs happily into his arms while Seb lingers beside the rack of overpriced travel pillows.

Seb crumples the receipt for Lewis’s green juice in his fist, watching Nico and Lewis tow their suitcases towards the boarding area. Nico is literally intolerable—Seb can’t stand to be in a room with him. Speaking to him is like speaking to an ex that knows how to push all of his buttons and doesn’t hesitate to do so whenever it’s convenient for him. The only good part about it is that Nico doesn’t like him either, which prevents Seb from shouldering any guilt.

He walks back through the airport to get to his car and drive home. Roscoe greets him at the door, snuffling like a human with a severe sinus infection. Seb kneels to the floor to pat him on the head, and Roscoe flops on his back and wiggles gratefully, soliciting tummy rubs.

Seb used to have another partner—this was in the middle of Lewis, two-ish years ago—but he was younger and ultimately not interested in Seb’s lifestyle, so it ended. Still, it was nice to have someone living in his home.

Now it’s just Lewis. Seb is okay with that.

Seb and Lewis are in the car again, on the road to spend the weekend camping out in Joshua Tree. Lewis reserved the site he wanted six months ago and has been talking about it ever since. Seb convinced him to pack one suitcase instead of two, and made him promise they won’t break up during the fight that will inevitably happen while pitching the tent.

“If anyone would break up with anyone over a tent,” says Lewis, his elbow out the window, “it would be you breaking up with me. Not that I’m calling it, or anything.”

“Ha ha,” says Seb. “Wait until I tell you you can’t light candles inside the tent.”

“The tent is flame resistant,” says Lewis. “I checked.”

Seb shrugs, one hand on the wheel. “Sure. Let’s test it.”

Lewis snorts, and settles against the window. The dust from the road is floating inside the car, mixing with the afternoon sunlight to form a heavy haze. Lewis looks good in rugged conditions—as good as he does wrapped in fluffy bathrobes and slathered with shea butter.

“So,” says Lewis, turning his torso towards Seb. He really should wear his seatbelt correctly. “About two weeks ago. We didn’t talk about it… but that was objectively awesome sex, right?”

“Excuse me?” says Seb. It figures that Lewis would trap him in the car for this conversation. He blows out an overwhelmed breath. “It was… satisfying, in a certain respect.”

Lewis tilts his head and sucks on his lower lip. He has that wobble in his eyes like he isn’t very happy with what he’s being told. “You’re telling me that wasn’t the most intense, coordinated scene we’ve ever done?” Lewis rubs his temple. “Fuck, that was so hot, when both of you…” Lewis trails off and his thighs fall open a few extra centimetres. Seb wonders if he’s remembering the part where he and Nico fucked Lewis at once, both holes filled, or when Seb held Lewis down so that Nico could eat him out.

Seb chooses his words carefully. “It was a challenge,” he says. “There was a lot of negotiation that you didn’t see beforehand.”

“It was perfect,” says Lewis. Seb chances another look over at Lewis, spread across the passenger side. His smoothie and his kombucha occupy both cupholders, and he clipped an air freshener to the dash that smells like pina colada. “Thank you for doing it for me.”

Seb grips the steering wheel and forces his gaze back to the endless road. He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for Lewis, even if Nico were involved.

#next installment: lewis parent traps his partners because they want to fuck soooo bad #also lewis is vegan pixie dreamgirl in this i won't lie #sebcedes #i wrote this #problematic sebcedes polyamory

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coldshrugs · 10 months ago

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tiebreaker

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau setting: modern AU rating: explicit - there are a few mature scenes near the end word count: 6.1k

It's strange to be home.

Stranger still to try to define where exactly home is now that Io has two. Two beds, two sets of friends, two time zones to keep up with… Home is supposed to be a place, or, if she allows the geography to have a softer edge, a series of places and the routines formed around them. The familiar haunts one returns to again and again, seeking the comfort of nostalgia.

Three months didn't feel that long while she lived them; the new place is nice, the people are great, and she loves her work. She calls it home when she is there.

But is it? Home used to hold her mother's voice, her siblings' laughter, her father's snoring. She can't go back to any of those things. 'Home' died six years ago, and Io has been trying to claw back some essence of it ever since.

There was only one thing she was sure she missed from this place, one person. But then she stood in the kitchen with the sunset light painting half the cabinets in late summer's orange, and one thing turned into everything. Puzzle pieces of scent and sight that make her long for more of them tomorrow and every day after—the pack of cigarettes on the already open window to their fire escape; the knowledge that she can hide away in the safety of her room, surrounded by all her favorite things, if the inevitable tide of her anxiety rises high enough to drown her; and especially the smell of Estinien—of both of them—burrowed bone-deep into every room.

But the apartment is not exactly as it was when she left. It's cleaner. The blankets on the couch are neatly folded. There are no dishes in the sink. Not a shred of old mail on the table by the door. The only object even slightly out of place is one of the red plastic chairs at the small table between the kitchen and living room, stolen from their former support group when they aged out.

It's almost uncanny, before she remembers he cleans when he's stressed…

Hm.

They haven't talked about the kiss.

They haven't talked about much of anything so far.

Not when Estinien picked her up from the airport. Not back in their apartment as they readied for Y'shotla’s birthday party. Not even when they stepped out of their rooms, facing each other in the mirrored doorways, and his eyes blew wide at the sight of her dressed in the simple sundress and sneakers.

"You, uh, look really nice," he'd said. Straight forward tone and broad shoulders drawn up to his full height. But he didn't say anything else, so maybe they're leaving it where it lies.

Io has learned to live with this contactless friction. An ever-present static at the boundary of what they mean to each other. Sometimes, the hum is so quiet that she swears she is over him. Then there are times like now, in the back of their Uber, when the unspoken question churns in the space between them, fuzzy and electric, and Io reminds herself that even a hum is noise.

She has to break the ice.

"How's work going? How are the kids this year?"

"It's alright. A ton of rebellious little shits in my classes this semester, especially this set of twins."

"Are you allowed to call them that?"

It takes them a moment to find their footing, but then they can't seem to stop—

"Only when I like them. How's it going with your roommates—what are their names again?"

"Hien and Yugiri. They're sweet. Fun to hang out with. They're tidiness sticklers though, so that's kind of killing me."

"Did you watch that show I said you'd like?"

"Did you remember to water my plants?"

—And on and on until she whispers:

"I miss you. You thought I wouldn't."

Silence again, besides the pop song quietly spilling from the speakers. The driver's eyes flash in the rearview mirror before they turn the volume up, like some sound-based privacy curtain, but that is where it ends. Estinien turns his gaze to the darkening skyline around them, lips drawn up at the corner facing her.

It's hard to be disappointed when simply sitting beside him again is a comfort.

Sure, they text daily, but there is no replacement for his deadpan cadence or playfully disgruntled tone. No emoji could substitute the curves of his smiles, from the small and shy ones he tries to hide (the kind he wears now, squeezing at her heart) to the wide ones that come with an open-mouth laugh—

Her thoughts spin to the kiss. Nervous and unfinished, broken too soon because their drunk friends apparently cannot resist throwing glass bottles at the call of "beer me!" That's why she didn't get to kiss him longer, not that it would matter in the long run.

Estinien doesn't do long distance.

He told Vic as much. He cared about Vic. They dated long enough for it to matter, but in the end, Vic moved hours away, and Estinien decided they should break things off. And despite what anyone says about how he might feel about her, she's stationed on the other side of the country for the next nine months.

But he kissed her back. Oh, the way he kissed her back…

She shoots him the occasional furtive glance while his attention is elsewhere, and god, he looks good. Loose, perfectly messy hair hangs past his shoulders and softens the more severe angles of his face. His t-shirt wrinkles against the line of his well-worn jeans. Hems she has long dreamed of running her hands under…

Io's thick swallow is loud in her ears (she hopes he didn't hear it, too), and her fingers twitch on the leather seat between them. That does make a sound. A little scratch.

Estinien slides his hand across the seat, and—the static sizzles and snaps—his fingers curl into hers. He doesn't look away from the window, but he squeezes.

Her heartbeat almost hurts. She squeezes back.

Another 10 minutes and they pull up to the usual watering hole, one of those extensions of home, Redbills.

He lets go as they climb out of the car on his side, deciding to shove both his hands into his pockets. Cool.

(He's still wearing that little smile as they walk inside.)

Now, this is a place that's frozen in time. Dim light punched through with neon, an out-of-place song being played too loud, ratty stools lining the bar, and well-kept pool tables dotting the back wall. And that's to say nothing of the people.

Her friends (the first set, the ones as close as family) are scattered around the bar. Lucia and Thancred are already locked in a game of pool, and there's real money on the corner of the table. G'raha carries two colorful cocktails to a standing table, where he and Urianger are chatting with Krile, on her tall barstool, of course. Aymeric is at the bar, laughing loudly with Leofard, and Leo's pouring a massive round of shots.

Estinien sways awkwardly on the spot before turning to Io. He jerks his head in Aymeric’s direction, letting her know where he'll be, before walking backward toward him. He's gone for now, then.

Yep, very cool.

Tataru (already flushed a deep shade of pink) gestures chaotically as she rambles to the birthday girl sitting at the end of the bar. Shtola is nodding along without looking, one arm thrown over the back of her metal stool tied with black and purple balloons speckled with glitter. Her other hand holds an e-reader and, holy shit, she is deeply engrossed in a book at her own party.

In fact, she only looks up when her glasses begin to slide down her nose, and that's when her pale eyes fall on Io. She is up in a flash. "You came!"

Shtola isn't one for lengthy displays. The hug is brief, but she wraps her arms tightly around Io and allows her to return it fully before pulling away.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it," Io says. They walk arm in arm towards her decorated seat, where Tataru's tipsy little squeak alerts everyone else to her arrival, and then the party begins.

The night happens in a rush. A round of shots as they sing happy birthday, followed by a round of beers on the house because Io is back in town. She isn't allowed to be a wallflower tonight, tugged from huddle to huddle to share stories of her new orchestra gig or listen to someone else's big news that happened to slip through the cracks of the group chat.

Despite the company and constant meandering around the room, his static prickles on the back of her neck. Estinien hovers in the margins. Much like his blind reach for her hand in the car, she doesn't need to see him to know he's around. It is a phantom sensation, some missing part of her that she swears she can move if only she tries hard enough.

A quick glance to the side and she finds him effortlessly. He leans against the wall, speaking with Ayms in hushed voices. Estinien's eyes cut a sharp path to her, too; Aymeric's gaze follows, and a deviously knowing smile spreads across his face. Io purses her lips politely and smiles back, lifting her hand to wave. Aymeric waves back as he leans to whisper something to Estinien, who shakes his head and takes a long swallow from his beer. His posture tenses.

He pushes off the wall and walks outside, placing his empty bottle on the bar as he goes.

"Hold that thought," Io says as she breaks away from Thancred. "Just grabbing some air."

He's even easier to find on the sidewalk. A lone figure with his shoulder pressed into the brick, head tilted skyward. He's facing the door, as if he's waiting for someone.

"What's wrong?" Io takes a cautious step toward him, fighting the pull to go to him immediately

He shrugs but doesn't look at her. His brows knot, and she can't name the look he wears. It's frustrating not knowing what he's feeling. Disappointment? Defeat? Finally, he asks, "We're just not going to talk about it?"

Oh.

"Estinien, you've been distant most of the day, except for a compliment and holding my hand in the car… I didn't think you wanted to talk about it."

And that makes him look. His head rolls in her direction, hair bunched against the wall and his stare burning through her. "Be serious. Of course I want to. I just… don't know how to start."

"Neither do I." Io inhales and lets the warm night air soothe her nerves. Here she fucking goes. "We kissed. Barely—"

"'Barely.'" The word leaves him in a little huff of incensed laughter. He shakes his head.

"—And it was wrong to leave that up in the air for so long, but I guess it's easier not to know? Maybe it's, I don't know, kinder to slip back into how we were before that. If that's what you want."

"Kinder? Fuck off." Compared to his previous interruption, his tone has cooled, and his expression softened. He's not actually mad. If anything, he seems confused that he's being asked what he wants, as if it's obvious. "Did you mean what you said that night I called you?"

She moves to his side, still careful, still slow. But it's for her own benefit now. What on earth is he talking about?

He asked to call her a couple of weeks ago, the first time that's happened since she's been away. They talked through the night, and there was something close about it, closer than usual. The end of the conversation is fuzzy. She only remembers waking up with her phone pressed to her cheek.

Her shoulder meets the wall, mirroring his lean from a foot away. "...What did I say?"

"You love me." He spits it out quickly and gives no further explanation.

But it doesn't need any, does it? It's a simple yes or no. And it's now that she realizes Alberic—and everyone else—was right: he needs her to go first. He can't move until she does.

"Yeah…" Io shifts her weight against the brick, dragging her gaze from the grime-covered sidewalk to his gray eyes shining softly in the night. He deserves that, because she loves him. "I meant it. But listen, I'm not expecting anything. My job alone makes me a walking deal-breaker so—"

A few people stumble out of the bar, cackling loudly, and they both look to make sure it's no one they know. Just a group of strangers, so their attention refocuses. Io takes another breath, but Estinien speaks first.

"Since you left, I only sit in your chair." The streetlight overhead harshes the shadows falling across his face, but it does not obscure the reddening tips of his ears. "It felt stupid at first. For a while, I pretended it wasn't a conscious thing. Just a convenient one; it's closer to the door or whatever. But it's a choice, I realize that now… I think I've been keeping myself from it since you wrote on them. At some point, I couldn't tell the difference. But that became a choice, too."

It trails off a bit as he loses his own thread, but Io isn't lost. No, it makes perfect sense. This is him explaining every moment passed between them in the half-decade they've shared.

"You're rambling." She tries not to laugh. It's not funny. It's just what he does; he doesn't know what to say, so he says more than he should, and the familiar habit fills her chest with a fluttering warmth. His gaze moves to her smile. "I mean, you don't have to stop. I like when you get going."

She marvels at the way his eyes roll, annoyed and amused all at once. How he tries to be just one plain thing but can't help being more than that.

"The point is, I only sit in your chair."

Estinien's hands leave his pockets. She thinks he might be reaching for his cigarettes. She could use one, too. But they shoot towards her instead, his fingers wrapping into the embroidered edges of her jacket. He holds her like that, thumbs tracing the fabric while his eyes dart across her face, softening by the second. They dilate to a ring of dark silver.

Io reminds herself to breathe.

He pulls her closer.

Closer than that.

"I love you. I don't know how long it's been, just that I do." And he waits, all quickened breath and pleading eyes silently asking her to say it again.

"I love you too."

His hands wind around her, shifting her across the final gap between them, chest to warm chest. When Io lifts her hands to his face, his heartbeat gives him away. Pressed close like this, she feels the echo of every agonizing thump. His darkened eyes flash to her lips.

He moves.

They are careful at first, almost precious about it. But careful gives way to something else, just like it started to three months ago on the fire escape. His softness grows urgent, the kind of thing that begs to become another, deeper kiss. Io waits for the shoe to drop, the glass to shatter, but it doesn't come. Estinien's hands travel to the small of her back, one moves under her jacket, fingers skimming between the straps tying the back of her dress, and there is no interruption this time.

Every thought, every dream she's had about this does not compare to the way his lips seem to drag hers with him as he pulls back. His breathless whisper falls into the space between them.

"Should we get out of here, just go home? I just want to be with you tonight."

Io nods against his forehead, maybe too eagerly, but his smile is worth it. "Yeah, um, just let me say bye to everyone first. I hate to bail, but the party isn't the only reason I'm here."

He releases her as a smug grin pulls new shadows across his face. When they re-enter together, Aymeric approaches from the bar.

"You two were gone for a while." His words are ripe with accusation. Io shifts her weight and pulls her jacket closed, hoping he doesn't notice how rumpled it is.

Estinien leans against the wall by the entrance, looking as casual as ever. "And we're leaving again. Are you meeting everyone for breakfast tomorrow?"

Aymeric balks, "First of all, it's brunch, not breakfast; we're drinking again. Second, yes, I'll be there."

"Then we'll see you there."

"Wait, why are you leaving?"

Io takes the opportunity to slip away and find Y'shtola, who is once again seated at the bar, talking to Leo over the largest fishbowl of sangria she's ever seen. It's half-empty.

She slides into the seat next to her. "Hey… please don't kill me."

Shtola squints in Io's direction with surprisingly clear eyes. There is a silent question in them.

"Can I be here for this?" Leo props an elbow on the bar as if that might bolster his chances.

"No," they say in unison, refusing to glance his way.

"Fine," he says, no worse for wear. "I'm taking five, I need to piss anyway."

Shtola takes a deep sip of her drink until he's in the back. "Let me guess: you've decided to leave your best friend's birthday in the loud, crowded bar when we've been here less than two hours? Io, don't think I didn't expect that."

Io might be offended if there were any malice in the words, but Y'shtola brought her fucking kindle. She's probably planning her own escape soon.

"I'm awful, I'm sorry—" She throws her gaze over her shoulder and Shtola's head turns too. Estinien is still waiting by the door with Aymeric, but he's focused intently on her. "—but there's been a development…"

Bubbles sputter in her drink and she comes away coughing. "Are you serious? Finally? Not the half-assed, 'this is a goodbye forever, I'm giving up on you' kiss?"

"Finally." Her grin is embarrassing, but if anyone knows how long she's held out for this moment, it's Shtola. "Like, no bullshit, for real. Feelings talk and all, so I… really need to go."

Shtola shakes her head, one hand waving Io off the barstool and towards the exit. "No, no, breaking the pattern of platonic codependency and making a new, probably worse pattern is the perfect birthday gift. For the love of god, text me and let me know what happens."

"See you tomorrow." Io squeezes in one more hug and snags a sip of her drink before all but running for the door.

She gives Aymeric a little wave and a smile before passing through the door with Estinien's hand on her back again. A car is already waiting, and after they clamber inside, he doesn't cease his contact. An arm as far around her as he can manage, his fingers grazing her neck, and he can't take his eyes off her.

It doesn't matter that this is all the drive will allow. Desire sparks along her skin, originating from his touch and simmering between them, silent but shameless. The ride feels like an eternity.

When they're finally outside their building, the car is barely out of view before Estinien kisses her again. He walks them backward to the alcove housing the locked glass doors and the keypad. She laughs against his lips as she struggles to reach the buttons. He moves them closer. The first attempt lights the unit in red.

They'll get locked out at this rate.

Io pulls free of his lips with a hummed whine so she can see what she's doing. He moves to her cheek instead, then her jaw… Another red try.

"Estinien," she breathes.

His throaty laugh vibrates against her skin. "You've got it."

Fuck it. If this doesn't work, they can break their necks on the fire escape. 7-9-1-3-5. It blinks green, and the locked doors click open.

They only waste a little time in the stairwell, a quick kiss every other landing or so, when one can't resist grabbing the other, softly passing laughter between mouths before running up the next flight. It doesn't feel real. It lasts all the way to their door.

They go inside, hand in hand, and this is when it sets in.

Sure, it's a bit too clean, but the only new thing here is them. They kick off their shoes and navigate the path to Estinien's room in the dark, carefully dodging jutting furniture corners and stepping over the edges of rugs as their eyes adjust to the lack of light. A strange muscle memory when the context of the journey is so different.

In his room, Io pulls the chain on his bedside lamp, flooding the space with soft, warm light. She knows his room; the scattered sports and music posters, his baseball trophies and metals, and the long unused skateboard. His bed sits in the center of the far wall, flanked by a table on each side; one holds the lamp she just turned on, and the other is where his keys, wallet, and phone usually go. She's had to grab them more than once as they rushed out of this place.

"Is that okay?" she asks.

He nods, pulling her in again, prying her jacket off. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap as his hands trail back up her arms. One settles lightly against the back of her neck. She runs a shaking hand over his stomach until it rests on his chest.

He inhales, forehead falling to hers for the second time tonight. "I'm kind of nervous."

"Me too." She swallows, trying to keep her voice even. "It feels silly, right?"

"Yeah." Estinien's rumbled laugh sounds in the quiet. "The reason I shouldn't be is the reason I am."

Io pulls her head away, asking why with furrowed brows.

"Because it's you."

What steals her breath seems to give his confidence a second wind. He tugs a strap off her shoulder and presses a kiss to the freckled skin beneath, lips moving slowly, reverently, until her head tips back and her arms snake around his waist. He catches the hem of the dress, looking to Io briefly for approval, lifting it over her head after she nods.

He pauses, drinking in the sight of her standing in his most private space, wearing only her underwear, and for a second Io wonders if his drinks have caught up with him.

He pulls his own shirt off, ruffling his hair in the process. His skin catches the lamplight on one side and moonlight on the other. His beauty is uncomplicated, as direct as he is, but right now it threatens to overwhelm her. Io reaches for him, runs her hands across soft muscle and the small, knotted scar on his left shoulder.

She leans forward, brushing her lips over his, almost content to feel him breathing against them and nothing more. Almost. Estinien's knuckles skim her waist, ghost over the side of her breast, across her back, where his hold solidifies before tipping them onto the bed.

Each touch speaks the assurance they've never needed to voice—I'll take care of you, I'm the one who always takes care of you. This is not so different, not when they get down to it. Estinien drags his lips across her throat and that is just as intimate as his texts reminding her to take her anxiety medication; Io's hands slipping beneath his waistband are the same hands that spread his favorite blanket over him when he falls asleep on their couch. "I made you coffee" shares DNA with "please kiss me again", and both are prerequisites to the soft grip of his hand under her chin, leading her mouth to his.

What's one more way to love each other?

Between needy touches and heated moans, they peel away the last of their layers. There is nothing else they can bare.

Estinien moves down her body, nose trailing against her skin, stopping along the way to place soft, searing kisses to places that certainly never existed before now. The tip of her collarbone, the underside of her breasts, the sensitive skin over her ribs, and she shivers as he brings each one to life in the soft heat of his mouth. His hands follow, creating a pattern of kiss and caress, and Io is never without some part of him in contact with her skin.

He settles between her legs, and she feels the hot rush of his breath, coming just that much faster as he anticipates the next action. Io can hardly bear to look at him—flushed cheek pressed against her thigh and his eyes growing darker when she bites her lip—but she cannot look away.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Estinien kisses her thigh, then whispers low in a voice Io doesn't recognize, "Do you want me to?"

His fingers trace a tantalizing pattern on her leg as he stares up at her, waiting for the answer.

How can she tell him what he's doing to her before he even begins? "Please" is the only word she can articulate as she runs a hand through his hair, gently urging him to go on. "Please."

He dips his head, and words don't matter. She couldn't form them if she tried. Her eyes squeeze shut as she falls against the pillow. There is only shapeless sound, her body tense and twisting, the combination of her slick heat and his mouth,

his mouth,

his mouth.

She's at the edge before she knows it, and the feel of his lips changes, lightens, as he pushes her over. He's smiling—pleased with himself, pleased at her reaction. It remains in place as he lifts himself and kisses his way back to her lips.

Estinien covers her, skin to skin, and Io pulls away from his lips just to look at him for a moment. His silver hair catching bits of the city lights through the window. The shine of her still worn on his lips. Io cups his cheek and sweeps her thumb across them, observing the way they yield for even this touch. His blush spreads to the tips of his ears, down his neck.

"I feel so stupid. You've been looking at me that way for years, and I…" The thought hangs between them: 'What if?' He shakes his head above her, his hair grazing her shoulders.

"Yeah," Io whispers. "But you've been looking at me too. I wasn't in a rush."

She smiles into the next kiss, feels his own spread against her lips. Of all the things they've done tonight, the things they will do, this is the one she wants to keep most. She lets it linger, lets him deepen it when he's ready, asking for more when his tongue slides over hers and he shifts between her thighs.

Io stifles a moan and presses her hands into his back. She needs him closer.

One more shift, and they gasp through a broken kiss. There is only a second of pause, a quick word to check in, then Estinien drives forward again. They find a rhythm. Io moves with him. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, his voice is a tight rasp as he curses or mutters her name into the crook of her neck.

He leans back, resting on his knees, lifting Io with him so she sits on his angled lap. "I wanna see you like this," he says in a shredded whisper. "I keep thinking about it."

It's easy to give him what he wants when he looks at her like this, when he asks for her like he needs her. Io works her hips against him while Estinien does his best to explore, to touch, but his focus shatters in a guttural rumble as he pulls free and guides their fall back to the bed.

There is breath to catch and mess to clean. They alternate trips to the bathroom, then settle into his bed in a yawning heap.

They stay close afterward, liking the way their limbs have tangled and the heaviness of his body relaxing against hers. Io runs her fingers through his hair, unwilling to stop touching him like this now that she has no reason to hold back, and relishes the soft breath washing over her chest. Estinien is still, besides the occasional lazy roll of his head, to kiss her where he can. From the opposite side of the bed, the lamp's glow brightens his edges, the sharp line of his jaw, his nose, and his lips gently pulled into the sweetest smile Io's ever seen him wear.

She could watch him like this forever.

The city doesn't slow around them. Flashes of sound and color leak into the dim room, painting the wall in shifting light that disappears between drowsy blinks. Io wonders how all those passersby in taxis and on the street can go on like before, unaware a faultline has moved under their feet. Don't they know? Didn't they feel it?

The quiet breaks abruptly.

"Io, I'm not,"—his rough voice wavers. He pauses. She can almost see him turning over the words in his mind—"very romantic, if I'm honest, but I could be good to you."

His head on her chest is the only thing keeping her in orbit.

"You've always been good to me. If you're asking me for something…"

"I'm asking."

"You just wanna hear me say it?" And she laughs at his sleepy little nod, heartsick at the way he looks up at her, pupils wide even with their desire temporarily quenched. He wants more than light. She gives it to him. She'd give him anything. "Then yeah, I want to be with you, if you're willing to deal with the distance."

"I don't mind the distance if it's with you." His eyes close, his breathing deepens. She holds him like that until sleep takes her, too.

Io wakes slowly. The room is still gray and dark, with the exception of a single line of early sunlight fighting its way through his blackout curtains. It falls across her side of the bed, a reminder that something exists beyond the bliss of being tucked into this specific set of sheets.

Estinien is already awake. His hand moves down her side, warm and soothing, and then makes the return journey upward, over and over, until she half-rolls to see his face.

"Hey," his voice is even more rough than usual, but it's sweeter, too. He lifts onto his arm, smiling down at her. His messy hair hangs in his eyes. Witnessing this side of him… it always felt so out of reach.

"Hi," she whispers back, adjusting the sheet so there's no barrier between them. "Why are you awake?"

His knuckles roll over her neck, up to her cheek. "Just wanted to look at you. You're all I can think about, and now you're here so… is that weird?"

Io shakes her head against his pillow. "I don't think it's weird. I think I'd do the same."

"Good." He leans in, but pauses before their lips meet. "Wouldn't stop me if it was."

He kisses her slowly, pulls her back flush to his chest so he can touch her. The urgency and nerves of last night are gone. His hands move, unhurried, over the twist of her body, more interested in coaxing little sounds of need from her while her voice still wears shades of sleep. When he fills her this time, his thrusts are soft, almost lazy. And when he's finished, Estinien tells her he loves her again.

She will never tire of hearing it.

They are late to brunch. It's a wonder they show up at all.

No comments when they stroll to the table hand in hand, or when Estinien throws his arm around Io's chair, and not even when she leans into him to rest her head against his cheek after the third mimosa. This is how it should've been all along. They were the only people blocking the way.

The day passes in patches of sunlight and bright laughter, that of their friends and, later on, just theirs. They walk their favorite paths and visit the places Io missed most. The park on the way to her former library job, the library itself, the bakery with specialty cupcakes, and the taco joint she's been craving. But he is a magnet for her hands and, in truth, the place she misses most is their apartment…

They make good use of the short time. No room is too sacred, no surface too precious, until they make it so. By the end of the weekend, they have a pretty good handle on what works. Estinien is a quick study; he remembers what makes her smile, what causes a gasp or a moan.

They learn other things too.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," Io requests on that final evening.

Estinien lies on his back, head angled toward the tv that drones quietly in front of them. He's not watching; his eyes are half closed and his hand tangles in her hair. It's the most focus he can spare right now.

"I thought it was called 'duck tape' for too long. Aymeric pulled me aside in freshman year. Embarrassing as fuck," he says. "Your turn."

Io commits to being a quiet observer, biting back the giggle in the back of her throat.

She lies across his waist with one arm folded under her chin. Her fingers skate over his torso, leaving little trails of puckered skin in their wake. She pockets every tiny reaction (the soft hitch in his breath at a touch near the lower rungs of his ribs, or barely audible sigh when she passes just below his navel), but these are the only interruptions to the otherwise steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm allergic to bee stings."

"What?"

"Yeah, I should've mentioned it before," she says. "You're my emergency contact, so you should know what might take me out."

He laughs, a full belly laugh that shakes both of them on the couch. The sound digs into the marrow of her bones. It can't replace the voices she misses, but she can make more space for him in the part of her heart that longs to hear them.

The quiet after his laughter is just as tender, both of them content with this simple closeness.

"I don't want you to go," he says after some time. "One more day."

"Estinien, my flight—"

"Fuck your flight." His drowsy smile is tempting. "Stay with me."

She says no by pressing her lips against the soft, fuzzy patch of skin beneath his navel, and his exhale barely restrains a shudder. Does she truly do this to him so easily?

"Stay," Estinien repeats.

"You know I can't." Io kisses him again, shifting her head, preparing to focus her attention a little lower…

A long exhale stutters out of him. "I know."

She tugs on the hem of his boxers and he lifts his hips to make it easier for her to move them down his thighs. Io bites her lip at the sight of him, his ready willingness to share himself with her, the way he wants her. She brushes her lips against his length.

"I can come back next month." She trades lips for tongue, adores the way his head rolls back against the sofa. "We'll talk every day, like we always do."

"Next month," he whispers as she takes him into her mouth. His voice strains. "Only nine more to go."

It's noon on Monday when they leave for the airport.

Estinien drives them. Io takes in the view from the passenger seat, branding the feel of his hand on her knee into her mind. And then the pressure of his arms around her when he pulls her back for another hug, the nervous blush when he kisses her openly at the gate. His straight-backed reassurance of "I love you. Come home soon."

Home can be a place, as simple as four walls, or the scent of minty body wash, the voices that soothe just by proximity, and it can be a shared bad habit. The picturesque scenes of a small and beautiful life. Home can be the boy you watch grow into a man, the friend you wait for until you don't care about the waiting, and the partner stoking butterflies or comfort with a look. Home isn't home the first time—it demands a return.

"I will. I'll be back before you know it. And I love you too."

Home requires memory.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #otwr au #my GOD i am so glad this is finished sdlkgjfd #i don't even have commentary i just love them #i love them in this setting. i love how committed they are to each other even when they think it's unrequited #bye

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celandeline · 11 months ago

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Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (30)

It’s the distance that saves me from the nightmares. There’s thousands of miles between my apartment and Saltburn - the ghost of Felix’s body in the maze can’t get me here. I am protected by the entire Atlantic, and even then, the fear would have to sort through the whole city to find where I’m hiding. The nightmares can’t get me here.

Farleigh is different. Every night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, shaking with fear. And because I’m not used to sleeping with someone else in the bed, I wake up too. It’s become something of a ritual, to stroke his hair as he buries his face into my chest, and hold him until we both fall back asleep.

Still, other than the nightmare’s he’s adjusting just fine. He’s a quick learner when he wants to be, and as soon as I showed him how to use the French press, he started making the both of us coffee in the mornings. He’s gotten to the point where he only complains about how cramped it is once a day, and is better about watering the plants than I ever was. For all his worry about whether or not he’d be able to handle it, he’s doing just fine.

Granted, he’s not working a real job yet - but at least domestically, he’s doing great.

And, it’s been fun to show him all the pleasures of living in the city. Lottery broadway tickets, helping the neighbor boys, Vinnie and Mikey, break open a fire hydrant so that they and the rest of the neighborhood kids can splash around to beat the heat, the stray cats that wander up and down the fire escapes. The food is the best part - after eating English food for a year, I’ve missed real flavor.

Two gyros in a brown bag under my arm from the Greek deli a few blocks away, I am hurrying back home, already imagining Farleigh’s face as he tastes the magic that Mr. Andino cooks up. The traffic on the sidewalk is fast paced, and I can’t help but smile as I drift along with the tide. God it’s good to be back-

A buzzing from my pocket steals my attention, and I switch to autopilot, digging my cell out of my jeans glancing at the display on the screen, an international number. Venetia.

I quickly press my phone between my shoulder and my ear, relief flooding my system. “Hey baby.” I say. “How’ve you been? I’m so glad you called, I was getting worried, you weren’t returning my calls-”

“Evelyn?”

A voice that is decidedly not Venetia crackles through the phone speakers.

“It’s Elspeth.” She continues. “I thought that I should call…” She trails off. Even through the tinny speakers of my cell, I can tell that she’s distraught. She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?” Panic makes its way up my throat. “What happened? Elspeth?”

Elspeth takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry to tell you over the phone, darling, but I thought it was only right that you should know. Venetia is- she’s gone.” Her voice cracks.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “What do you mean, gone? Elspeth-”

“She’s dead, darling.” Elspeth says, sounding weak. Tired. “Cut herself open in Felix’s bathtub last night. It was utterly horrid.”

My heart stops, and I stumble. A stranger walking behind me pushes me back to my feet with a grumble. I regain my footing unsteadily, and keep going. “She’s-” A lump forms in my throat. “She’s dead?”

“Unfortunately so, darling.” Elspeth says. “I thought it right that you should know, and I wanted to let you know that the funeral will be held next Sunday, if you can make it. She would have wanted you there, I think. She really did care for you, you know. You were the only friend she ever brought home for the summer…”

She prattles on, but I don’t hear her. My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks in rapid succession. She’s dead. I should have stayed. She asked me to stay. If I had stayed I could have stopped her- fuck. Fuck. She begged me to stay. She might still be alive if I had stayed-

“Evie darling?”

“Yeah?” I say, my voice cracking around the lump in my throat.

“You will come to the funeral, won’t you?”

“Of course.” I choke out.

I don’t hear whatever else she says, only the beep when the line goes dead. I tuck my cell back into my pocket, and turn the street corner, my feet leading the way home from memory. She’s gone. My mind conjures an image of her in a bathtub, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling, the water a bloody red. Gone. And I just saw her not even a week ago.

I remember meeting her at Cambridge, introducing myself since we would be sharing a bathroom. Suitemates. How fast we’d become friends after that - lounging around together in my dorm room or hers, going out to the pubs, making fun of each other when we’d heard the other bring a boy home - or a girl, in my case. How she would do my makeup before we’d go out drinking. How I’d nurse her back to health whenever she was hungover. The gentle way that she would lay her head on my shoulder, the feeling of her over-bleached hair between my fingers. All the times that I pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder, her forehead, her hand. The day in the field, where she pressed her lips to mine.

Gone.

I don’t realize that I’m home until I’m slotting my key into the lock and pushing open the door. Farleigh is lounging on my couch, leafing through one of the books from the little bookshelf in the loft. Kerouac’s On The Road. He smiles when I come in, though his face quickly changes once he meets my eyes. He’s on his feet in an instant.

He pulls the bag with our lunch inside out from under my arm and sets it on the kitchen counter. “What’s wrong?”

“V.” I say, still working around the lump in my throat. “I got a call- from Elspeth- she’s dead.” My voice fades into a whisper. “She killed herself in Felix’s bathtub. The funeral’s next Sunday.”

His smile falls. “What?”

“She’s dead.” I say, tears slipping out of the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks. “She-” I sob. “She begged me to stay-”

Farleigh shakes his head. “No, we just saw her…”

Another sob wracks through me, and I collapse into a seat at the table. I loved that girl. And when she needed me - when she asked me to stay with her, I couldn’t. I press my palms into my eyes. Can I even say that I loved her when I let her die?

I hear the other chair scrape against the floor as Farleigh sits down. I wipe away my tears to look at him. The shock on his face is the same one that he wore the morning we found Felix’s body. “She can’t be dead.”

“She asked me to stay.” I sob. “She- she begged, Farleigh, and I left anyway.”

I see reality begin to hit him as a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes. “Both of them?”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing left to say. Felix and Venetia are both dead.

< previous part | next part >

#farleigh start x oc #farleigh start x reader #saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh x reader #saltburn x reader

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theredhavendelegate · 8 months ago

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Iss. 9:

The Hands That Toil: Redhaven's Labor Shortage!

Bouts of rain have been hitting Redhaven over the course of the last week, and the new government is making haste to take advantage of that fact, initiating a program to revitalize agriculture in Redhaven’s countryside. The program will involve the hiring of farm laborers from the city’s civilian population placed directly under the management of Frontline Confederation officers as farms are rebuilt and replanted.

In a related move, the estate of Lord Oswald Redhaven is looking for scientists, engineers, and researchers to conduct investigations into the fog surrounding Redhaven and what lies beyond it. Thus far, head researcher Earnest Bell has determined that we are, all of us, in another dimension. He explained to The Delegate, “This new world is just like our old world in many ways, but it differs in many more. These distinctions are mounting and have begun to form the basis for a whole new frontier of scientific possibility.”

The estate has officially termed this new dimension, “The Void”

Despite the confidence of the new government, as evidenced by the farming and science programs, there are those who have reservations. Chief among these individuals is a farmhand you may recall from an older interview with The Delegate, Jens Dahl… ---

Gerhardt square’s cobbles are wet with rain water, though the downpour has passed. A bald man with white, well-groomed facial hair stands in front of a podium. He is wrinkled with worry and age, though his back remains straight and his chin held high. A badge of silver and gold sits on his breast, shining bright: the feather of Redhaven. His feather.

There are police present, a few in front and a few in the wings, but the crowd is passive and admiring. Some are even awestruck.

Another man watches from the edge of the crowd with his brow furrowed and his shoulders sagging, not quite as old as the speaker, but worse-for-wear by a lifetime. Jens Dahl listens intently to the speech, eyes squinting through the gloom of the sunless afternoon.

Lord Redhaven’s voice booms, “Though we’ve all lost much in The Great Transit and the days that followed it, there is new faith to be found. Professor Bell and his team have discovered new materials within the fog, materials that may change life itself for you, the citizens of Redhaven. This ‘void crystal’ as it has been named, may well be the future, and it is only by the strength of our people that we can understand it, that we can take this future into our own hands.”

A pack of journalists to Jens’ right scribble furiously, marking down every syllable. He tilts his nose up warily and waits.

Lord Redhaven continues, “That is why we are calling for anyone with experience in academia, research, engineering, and chemistry to join the call. My estate will be open immediately following this event, where Professor Bell will be conducting interviews and selecting the most promising candidates to further his research, and to further our future.” The statesman pauses for a moment, gauging the crowd with his eyes. “So, thank you, people of Redhaven, for fighting on through this tragedy. We will come out of this stronger than ever before, so long as we stick together, so long as we keep heart.”

There is a roar of applause, swelling like the tides and flooding the senses. Lord Redhaven nods humbly and makes his way off stage. The assembled officers form up to surround him and a few of the reporters rush up, shouting questions as the road is closed off to block them.

The audience lingers, murmuring about applications, about qualifications, wondering if there will be opportunities for common laborers or veterans.

Jens does not wait though. He turns around and separates himself from the pack as quickly as he can, trotting down the high street until he’s clear of the throng and the buzzing conversations. He slows slightly and his breathing evens out, though he carries on for another few blocks to the stoop of a duplex apartment. He knocks on the door, asking, “Ingrid, are you in?”

A high and rough voice calls out, “It’s unlocked.”

Jens wipes his feet off outside and enters, closing the door gently behind himself as he does. The interior is dim and much smaller than it seemed from the outside, but it is well kept. A rough-looking woman with messy blonde hair is lounging on an old couch and reading a newspaper.

“Sit,” she commands, and Jens rolls his eyes.

“Where do you get off, giving orders to a guest?” he responds, more tired than annoyed.

The woman closes her paper and straightens up. “It wasn’t an order, it was advice. I can hear you panting.” Jens’ frown drops just a little bit lower, then he concedes, taking a seat on a wooden chair in the corner. Ingrid continues, “How was the speech? Was the magnanimous Lord Redhaven as impressive as everyone says?”

Jens hunches in the chair, setting his elbows on his knees. “Sure, sure. He seems spry for his age, sprier than me for sure. Talked a lot about what his cabinet of experts have found out about this ‘void’ we’re trapped in.”

There is a pause.

Ingrid leans forward and says, “But you’re worried about something.”

Jens bites his lip. “The good Count put out a call to hire. He specified researchers and academics and that sort of thing, but they’ll need regular folks too. Equipment will need to moved, infrastructure repaired, supplies manufactured. Between this and the farming program, a lot of people who were out of work last week will be back to it.”

Ingrid leans back and shrugs. “So what? We’re workers, we work. You’ve been a farmhand your whole life and you’re doing fine.”

“That’s not all of it though. The Field Workers local went up in smoke. Same for most of the other trades. Farm work was hard, but we did fine so long as we had our reps. I’ve worked fields without contracts, and it isn’t pretty.” Jens is stewing now, thoughts rattling around in his head like loose change.

Ingrid scratches the back of her head and squints, finally rising to her feet to stretch. “You’re the most experienced one left, right? How long were you a foreman? Ten years? Fifteen? All the surviving farmhands know and respect you, so just open another local for them. You’ve already been arguing with the bosses, so you’re basically already a rep.”

Jens’ eyes go wide as dinner plates and he cocks his head to the side. He stammers for a moment, then finally mutters, “That’s too much. I don’t think I can do it all on my own.”

Ingrid shrugs. “You could always ask The Blues for help. I hear they do this kind of thing all the time: agitation or aggravation, or something like that.”

Jens shakes his head. “I’m sure the Coalition has done lots of good around Redhaven, but I don’t like ‘em. That Calloway guy? The one who started the riot earlier in the month? They haven’t given him up and he shot someone. Who knows how many other crazies they’re protecting?”

A silence passes between the two, then Jens speaks again. He asks, "Why don't you do it? You're more social than I am, friendlier and what-not, and you're great with names and faces."

Ingrid replies, "No offense to you, Jens, but I'm not going back to farm work. I'm still good and strong, but it wasn't for me, not for the long term. I like to jump between things, you know?"

She goes to continue when there is another knock. It is quiet but firm, assertive and yet, strangely patient.

Ingrid puts up a hand to silence Jens, and then walks over to the door. She questions aloud, “Who is it?”

The voice is even and refined. “A friend from The Mayor’s office. She sends a bottle of cognac, and a proposal for your guest, Mister Dahl.”

Ingrid flashes Jens a questioning look and he shakes his head uncertainly. Ingrid whispers, “Should I let him in?”

Jens answers, “It’s your house. I hate brandy though.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and opens the door to reveal a rather short man, somewhere around five feet tall. He is well-dressed, with a vest, bowler hat, wire-rim glasses, and a thin mustache. A silver watch chain hangs from a pocket, and he presents a bottle squarely in front of himself with both hands. There is a silver ribbon near the cork and the liquid inside seems to shine in the dim daylight with a color that ranges from yellow at its shallowest to crimson at its depths. The man looks expectantly towards Ingrid.

She hesitates for a moment, and then accepts the bottle. “Come inside, then,” she remarks, leading the way and passing the alcohol to Jens.

Though Ingrid invites him to sit with a gesture, the man remains standing. “Mister Dahl, Miss Larsen,” he expresses, as if playing host, “I represent the office of Mayor Desdemona Carmine and the interests of Redhaven. I am aware that Jens is well positioned to represent the agricultural laborers of Redhaven.”

Jens sits up straight and interrupts, “Were you eavesdropping?”

The man turns up his nose and shakes his head slightly. “Not at all. You’ve garnered a reputation of sorts, a good one.” Jens hunches over again and rolls one of his wrists. The man continues, “The heads of various unions and co-ops within the city will be gathering soon, and nobody is currently expected to represent your bloc. Your inclusion in this momentous event could be arranged, however.”

Jens mulls the words over for a minute, and Ingrid interjects with a question. “Great, that’s nice, but why is this meeting happening at my house?”

The bowler-hatted man blinks slowly, like a cat, and sighs. “Ah, yes, that detail. Mister Dahl’s home in the countryside is being watched, not everyone is as pleased by his reputation as we are. Actually, assuming that he agrees, we have secured new lodgings for him already.”

The sag in Jens’ shoulders grows deeper. He glances around the room, to Ingrid, to the man, to the bottle, to the shuttered windows, and then to the floor.

He takes a deep breath, then looks back up. “I’ll do it.”

The man claps his hands together quietly and nods. “Very well. I’ll provide you with a date and address, and show you to your new quarters tonight, let’s say…” he withdraws his pocket watch, “six o’clock?”

Jens nods, then stops. He raises a brow. “Wait, wait. What’s your name? What do I call you?”

A tiny smile, unnatural on the man’s face, grows and then disappears. “If all goes well, you won’t be speaking with me again after tonight. You can call me ‘The Valet’, in relevant company though. If they know who I am, then they’ll know who you mean.”

The Valet waits for a moment, then tips his hat, and says, “I’ll see you at six. Good day, Mister Dahl, Miss Larsen.” He leaves the two, and the door closes heavily behind him.

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#the redhaven delegate #trd #writing #unreality #writblr #series #short story #drama #TRD: Jens Dahl #TRD: Ingrid Larsen #TRD: Oswald Redhaven #TRD: The Valet

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