#and may i draw him in it forever and ever maybe
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[ID from alt: gintama fanarts of gintoki in a short black floral sundress and the pink button-up shirt that says dum cumpster on the back. in the most rendered one he stands casually, wearing his usual boots and the shirt under the dress, looking over his shoulder lazily. the other two are more sketchy ones of him lounging sloppily with the shirt unbuttoned over the dress and his strawberry boxers showing]
i love u forever gin-san dum cumpster perfect solution to the question ive been asking 'how would he style this dress'................................
[work pen and paper doodles of paako in the same dress, one in almost the same pose as the standing one above and with bare shoulders, one where shes bored and wearing the kill me skull shirt underneath it]
#art tag#gintama#the dress lore is this is a real dress i own and have loved for years and well w the body changes i tried to wear it this summer and it#fits. differently. shorter. a little indecently. very cute but not for public lol. so im sending it off in style. by giving it to gin-san.#and may i draw him in it forever and ever maybe
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TR men reacting to little kids wooing you
Content: reactions
Tropes: established relationship
Warnings: none (lmk if im wrong)
Summary: A little boy, perhaps four or five of age comes waddling over to you two whilst you're out on a date together and offers you a flower, confessing his spontaneous love for you. How does your man react to that?
Vixenâs two cents: hi! This has been sitting in my drafts forever so i need to get it out cause itâs collecting cobwebs. Itâs sort of a random idea but whatever, i found it entertaining. Also im editing this in the car and its giving me a stroke why is the road so fucking uneven? If you have any ideas for me to write please please please my requests ans messages are open! Yeah, let me know if there are any other characters that fit those types and enjoy!
(Takemichi, Chifuyu, Souya, Hakkai, Shinichiro, Sanzu (I donât care what anyone says. Shy Sanzu is forever on my agenda), Inui)
Nearly deceased type, it took him so long to get you. How HOW is this little ass kid wooing you better than he could ever dream of? What the actual fuck was happening? He couldnât believe his eyes when that actual toddler came up to you with a flower, the stem freshly plucked, and a glimmer in the kidâs hopeful eyes. The boy had almost serenaded you the way he sang praises to you: âexcuse me miss, youâre really pretty! Would you accept my flower please?â. And what was even more unbelievable, was when you giggled and accepted the flower giddily. Then the little boy crossed the line: âcan I have a kiss in return Miss?â. And you did. You pecked the cheek of the boy meek two minutes after meeting him! Unbelievable! It took him 3 dates to even hold your hand. Outrizzed by a five year old.
(Nahoya, Mikey, Baji)
Ready to fight the kid. He's deadass about it too, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckels and snapping the kinks in his neck, looking menacingly at that poor little boy. He doesn't care that this may be the kid's first crush, he'll crush him in return. You were his damnit and he was gonna prove it to anyone who tried him. Kids included. When you pull at his arm though, prompting him to calm down, he stops a little. What do you mean you dont want him to establish his dominance? He's genuinely stumped and just kinda stares at you for a second, watching you intensely as you lean down to the boy, whispering something in his little ear and taking the flower from him. The boy giggles at you, his former horror dissipated, instead replaced with a furious blush that spread all the way down his neck and up his ears. He blew you a kiss before skipping away, giddily going back to whatever he was doing beforehand. Your boyfriend turns you around by the shoulders immediately and gives you a harmless glare. âWhat the fuck was that about?â But he doesnât get a response, as you just wrap your arms around him and laugh. âYouâre so cute when youâre jealous!â Well⌠that wasnt the answer he was looking for but heâll take it.
(Ran, Shion, Draken, Benkei, Wakasa)
Sitting back and watching the show. He finds the little kids advances hilarious and will gladly watch the little shrimp try to win you over whilst you���re trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. âSo sweets, how old are you anyway?â The boy asks you with a smirk on his face. âToo old for you.â You answer incredulously, just about ready to cry from laughter. âNo no no baby, no one has to know! It can just be between the two of us and thatâs fineeee!â He draws out the syllables and leans one elbow on table you and your boyfriend are sitting at. Your boyfriend all the while has probably pulled out a phone, discreetly filming the whole thing whilst leaning back and hiding his tears. You shoot both boys an amused look and then answer the awaiting kid. âCome back to me in a few years and maybe we can arrange something, yeah?â The little kids eyes widen as he looks at you with a determined smile. âYes! You wonât regret it! And Iâll beat up your wannabe boyfie over here once Iâm strong enough too!â He exclaims and runs off leaving you howling in laughter and your boyfriend, who is suddenly enraged by a child, fumes silently, sending daggers across the room. âRelax baby.â You reach a hand over the table to hold his, wiping the tears from your eyes. âDonât touch me.â He hisses and puts the phone down, crossing his arms in fake offense.
(Hanma, Kokonoi, Izana, Rindou)
The false hope typa guy. In this case, the boy made the mistake of coming up to HIM and innocently asking for your name. âWhy, you like what you see?â Your boyfriend uses language much too mature for the little kid, but he gets a timid response of âyeah, sheâs real pretty..â nevertheless. Your boyfriend chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. âI say go for it, Iâm sure youâve got a chance with her!â The little boy has wide eyes and an open mouth âReally? You sure she doesnât have some super big ân scary boyfriend?â He has to suppress laughter when he answers. âIâm sure she doesnât, go talk to her, ask her for her name and tell her that I said hi too.â And with that, heâs sent the kid on his way. Your boyfriend watches him shyly go up to you and pat your leg slightly to get your attention. He watches you smile down at the little boy and talk to him, your eyes widening and laughing when you exchange a few words with the kid. When he sees fit, he comes stalking over to the two of you and wraps his arm around your waist and smirks at the kid. âHey there.â You greet your boyfriend and turn to look at him. âHave you metââ he guesses that youâre about to introduce him to the little boy but he doesnât care to listen, and leans down to shush your lips with a long, over-the-top kiss, even going as far as to cracking one eye open to look at the little boys horrified face before finally pulling away. Youâre a little dazed and very confused when you look down and find your little admirer gone. You throw your boyfriend an accusing look but he only raises his hands in surrender, claiming innocent with a smug smile on his face.
#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#x reader#tokyo rev x you#tokrev#tokyo manji revengers#tr content#tr headcanons#shinichiro#draken x reader#tr shinichiro#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers sano manjiro#tokyo revengers shinichiro#tokyo revengers souya#tokyo revengers kokonoi#tokyo revengers sanzu#tokyo revengers headcanons#tokyo rev#hanma shuji#ran haitani x reader#hanma x reader#sano x reader#Izana x reader#Takemichi x reader#nahoya x reader#tr rindou#rindou haitani#rindou x reader
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all's fair in love and war (2)
oliver wood x female!reader
wc:Â 7.87k
warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest
an:Â literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so iâm sorry itâs late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers
summary:Â Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.
part one
You canât sleep.
You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.
âI knew it, I knew itââ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. âI knew it!â
The image of Oliverâs fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.
It was a riddle of a calibre that you canât seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?
You lingered on it all weekend.
Cherry didnât help at all â heâs been in love with you forever, thatâs literally so obvious â and Enzo even less so once heâd been filled in: Oliver doesnât seem a bloke who letâs alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.
The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.
Thereâs barely enough time to make sense of your situation before youâre racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.
Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning youâd been doing for the last two nights.
When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.
âSorry Iâm late professor,â you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.
Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.
It hadnât escaped you that youâd be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but youâd precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.
Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.
âNot a problem peach, weâre just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.â She brings a stubby hand to her chin, âuhm ⌠well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesnât have a partner. Go join him by his pots.â
Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.
âHey.â He nudges gently.
You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. âHey Archie.â
The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. Thereâs a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.
âSo âŚâ Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. âHow was your weekend?â
Itâs a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.
You shrug, adamant on missing the point. âIt was alright, I guess. How about yours?â
He shrugs right back. âWasnât the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.â
You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. âIâm sorryââ
âNo, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?â His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. âDead sure that bloke's own mother can't say heâs handsome. Iâm better looking than him, surely?â
Thereâs the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: âyouâre definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.â
His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. âYou really think so?â
âWithout a doubt.â
Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. âYouâre very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.â
You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.
Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. âOliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.â
Archieâs reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at armâs length. âNot true. The boyâs half in love with you.â
This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.
âHe said that?â
Heâs quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. âOliver doesnât have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessaryââ
âThatâs just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesnât love me, he barely tolerates me.â
The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. âWhy is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.â
Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesnât seem to notice.
âWe were drunk.â You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.
Thereâs a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.
That itâs an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming âyouâve been fooled!â if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesnât hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.
Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.
Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."
He perks: "really?"
Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.
"Ow!"
A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.
âOliver â can you just focus for five seconds!â Poppy isnât impressed.
Oliver isnât either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppyâs careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.
It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?
You laugh again and itâs loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. Thereâs another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesnât react.
âJust pass me the bloody spade.â He grumbles.
-
The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.
It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.
Oliver doesnât think heâs ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesnât care - before heâs knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archieâs head of curly black hair.
âHey!â He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. âWhat did she say?â
Youâre far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherryâs up the hill towards the castle.
Archie grins. âShe said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.â
Oliver groans, âNot about that, you prat. Aboutâ wait, really?â
"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."
Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."
He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.
"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"
Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."
"Tense?"
"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"
At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.
"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.
Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"
Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"
Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"
The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.
"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."
"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."
Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"
"She said that, too."
Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"
"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."
A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"
Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."
He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."
-
"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"
You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."
"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"
"Yes." You don't look at her.
The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"
You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.
She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."
"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.
The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.
Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.
The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"
You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.
Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.
Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.
"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"
You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"
Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."
"She's just answering your question, professor."
Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.
You fight the twitching urge to look at him.
"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."
A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.
Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.
You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.
Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.
Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.
It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.
'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'
Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.
'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'
You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.
There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.
'Maybe.
We good?'
There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.
You hunch over the note again.
Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.
He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.
When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.
'Never :)'
His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.
"What you looking so damn happy about?"
Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Donât know what yer talking about."
-
"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"
"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"
Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."
He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.
Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.
In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.
The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.
You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.
But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.
Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.
Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.
He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.
You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.
"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.
He huffs.
Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.
It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"
You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.
Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.
Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.
The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.
It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.
Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."
You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.
Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.
Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.
"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"
The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."
-
On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.
There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.
Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.
He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.
It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.
Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.
But lately he's foggier than usual.
You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.
Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.
Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.
Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.
You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.
The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.
Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"
You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.
The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.
There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.
-
The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.
Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.
Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.
Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.
Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.
"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"
It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.
Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.
You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.
Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.
Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.
He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.
"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"
A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.
Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.
His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.
Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.
"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"
Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.
"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"
It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.
"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"
After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.
The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.
He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.
Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?
The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.
There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.
Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.
Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.
So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.
-
You're not at dinner.
He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."
Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."
Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."
He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.
Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.
"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.
Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.
He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.
"What does it look like, Arch."
Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."
He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"
Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.
-
Youâd watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.Â
The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.
By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.
The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.
The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.
It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.
"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.
He shrugs. "Not today."
You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.
There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.
"You missed dinner."
"Does it matter?"
Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.
There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."
He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.
You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.
"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"
His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."
By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."
You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.
The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.
You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."
He nods. "I know."
"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"
Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.
"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."
You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.
"You wouldn't."
"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.
Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."
Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.
"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.
He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."
The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.
By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.
Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.
You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.
His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.
You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.
-
Oliver hasn't been sleeping.
His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.
Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.
Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.
"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"
He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.
He won.
Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.
He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.
It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.
He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.
Will you forget him?
It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.
He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.
You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--
The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.
A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.
His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"
Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.
This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.
"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."
There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.
"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.
The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.
He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.
It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.
"Wood! What are you do--"
His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."
Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.
With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"
He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.
"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.
You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."
Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."
He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.
"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"
A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.
"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."
"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.
"So, is that a yes?"
You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.
"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.
He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"
You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.
It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.
It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.
Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.
"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."
He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."
-
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#oliver wood x reader#oliver wood fanfiction#oliver wood x you#oliver wood#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x reader#ron weasley x reader#fred weasly x reader#george weasley x reader#oliver wood imagine#hermione granger#ron weasley#hufflepuff#slytherin#gryffindor#ravenclaw#fic recommendation#quidditch
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I wanted to participate in Mermay. Itâs now October. Alas. Codywan makeout session forever đ
[prints available]
My process is under the cut if you would like to see how I made this :3
I'd been feeling a little dried out and beaten artistically in May so I didn't do much art. However, I really wanted to do something for Mermay so one night before bed I quickly scribbled some quick concepts in the notes app of my phone with my finger.
On the 28th I realized the month ran away from me and was quickly escaping so I knew I had to get started on drawing something for Mermay. My bathroom concepts, as cool as they are and despite how much I like them, had to be discarded because drawing a bathroom and rendering everything to the degree I envisioned wasn't feasible. Unless some miracle happened, it's the kind of artwork that, at the absolute minimum, would take 15 hours. More realistically we'd be looking at 25-30 hours. Really not doable on a time crunch. That's not to say I won't ever return to it!!
So to start off on the other idea I had, I looked through Pinterest for around ten minutes for some inspiration (mainly at photos of pretty underwater shots and also some photos of people swimming underwater) and then sketched for maybe 20-30 minutes.
A while ago, while I was mulling over what fish I would base mercodywan off of in a potential au, @happybean17 recommended the epaulette soldierfish for Cody and once I googled it and discovered it is also called the kuntee soldierfish... well, quite honestly, how could I resist? It's the perfect colors and Cody, my beloved, is soooo cunty.
I initially wanted Obi-Wan to be based off a shark of some sort but when I started drawing it just felt right to make him frilly like a betta which I rationalize is because he wears robes with some swoosh. I then googled and quickly found a betta that's very Obi-Wan colored.
Soooo after looking at the photos I put my sketch in my tablet and started doing lineart.
I drew a big fanned out tail for Obi-Wan but after I had spent all that time on it I decided it was far too static and flat. It didn't feel like it was swishing in water.
I made a copy of the tail and minorly edited that to be Obi-Wan's swooshy butt fin. And to make his tail swooshy I used liquify and also redrew a bunch of it.
And then I began the loooong process of painting.
I've hit the image limit so pretend I've added the finished product here.
All in all, this took me over 14 hours and--due to some hiccups in my life--many more months than planned. Going so long without finishing a single artwork was incredibly demoralizing so I'm relieved to finally finish this and have an actual artwork to show for my hard work. Oh, and thank you for reading my rambles and I hope seeing the process was interesting!
#AND THEY WERE FISH BOYFRIENDS#codywan#star wars fanart#commander cody#obi wan kenobi#my art#deep cut lore: i had the idea that merpeople would twine their tails like snakes to have sex#so technically you guys are looking at codywan getting ready to fu-
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đ ⧠â Ë â Lucky
hajime umemiya x f.reader
â° Ý Ëâ: wc: 1.2k
â° Ý Ëâ: content: nsfw, soft dom!umemiya, established relationship, pwp, breeding kink, soft sex!!!!!!, edging/teasing, ume has a big dick ://, pussy drunk!umemiya, praise, i just needed to talk about his breeding kink okay leave me alone, smut directly under cut, all chars are aged up.
18+ â minors / blank blogs dni
I just. I need a moment to talk about Umemiyaâs breeding kink. I know it's just. Itâs crazy man. Walk with me please
Umemiya is the type of guy to get so lost inside your pussy when heâs fucking himself into you. His brain can only focus on the way your walls are fluttering around him, the way they grip him so tight. Drawing him back in on every thrust. Practically pulling him deeper and deeper into your core. Until youâre all stretched out, taking his cock completely.
A feat in itself, honestly. Because itâs safe to say Umemiya⌠heâs big. Upsettingly so, really. So big you really didnât think he was going to fit inside of your cute little pussy. He didnât think so eitherâ lying between your legs. Inspecting your lips. Almost making you feel embarrassed by his stare as he would lick at your entrance. Pout on his pretty lips.
âAh baby~â He used to whine, âDo you really think she can take me? I mean⌠pretty girl already looks so stretched around just one of my fingers⌠I donât want to hurt you, you know?â
Itâs a good thing heâs broken you in now. So many hours prepping your puffy little cunt until itâs a little sore, tears beading up on your waterline. So many nights he teases you with just the head of his cockâ bullying it into your entrance, not going further than just the tip even when you beg. Beg for him to fill you up, to stretch you just for him in a way you know only he can.
All because he knows what's best for you.
Or, maybe thatâs just what he tells himself. Maybe he knows the second heâs finally able to bury his cock fully inside your warmth, knows that when he finally gets to feel your wet heat wrapped around him that heâs going to become entirely addicted.
And trust, when he finally does give in, heâs pussy drunk instantly. His mind drifting far off, stars floating in his vision. Only able to see your face. Only able to feel your body.
Stare you right in the eyes as his thrusts turn a bit sloppy, almost lazy. Savouring the feeling of you in any way he can. Your hips wrapped around his waist, his arms on either side of your head, propping his body up as he gives you that lazy smile. The smile he always gives when heâs about to drive you insane.
Because Umemiya, you see, he likes to play the long game. He likes to draw out pleasure, holding you just on the cusp of epiphany without ever letting you slip over the edge. Loves to bask in the glow of intimacy, creating a whole new genre of music to enjoy. Preens at the way you cling to his shoulder, holding him close.
Smiles because he knows youâll never let him go.
Even when his thrusts are languid like thisâ each one slow, almost messy, but deliberate at the same time. His cock brushing against the spot inside of you that sees stars, so deep inside of you that heâs practically pressing against your cervix. Balls pressing against your ass as he pushes himself all the way inside, grinding slow circles into your whiny entrance. Just begging for him to get serious, begging for him to let you find your release.
Ah~ he wishes moments like this could just last forever~ Pretty girl on his bed, creaming around his cock. Looking so lostâ but itâs okay. You donât have to be. Heâs right there to take care of you. Heâll always be right there to take care of you.
Fill you up over and over again to make you feel right. Make you feel loved, cared for.
Mmmm⌠and then his brain starts to drift off again. Too pussy drunk to really think about how dangerous his thoughts really may be. Too high to forget all about the birth control you take religiously.
How can he stop himself from dreaming of a future with you? Of a nice house in the same neighbourhood as his friends. Maybe by the beach so you can have Barbeques every night. Go swimming whenever you want. A family built between the two of you. How much he would love you every single day of his life.
Right, because with Umemiya, his need to breed you. His desires that start from deep in the root of his brain, spread all the way down to his fingertips, they donât come from the need to claim. No, he already knows you're his. Knows you would never betray him.
No, those desires, the ones that have him burying his face in your neck. Have him finally giving in, picking up the speed of his hips. His thrusts melting you into a puddle of moansâ your sanity so far out of reach you donât even know if you want it back.
Those desires come from his love for you. His desire to be with you utterly and completely. To show the rest of the world the evidence of your love, the evidence of your devotion to one another.
Okay, and maybe they come from his inherent need to dote on you. To take care of you the same way you have him. Maybe just a little.
But that doesnât matter anyway, nah, all that matters right now is you underneath him. Taking everything he has to give and more. Your neglected clit twitching as you come apart under him. Your back arching, nails digging into his shoulder blades. Coming undone from his cock alone.
Being so goodâ just so perfect for him.
It only drives him further, only giving you a second of reprise before he leans back from your form, pulling your hips onto his thighs. Takinging one of your legs and raising it highâ placing it just right on his shoulder. Giving him the perfect angle to drive into you. The perfect angle to fill you up, breed you so full and pretty.
Imagining the way your walls will flutter once he finally pulls out, watching as his cum leaks from your fluttering hole. Knowing the second it does heâll just take two fingers and push it back inside.
His good girl would never waste a drop, would she?
No, she wouldnât. Not ever. Never for him. So why keep denying you of what he knows he you really want?
It only takes one look into your dazed eyes to have him falling apart after you. How can he not when you look at him like heâs hung the stars? Fucked out eyes half-lidded, pretty smile on your face that just looks so, so tired.
His hips fuck themselves as deep inside of you as he can go, his head rolling back, mouth parting in a silent âoâ as white fills up your walls. His lips find your ankle, kissing it gently as he thrusts into you slowly once more. Milking every last bit of cum from his cock. Making sure every last bit stays inside of you. The picture of love, of happiness right below him.
He doesnât know how he got so lucky.
Anyway. Yeah. Umemiya breeding kink. Yeah.
Š all rights reserved to bachibabe ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.
#hajime umemiya#umemiya hajime x reader#umemiya fluff#umemiya x reader#umemiya x you#hajime umemiya x reader#hajime umemiya x you#wind breaker x you#wind breaker x reader#wind breaker#wind breaker smut#umemiya smut#hajime umemiya smut#windbreaker umemiya#wind breaker x y/n#wind breaker fluff#wind breaker fic#wind breaker headcanons#umemiya#hajime#đ ; â° https:// wind breaker#đ ; â° https:// hajime umemiya#đ ; â° https:// lucky
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đ§đ¨đ đŚđ˘đ§đăťl.f.
â five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.
wordsăť7.7k
pairingăťidol!felix x gn!reader
genresăťfluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math
warningsăťalcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl
playlistăťjazz bar by dreamcatcherăťspring day by btsăťthrough the night by iuăťeight by iu ft. sugaăťhouse song by searowsăťnot mine by day6
a/năťi borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you
One. The door to the cafĂŠ opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.
Theoretically, you come here to studyâbut people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic âdonât cause a scene in publicâ tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menuâs most caffeinated item.
And now, there is him.
âHello,â the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. âMay I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.â
His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, heâs slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as itâs covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?
And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the strangerâs chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.
You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You donât know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.
But you are sure that the corners of the strangerâs eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.
âFelix,â the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.
Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than youâve ever been. Or maybe youâre just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.
That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.
Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.
You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlierâcan I see you tonight? Just for a bitâbut only now that heâs in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.
âHi,â he says once heâs close enough.
âHey, you,â you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.
When you pull away, your hands move to your best friendâs cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?Â
âBad day?â You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.
âThe worst,â he returns with a weak smile.Â
âWanna take a walk?â
âYes, please. How long do I have you for?â
This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes thatâs five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.
âAs long as you need me,â you say.
You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.
Thereâs a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.
Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felixâs voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the parkâs fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.
The way he always does when heâs around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you donât say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you donât have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)
By the time the two of you leave the park, itâs almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. Youâre making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, youâre sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.
âYouâre sure youâll be okay going back yourself?â You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.
âYeah, of course.â Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. âIâm sorry I kept you out so late.â
âNonsense, Lix. Iâm always here for you.â
Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and youâre caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you donât think youâve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.
You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as youâre entering the building.
How Felix doesnât notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.
âI canât explain why, or howâbut I feel braver when Iâm with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.â
And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.
âThank you,â Felix mumbles, âfor everything.â
You donât read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felixâs face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.
Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mugâs rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.
You canât remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And itâs got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.
But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh thatâs twice as anguished as the last.
When you reach the hellish device, your best friendâs name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.
From: Lix đŁ Hey hey From: Lix đŁ We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix đŁ Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix đŁ Please donât play the âif Jeongin doesnât go neither do Iâ card again Iâve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH
You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minhoâs cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.
From: Y/N đ ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N đ no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. itâd be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N đ sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N đ (that way jeongin can come too!!!)
Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.
From: Lix đŁ Yeah, of course. Donât apologize From: Lix đŁ Do you need anything? Youâre eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N đ sleeping, YES. From: Y/N đ eating, not really đ
but i donât have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N đ donât worry about me. iâll be raring to go in a day or two
Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.
Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.
Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you donât respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.Â
Thereâs a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your nameâinfinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.
Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him âdo something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."
But you donât see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.
âStay with me,â you whisper, and Felixâs hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. âPlease?â
There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felixâs heart in his ears.
And then he moves.
âC'mere,â Felix murmurs once heâs lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.
Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and youâve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time youâve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.
âGonna get you sick,â you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when heâs holding you the way he is?
âDonât care,â he answers readily. âI'm not going anywhere.â
At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)
The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.
Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felixâs world-famous sea salt browniesâaccompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!
When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterdayâand you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.
From: Lix đŁ Iâll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix đŁ Wait for me, okay?
And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.
Four. âThis isnât a bad idea, right?â Chan asks under his breath.
âNah, theyâll be fine,â Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leaderâs shoulder. âY/N will take care of him.â
A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a jointâonly to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6âs âNot Mine,â and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that itâs probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.
âAnd whoâs gonna take care of Y/N?â
The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding theyâre not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.Â
âLet me know when you get back!â Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.
The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.
Felix is rather prone to hangovers, youâve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesnât seem like heâs going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as thereâs more of DAY6âs discography to butcher.
In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesnât help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contactâhe's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.
Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.
The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of âNot Mineâ just as you pass the apartmentâs front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into âYou Were Beautifulâ without a care in the world.
You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."
âTake an intermission, superstar,â you say. âThe receptionist looks like heâs ready to throttle us.â
âAh, he would never. Weâre tight,â he returns, and before you can stop him heâs lifting his head, raising his voice. âHave a good night, Mr. Seo!â
Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive winceâbut instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.
âYou too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.â
âYes, sir!â You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boyâs brightness.
Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.
âIâll be here if you need me,â you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. âBe careful in there.â
âMâkay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.
You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.
To: Chan đş we got back safe!! To: Chan đş lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him
A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.
From: Chan đş Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan đş Bro tore that sake UP
You begin to type back a retortâgive me a break it was basically JUICEâwhen you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.
âWhat's up?â You answer.
âI think Iâm...stuck.â
Now what the hell does that mean?
âCan I come in?â
âMhm.â
You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.
âYou are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.
âPlease donât kick me while Iâm down.â
Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. Heâs managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like heâs that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.
He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.
âSo maybe Iâm a hot mess,â he concedes. âA little bit.â
âThat's alright. We all have our moments,â you giggle. âCome on, let me help you with your jewelry.â
For a second, he looks like heâs about to protestâbut the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.
âOkay,â he mumbles adorably.
You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.
âAre these bothering you at all?â You ask nonchalantly. âI forgot you had so many piercings.â
In your peripheral vision, you see Felixâs lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blinkâs worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.
Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, youâve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felixâs eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.
Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he wonât remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.
But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesnât have a name. It is the same tender expression thatâd surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.
You reach your conclusion a second after he does.
Felixâs hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonflyâs tail dipping into a pondâs surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.
A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertipsâand your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.
Felix doesnât push you away; he doesnât kiss you. He does something far worse.
âI love you,â he whispers.
A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.
But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that heâll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.
An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felixâs breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-inducedâleaving behind one impossible possibility.
You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way youâve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.
But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.
You wonât remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper Iâm sorry through watering eyes, though you donât really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seoâs face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wristâare you okay?! What the fuck happened?âbut you do not, can not say anything, not right now.
And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.
Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.
âAnd, with that,â he says with a glowing smile, âwe are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.â
âNoooo,â you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. âAlready?â
âOkay, the tourâs been going on for two days and you havenât paid a cent for my toil. Donât push your luck.â
Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.
When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going homeâand suggested that you go with him. Youâd freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that youâre on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that theyâd finally get to meet you in person.
But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed âyou are my guest. Now leave me.â
With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.
âI think that was some of the best food Iâve ever had, seriously,â you hum. âIâll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.â
âI'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."
(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant insteadâno ifs, ands, or buts.)
âWe have to try your sistersâ recommendations the next time I visit, donât we?â
âYes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we donât."
He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.
A month has passed since that night.
Youâve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felixâs flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his âI love youâ every time youâre alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.
You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didnât try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.
Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.
Youâre finally going to bring it up tonight. Youâve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.
âWeâre here,â Felix says.
The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and youâre at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.
Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.
âNot bad, huh?â
âNo,â you murmur. âNot at all.â
âCâmon.â
Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.
(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)
âWhat is this place?â You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. âWhy are we the only ones here?â
âCrazy, right?â Felix says proudly. âI dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But itâs only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.â
Felixâs gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.
âThere was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. Iâm glad to see that nothingâs changed.â
Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant heâd be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew heâd miss this nook of Sydney most.
Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.
You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.
When the sunâs final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. âReady to go home?"
And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands whatâs coming.
âI want to talk to you about that night,â you say.
Felix doesnât respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.
â...you donât have to, Y/N.â
âNo. I do,â you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I donât want to keep dancing around the topic, not when youâve been waiting for as long as you have.â
You feel Felixâs gaze on your face, as if heâs trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.
âOkay.â And the stage is yours.
You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isnât until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeezeâyouâve forgotten that youâre still holding hisâthat you feel rooted in the moment again.
Itâs Felix youâre talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.Â
So you take a deep breath.
âWhen you said those words,â you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times youâve rehearsed this conversation in your head, âI couldnât process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. Iâve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I canât say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, andâitâs a lot of things.
âFor as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.â
You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.
âBut you changed that, Felix. You walked into that cafĂŠ that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly Iâd found youâsomeone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, Iâve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that Iââ
Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, âlove youâ hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that youâre stunned it doesnât fall out right away.
âBut thatâs why Iâm fucking terrified,â you go on. âWhen you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was fallingâand maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sureâbut in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and youâdâyouâd just be a distant memory.
âAnd that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.â Youâre crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. âFor whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.â
You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.
âI meant it when I apologized to you that night. Iâm sorry, Lix. Iâm sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. Iâm sorry that I ran away. Iâm sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for meââ
Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.
ââplease.â
And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.
When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that theyâre suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.Â
The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.
And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.
One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.
It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changedâand so have you.
You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.
You made this a few months after you met Felix, and youâve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, youâve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because youâve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your lifeâwhich has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard youâve tried to change your heart.
Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something youâve never felt ready for.
Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if youâre watching them on film.
This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.
Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chanâs bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.
A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of âQueencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.
There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.Â
You respond to Felix's messages (âbe there soon!â), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.
The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A houndâs ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than itâs ever been.
Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite cafĂŠ come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.
When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you canât believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.
The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.
âHi,â Felix says, rising from his seat.
âHey, you,â you answer. âWanna take a walk?â
And so you do.
You link arms, as always; you try each otherâs drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.
âHey, Lixâ"
When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.
ââI love you.â
Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.
Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.
âSay it again.â
âI love you, Lee Yongbok.â
He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. âAgain, please.â
âI love you,â you repeat, starting to laugh. âI love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking muchââ
Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fearâonly starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words âI love you, tooâ in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.
Š đđ¨đŤđĽđ˘đą (est. 090323) ¡ đĽđ˘đ¤đđ đđĄđ˘đŹ đ°đ¨đŤđ¤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support âĄ
#lee felix x reader#felix x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#lee felix#felix#stray kids#skz#lee felix imagines#lee felix fluff#felix imagines#felix fluff#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#skz imagines#skz fluff#stray kids scenarios#felix scenarios#*oneshot#*writing#IT'S DONEEEE IT IS FINALLY DONEE#i hope you like reading as much as i loved writing it!#i'm ngl i'm quite nervous because this is the first full-length fic i've posted on this blog so#any and all feedback would be so so appreciated! much love <3
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"Crawling Back to You" {Aemond x Reader}
Summary: It started with a night out in King's Landing, then a fake name, and then a disagreement. Some time after cooling off, and after a job gone wrong, you and the one-eyed prince come to...an understanding in the rain.
Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)
Warning(s): Oral sex (f and m receiving), nudity, groping, talk of death, swearing, canon-typical injury, sexual harassment (not done by Aemond), and mention of past child SA
Heyyyyyy pookies. So I just started my senior year and it's been hectic. BUT I hope this long ass chapter (it took me forever) makes up for it! I'm also not sure how accurately I'm writing Aemond. I mean, I know HBO is making him into the edgiest edge lord, but I'm taking creative liberties i guess. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 8.5k
 âItâs a pleasure to finally put a name to your face. One that fits its beauty.â He smiled.
You lowered your gaze, fighting the smile on your lips. It was a stupid compliment, one that you had heard several variations of the rare times men would flirt with you those days. ButâŚit felt different from him.
Still, you merely scoffed, setting the jug on your hip. âDo you want to lead the way, or should I?â
âGo ahead; considering you believe Iâll harm you somehow.â
âSee?â You decided to tease instead of defy as you began to walk up the cobbled hill. âYou are funny.â
Aemond scoffed, following you. âDid I ever deny it?â
âHow you reacted when I first said it never gave me a clear answer.â
âShouldnât you change?â
You looked back at him. âWhat?â
Unashamedly, his eye trailed over your body and yours soon followed. Your nipples were perking through the thin material of the dress.
âSeven Hells.â You cursed, bringing the jug in front of yours.
Aemond came to your side, a hand on your back and leading you up the hill. âYou donât wear a corset?â
âNot with this. Iâm meant to lure lustful men, remember?â
âPerhaps you can tell me where you tailor so we can get more appropriate clothing?â
Hell no.
âOr,â you suggested. âI could teach you how to properly steal something?â
âYou need to be able to not draw attention to yourself to do that.â
âIâve done it before.â
âI have no doubt, but the clothing off a manâs back?â
You paused for a moment before replying. âYes, actually; I even managed all of oneâs undergarments.â
Aemond shook his head, pulling his hood farther up to hide his smile. âI mean more so with that dress.â
âIt might surprise you, but that is how I robbed him blind.â
âI mean in the sense that-.â
â-I understand.â You shut him up, but not aggressively. The two of you passed by more and more people through the many alleys of Kingâs Landing. When you got to the main roads, you wouldâve lost Aemond in the crowd if it werenât for the fact his hand had traveled from your back to your arm.
Maybe it was because he was paying you, or maybe it was because you didnât know how touch starved you had been until it felt like his hand was simultaneously burning and soothing you; but you welcomed his touch.
As you continued to brave through the busyness of the city, you managed to spot a hobbling man wearing a long cloak with a drink in his hand. You smirked at your companion.
âAre you watching?â
He nodded, and how he looked you up and down briefly didnât escape you. âIâm watching.â
You handed him the jug of water and approached the slightly incapacitated man. You pitched your voice up when you asked. âSer?â
The man glanced up at you through hooded eyes, and he grunted in response.
âAre you alright?â You feigned concern, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him up.
âAye.â He sighed. âMuch better now that youâre here.â
You giggled, leading him. âYouâre too kind.â
âIf itâs possible, could that kindness be repaid?â
âLet me at least have your name first,â you turned him down a spacious alleyway where there were less people. âThen I will know what to scream.â
âGaius. You may-oi!â
You snatched the cloak right off his shoulders and took off in a mad dash down the rest of the alley. Turning your head over your shoulder for merely a second, you were graced to watch as the drunk man stumbled over his own footing before two hands in front of you grabbed your arms. Once you were pulled around the corner, you raised your hands to strike your assailant; to which he caught both of them.
âIs it truly that easy to rob Smallfolk?â Aemond asked, not letting go of your wrists.
Snickering, you pulled away from him. âI thought you said you were watching me?â
âI was.â
âClearly not.â You slipped the cloak over your body, tying it. âYou were lurking in the shadows.â
âI still saw you.â He retorted.
Shaking your head, you bent down and picked up your jug of water on the ground. Then, you stuck your hands into the pockets of the cloak. Your face lit up, and your retracted your hand, holding four pennies in your palm.
âCome with me.â Was all you said before walking past him and continuing down the street.
Aemond was by your side once more. âAnd where exactly are you taking me to?â
âAre you fond of sweets?â
âI enjoy them, but rarely indulge.â
âThen I will be more of a temptress tonight without having to show any of my skin.â You said excitedly.
All the prince did was smile; somehow trusting your âmadnessâ. It was a short walk from where you were to a small stand in one of the several market corners of Kingâs Landing. Despite the long line, you pushed to the front, ignoring all of the comments and curses from the people.
âEvening, Marija.â You greeted the older woman. âOh my, has someone bewitched you? You look younger!â
âWhat do you want?â She sighed your name tiredly, but a pleasant smile was on her features.
Sliding the four pennies onto the counter, you said. âTwo dishes of Northern Snow.â
âDo you have two other pennies?â
âThis was all I was paid.â You sighed. âYou know how short everyone is on coin.â
âPrecisely why I need every bit of what is owed to me.â
Shaking your head, you lowered your voice. âDo you see the man lingering behind me? The one with one eye.â
She glanced over your shoulder for just a moment, long enough for it to look like an accident and not a stare. âYes?â
âHeâs a rich lord from Essos,â You began the lie with a truth. âand he has fallen in love with me.â
âYou have always told marvelous tales, but even for you-.â
â-MarijaâŚI have a good feeling about him.â You spoke with more insistence. âYou know that doesnât happen very often.â
The older woman looked at you for a little longer, as if to try and pick apart your deceit. Then, when she could find no trace of it, she sighed heavily. Still, she brought out two small vanilla cakes and laid them on the counter, then brought out the bowl of puffy cream.
âYou better invite me to this extravagant wedding of yours.â She frosted the cakes with the cream, creating a fluffy topping that looked as if it was true snow itself. Marija then drizzled melted chocolate over both cakes before handing them to you. âConsidering this handsome stranger is wealthy.â
âHe is strange.â You chuckled. âA bit arrogant too, but I shall live.â
âAll men are arrogant.â
âYou have not met this one. Thank you, Marija.â
âSure, sure,â she scoffed. âGive me your water as well; Iâm parched.â
âOnly if you give me the jug back. I need it.â
âIâll come around tomorrow and visit Yelena in the meantime, is that alright?â
Your smile fell for just a moment, before forcing it back. âSounds great!â
Rushing away, you could barely hear her goodbye before you soon found Aemond again, handing him the dish. His nose wrinkled as you immediately sunk your fork into the pastry. âWhat is this?â
âNorthern Snow.â Your answer was somewhat muffled by the amount of food in your mouth. âMarijaâs traveled across the realms and has been popular for her desserts. The snow is just whipped cream with sugar and some rosewater.â
âThe brown parts?â He poked the treat.
âChocolate, but itâs meant to look like horse droppings.â
âI believe Iâll pass.â
You shook your head. âIâm meant to be showing you around the joys of the city that is not just brothels. Trust me.â
He matched your seriousness. âAnd if I find it revolting?â
âThen you may know where I tailor.â
Humming, he smiled as he dug his fork into the cake and then into his mouth. He pursed his lips together as you watched him ponder the taste. Then, he shook his head, taking another bite.
âYou must be a witch to have known I would favor it.â
Smiling victoriously, the two of you walked a short while through the congested market until you managed to find two chairs and a table.
âWhat did you tell her?â He asked as you sat. âThe woman who made this?â
âThat you were Prince Aemond and would have my head if I did not serve you a Smallfolk delicacy.â
âNo, you didnât.â
âNo, I didnât.â You agreed, taking a bite of your treat. You hesitated on your next words. âIâŚsheâs a romantic, and I didnât have enough for the cakes, so I told her you were a rich lord courting me.â
It was nice you didnât immediately expect him to lash out or condemn you to your death; he seemed genuinely composed every time you were with him, and he stuck to that.
âAnd what was my name?â He humored.
âI didnât tell her one.â You teased. âIf you were not yourself, what would you have wanted to be called?â
He hummed, taking time for an answer before settling on. âCiarĂĄn.â
âIâve met one or two of those.â You nodded. âItâs a good name.â
âMight I ask you a question now?â
âOf course.â
âDo you summon your knife out of thin air, or do you hide it in your cunt?â
Choking on your food, you placed your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Once you were alright, you finally looked at him. âI beg your pardon?â
âThe rumors Iâve heard of you isnât just about your beauty.â He grinned, knowing the effect on you. âItâs known that you assault men with a blade, but Iâve heard conflicting accounts.â
You stared at him for a little longer before shaking your head, snorting. âInside of my thigh, like a normal person. You nearly grazed it the first night.â
âDid I?â He tilted his head to the side.
Nodding, you smirked as you took another bite. It was then that his eye darkened just a hint. âWhat?â
Aemond didnât verbally respond. Instead, he bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, reached over to take your face into his free hand, and wiped the corner of your lip with his sleeve. âYou had something white on your face.â
It was your turn to hum at his statement, continuing to eat; yet, you would glance at him more often while you slid the fork into your mouth, tongue trying to lick the utensil clean of the whipped cream. You both finished up in silence between each other, yet the people around you only chatted excitedly, laughed boldly, or moaned and fucked one another in the dingiest of places nearby.
âIs it fun to be a prince?â You asked, pushing in your chair when you bother stood to leave.
âI wouldnât call it such.â Aemond shrugged, following suite, and the two of you were wandering aimlessly once again.
âThen what is it you do for fun?â
âI find myself in the library often; reading, studying the history.â He listed. âI train with Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Hand of the king.â
âYou sound like you enjoy his company.â
âI enjoy making him falter as we spar.â He looked at you. âYou mustnât be so horrible in combat. On account of you supposedly taking menâs lives for bounties.â
Shaking your head, you place your hands in the pockets of the cloak. âI donât take pride in it. Iâve also had my fair share of bruises and broken bones.â
âHow many have you killed?â
âHow many have you?â
Your response wouldâve only worked if it had not been for the well-known fact he had killed Lucerys; something you had forgotten when you saw him again. Now, there you both were, your pace slowing equally in the silence that was the discomfort you had created.
Still, he responded. âOnly one; and I assume you along with the rest of Westeros knows who by now.â
Nodding, you kept your eyes down on the road in front of you.
âArenât you going to ask how I did it?â He questioned.
You shook your head. âItâs not my place. If you wish to tell me, then tell me. If not, then I believe itâs your turn to ask something about me.â
Humming, he prodded. âAgain, how many men have you killed?â
âThe same as you.â You stood closer to him as a crew of rowdy men began to pass by. âHe was an angry man; a ratcatcher fired from his profession, and to my luck, with no family or anyone to miss him.â
âIt must have been his luck as well, considering what happened to all of them merely a week ago.â
You didnât want to acknowledge the gate into that conversation. âI had only done the luring and thievery for a single moon; the worst I had come across was a bloodied nose and a bruised rib. This nightâŚChansey had warned me not to pursue him, but I was young and ignorant. I didnât even get to the well before he came up behind me andâŚâ
This was far too intimate of a story to tell someone you had only met twice; nonetheless, one of the princes of Westeros. You decided to end it as soon as possible. âHe didnât hurt me in the way youâre thinking. We struggled against one another, I had no knife with me at the time, but he did. He dropped it as we fought, we both reached for the blade, and I got it first.â
The two of you had somehow wandered into a small, quiet square; perhaps only a few other people resting from a drunken bender. Aemond, with his hands behind his back, simply inquired.
âDid he have anything of value on him?â
Shaking your head, you grinned. âThree pennies, a half-penny, and a surprisingly clean red scarf.â
âAnd the scarf was the most priceless.â
âOf course. I wouldâve died in the winter without it.â
You both chuckled, and it was him who halted the walking. You stopped in front of him a few places.
 âI hadnât meant to kill Luke.â Aemond admitted softly.
âLucerys?â You clarified.
âYes; only frighten him.â He sighed. âItâŚit was an unfortunate outcome to what I had intended.â
If he were not himself (perhaps the rich Lord CiarĂĄn he wished to be for that one night), then you would have told him it did not matter what he intended. A boy was dead and that put all of Westeros at risk. Still, whilst your anger was present, you understood you would never know what happened that day. You also understood his regret above all; you had no right to act like a saint.
âIs there anything I can do?â
You genuinely had no idea how to respond to him. So, you did what your mother had done for you whenever you were upset as a child: Ask what you needed from her.
His eye met yours, and you somehow found the courage to not look away from him. After what felt like a lifetime, he approached you suddenly and gradually wrapped his arms around you. Your body was akin to a corpse with how frozen you had become. Still, it didnât last for long as you found yourself easing into his hold, your own arms around his neck. The night was so quiet, you could hear his shallow breaths in your ear.
Then, his hand slipped into your pocket.
At the sudden change of touch, you flinched out of his touch, but he merely shushed you, pulling away fully. You reached into the pocket and pulled out what he had promised you; three silver moons.
Swallowing thickly, you looked up at him and sawâŚan array of emotions you could not describe. So, you spoke first.
âIâŚI hope tonight was enough for you. Iâm not sure what else I-.â
â-It was nice.â He interrupted, his gaze still on you. âLovely, even.â
Nodding, you pocketed the moons and kept your hands at your side. âI bid you a goodnight, Little Prince.â
He rose his brow. âI donât believe I gave you permission to call me that.â
âWill you have my head then, your grace?â You taunted.
âI should.â He walked closer to you. âBut I wonât. What direction is your house?â
Your heart leapt; yet, not in the way it should have after an attractive man (you would later admit) made a forward remark.
âOh no, I will not bother you.â
âIt is not a bother if I desire to see you home safely.â He argued.
âAemond,â you stepped back, not wanting to play a game. âI don��t want you to walk with me for the rest of the night.â
The quietness returned; but, not one of comfort. He didnât look angry, and that was what frightened you. He merely stood tall like a man.â
âI see.â
âI didnât mean to say it so-.â
â-Yet you said it.â
Shaking your head, you tried again. âI offended you, and Iâm sorry. My house is no place for anyone other than myself and-, not even other smallfolk.â
âI wouldnât go inside if that is what worries you. I am merely curious.â
âLook,â you approached him again, only for him to step away. âif you wish to see me again, I wouldnât mind at all-.â
â-As long as I have coin.â
Your face went blank for a few seconds you had been so shocked by his words, and soon formed a scowl. âYou had offered.â
âYou didnât reject it.â
All you could do was laugh. âYou-!â
He wasnât the one to cut you off, it had been yourself. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands over your mouth to ponder your next words. You were tired, frustrated, and wanted to go home. So, you did exactly that.
âBe safe on your journey back to the Red Keep.â Was all you said, and you brushed past him, expecting him to call you a nasty name, or chase after you again.
But, like the first night you had met him: He did nothing.
A week later, you were back where youâd always been at night: Sylviâs brothel. As you prettied yourself, the girls were restless; not with enthusiasm for the clients, but for the talk of war. Whether it was the fear of death it would bring, or the lust for strong men to take comfort inside of a woman.
You were a part of the former. Not as horrible as some girls (you found one vomiting up her dinner after the discussion), but you had to admit you were judgmental of those excited about it. You yourself had never experienced warâŚbut if it was just a smidge like the violence you and other women had ever suffered multiplied by a thousandâŚit wasnât something you were looking forward to.
Later, you waited in Sylviâs private quarters (the one place no one is allowed to go during work hours unless she permitted it) until it was Chansey who came, saying she had quarry for you.
She had been with an older, retired member of the Lannister guards. He was three and fifty, she told you; fucked like an animal, but when it was over, while he desired to do it again, his body ached so horribly he could only walk.
It was meant to be easyâŚbut for any reason at all, it wasnât that night.
You stumbled as you brought your knife out, and he unsheathed a dagger from his side. You fought and fought, it almost being like a twisted dance; heâd strike, youâd doge, and vice versa. He swiped against your side, and it stung but you had no time to even seethe in pain as he brought his blade up to stab you again.
Heâd gotten tired sooner than you imagined, and you grabbed onto his sleeve, then dragging him into a handful of barrels nearby. He landed in a crash, and he wasnât getting up. He was still breathing as you looted him. A few Coppers and a silver Stag.
It was only then, as you pushed your way through the boisterous crowds, that you felt your head begin to lighten, and your side grow heavy. Looking down at the gnawing pain, you saw crimson soak your thin gown. OhâŚyou were wounded.
âChansey?â You called out over the groaning of whores and their patrons once you made it back to the brothel. The lights seemed dimmer than usual, and with one hand keeping pressure on your wound, you used your other to tap the shoulder of the nearest server.
She gasped upon seeing you. âWhat happened?â
âWhereâs Chansey?â You asked.
âShe-sheâs with someone.â
âSeven Hells, already?!â Sighing, you took one of the chalices off her tray. âFuck it, Iâll do it myself.â
And you took it in one gulp. The server gaped at you as you took another one, also downing it like it was water. âThank you.â
Her voices of worry were once again drowned out by the sound of constant pleasure from every corner of the brothel. Now, what the server did not tell you, was that it wasnât the cheap wine usually served to the common payer; noâŚit was incredibly rich, and incredibly strong.
It also didnât help you barely ate or drank water that day. So, to no oneâs surprise but yours, you were stumbling through the entire pleasure house.
âNeedle and thread?â You slurred, pulling open one of the curtains abruptly only to see five naked women lying next to two men. âSorry.â
You felt the blood begin to seep through the small cracks of your fingers and your pressure wavering as you made your way to the next curtained area.
âDo you have a needle and thread?â You asked again, being welcomed by Valda laying on her back with a manâs head between her legs.
She screamed at your intrusion and cried your name. âWhat the fuck?!â
âHey,â in your haze, you found it amusing. âdo you know where Chansey is?â
âGet out!â
âOkay, okay.â you whistled at the man. âGood ser, I do declare that you are a gift from The Seven because only They know how many men actually come here to-.â
â-Wait, are you bleeding?!â She sat up in alarm.
You left immediately, taking deep breaths to try and remain upright as you continued your search. A hand grazed your shoulder.
âAre you alright, girl?â
A putrid looking man questioned with a toothy grin as you turned briefly to see who touched you. You nodded. âIâm fine, go away.â
âHey now,â he tried to make a grab for you again, but you shoved him off. âdonât be like that.â
âIâm dying, I think I can be.â
âLet me give you a little death.â He flirted.
You grabbed the nearest curtain, tossing it aside. âFor fuckâs sake, does anyone have a-?!â
Words failed as you gazed upon Madame Sylvi sucking the cock of a standing man. It was then that your eyes traveled up his body, and saw a familiar, silver-haired prince.
A prince with one eye shut, and a sapphire where an eye-patch should have been.
Your mouth ran dry at the sight of him falling apart in whimpers, and it dropped once his eye opened and immediately went to yours.
Aemond released a loud groan, tossing his head back as cum dripped through the creases of Sylviâs mouth. She drew herself away from him, still on her knees, wiping her mouth and looking over at your interruption.
âWhat in the devilâs name are you doing here?!â
Your words fell into syllables as you genuinely had no idea what to say. Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw the man that had been following retreat.
âHey!â You yelled, hobbling after him. âYou sheep fucker, get back here!â
Two hands grabbed your shoulders and turned you around sharply, causing a reminder of the wound in your side. You hissed, clutching it and trying to smother a cry. You kept your head low as the person who had manhandled you led you back into Sylviâs small room. You were laying on the pillows and thin mattress. It was then you saw Aemond Targaryen hovering above you.
âNo-!â You tried to push him away.
â-Calm down.â He insisted, restraining you. âYouâre going to make it worse.â
âIf you touch me, Iâll carve out your other eye and feed it to your mother.â You slurred.
Instead of killing you right there, he thinned his lips. âWhile I donât doubt that, you shouldnât need to worry; Iâm well spent.â
You gagged, shutting your eyes in disgust and tossing your head further into the pillow you rested on. You felt a presence soon beside you, and you opened your eyes to see Sylvi.
âMy prince,â she turned to Aemond. âplease wait in my personal quarters and Iâll-.â
â-Iâll hold her down.â He interrupted. âSheâs a fighter, if you donât know.â
âBelieve me,â she unscrewed a bottle of alcohol. âI do.â
Sylvi hiked up your dress, completely exposing you from the waist down, and poured liquid over your side, causing a squeal to escape your throat. In an attempt to not just remain calm for yourself and everyone else in the building, you did your best to stifle your cries. It only became harder to do once Sylvi stuck a needle in your skin.
That was when you instinctively rose yourself up, only for Aemond to force you back down, putting his entire weight upon you. Your hands traveled up to his bare shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin and even scratching in an animalistic attempt to get him off of you.
Tears welled in your eyes as you took in quivering breaths and suppressed your grunts in pain. It looked like everything was underwater, and you could barely make out the face of the man above you. You only saw the shimmering jewel where his left eye shouldâve been.
Then, the pain was over.
Your heartbeat began to slow down, and it was no longer the only sound in your ears. Your body rose momentarily as you felt bandages being wrapped around your waist, and your dress finally lowered, covering your nakedness. You felt a warm hand brush your face gently before it pulled away abruptly.
âWhat did you do now?â Sylvi sighed, tossing her materials away.
You groaned, unable to move. âBad job.â
âAnd so, you decided to come and bother me?â
âChansey was fucking someone and I-.â
â-Watch your words!â She lightly slapped your face and whispered fiercely. âPrince Aemond is here, and I will not have you speak like that.â
You laughed, glancing over at Aemond, who had put his pants on, and was working on his shirt. âDo you hear that, Aemond? I canât say âfuckâ!â
âAre you drunk?â She hissed.
âNooooo.â You trailed off before giggling.
Sylvi stood, placing her head in her hands and shaking her head. Now noticing how strange the whole situation was, you pushed yourself up. Your body was scalding, but you would rather die walking away from embarrassment than in the heat of it.
âHe had some coin.â you sat up. âI donât know where it went, but Iâll find it. I have to go home now.â
âYou are not walking out like this.â She pushed you back down.
âIâm not sleeping here.â
âIâll take her back.â
The prince stood tall, slipping his patch over the sapphire. Sylvi shook her head. âNo.â
âAre you questioning my authority, Madame?â He challenged.
You watched her flinch. Then, taking a breath she explained. âYou neednât bother with her; sheâs a humble, little thing that doesnât listen to anyone other than herself. Besides, you requested and paid for two hours, yet you have only used twenty min-.â
â-I will gladly spend the rest of it escorting her home.â
Again, the only sounds being heard was skin slapping alongside loud moans outside. You looked in between the prince and the Madame as if you were a child being fought over. So, coughing, you sat up again.
âCan I wear my own clothes, please?â
Sylvi, for the first time that night, coddled you. âOf course. Aemond, could you tell the first girl you see to fetch her clothes from my quarters, please?â
He nodded, leaving you two alone. When he was out of sight, she brushed the hair sticking against your sweaty face.
âTell him you changed your mind, and youâre too weak to walk.â She begged.
âAnd if he says heâll carry me?â
She scoffed. âHe wonât.â
âYou donât know that.â
Sylvi kissed your cheek as if to soothe you. âI donât want you to be alone with him.â
âHe told me he already had his fill of cunt.â
âMen can still hurt little girls without their cock.â
âTake a look at me,â you sassed. âdonât you think I already know that?â
She said your name softly. âHeâs not as kind as he seems.â
âNo, heâs not. He acts like heâs been born out of an assâ ass. I meanâŚhow you feel about the Dowager Queen-.â
Slamming a hand over your mouth, she spoke in your ear. â-Not another word from you. You listen to me; Iâve come to know him for the years Iâve spent with him longer than the weeks you have had with him.â
âIf heâs so horrible,â you took her hand away. âthen tell me what he has done.â
âHe-.â
â-Never mind, I donât care.â
Instead of stepping into the room, Aemond had tossed your set of clothes through the curtains, landing on the floor. Without words, but with looks that could kill, Sylvi helped dress you and then led you out of the brothel.
It was downpouring, and while your clothes thankfully covered almost every inch of your skin, save for your face, you werenât in the mood to be bathed in rainwater. Sylvi hadnât even wished you a proper goodbye; just nodded to a hooded Aemond beside you and went back inside.
âI assume you can walk?â He asked, almost annoyed at his own idea to walk you home.
âYouâre not going to carry me?â You teased.
âNo.â
Sighing dramatically, you took a few steps out into the rain, and immediately felt agonizing pain. Well, not as bad as earlier, but it hurt. Still, you decided to follow the best given advice: Walk it off.
âStop, stop.â Aemond shook his head after you limped four more steps, coming to your side. âLean against me.â
You didnât argue, draping your arm over his shoulders. You both walked as quick as you could in the rain, you giving him directions the best you could (he had to turn around twice to go back to the same fork in the road) until you tapped his shoulder.
âWait-wait, I donât feel good.â
âSeven Hells.â He cursed, pulling you over to the side of the street. Grabbing your hands he placed them on the nearest wall, standing behind you to guide you.
âHey, hey!â You rose your voice. âDonât-donât you even think of hiking my skirt up!â
âYouâre going to smell like death in a moment, why would I ever-?â
â-Because men areâŚareâŚâ
You gagged, and Aemondâs hands immediately vanished as you threw up what little you had eaten that day. Your throat was on fire the whole time, making the chill of the rain even more apparent.
âOi!â An older man yelled. âAre you alright, maâam?â
You nodded, wiping your mouth and turning over to look at him standing in a doorway of his shop. âYes, thank you!â
âDo you know that man with you?â
Before Aemond could say anything, you pat his shoulder affectionately. âIâll have you know, this is Lord CiarĂĄn of HouseâŚStrongâŚMan, Strongman. Heâs one of the richest men in Westeros.â
âIs that so?â He nodded, then looked at your companion. âLad, do yourself a favor and put your old lady to bed.â
Aemond forced a smile, taking your arm and returning it back to its proper place over his shoulder. The two of you were on the road again, you leading him blindly throughout the streets. The rain felt nice at this point; not exactly, but your throat had been parched, so most of the time, you were holding your mouth up and tongue out like a child to catch the rainwater.
At one point, he hissed in pain, his hand coming up to his eyepatch.
âWhat is it, whatâs wrong?!â You gasped.
âNothing.â He cursed. ââJust keep going.â
Reluctantly, you carried on through Kingâs Landing until you reached your home.
âOkay, weâre here.â You stopped him a few minutes later.
Aemond looked at the building before him; it was a bouchère. âHere?â
âNo, down there.â
He followed your gaze, and sure enough, there was a set of stairs to the side leading down. Carefully, you both scaled down the steps, and entered your home.
There was no leaking anywhere, to your surprise. With only the little amount of light within the sitting room, you knew Aemond (even with one eye) could see just how much dust there was on the furniture.
âHells,â he sighed heavily, slipping off his cloak before you could stop him. âhow do you live in this humidity? I can barely breathe.â
âI-.â
â-Vivi.â A sweet, tired voice called for you.
In the corner of the room, in her usual chair, was your grandmother. Her eyes drew up to the door once you entered, and they were alight.
âI thought you were out for too long.â She stood.
âEvening, Gigi.â You staggered over, embracing her. âAnd how was holding down the fort?â
âSome mice almost came in, but I showed them who was the boss around here.â
âIâm sure you did.â
It was only then did she fully realize there was someone else with you; a man. A man with silver hair. She gasped, turning back to you.
âSiobhan, you didnât tell me the king was visiting!â
You cackled. âGigi no, this is my friend-.â
She gently took his hand into hers, kissing it. â-Your grace, you must forgive my dear girl; she has a knack for getting into trouble, but not for telling me things.â
And then, Aemond did something you werenât expecting. He placed his other hand over your grandmotherâs, smiling.
âAll is forgiven.â
Her grin was contagious as she pulled her hand away to hike her long skirt up, walking to the kitchen. âOh, I shall make tea! Imagine what Cassian would think?â She chuckled. âJaehaerys himself in our house!â
The name she uttered sobered you up; not all of you, but enough for terror to return into your body. Once she was out of sight, with a growing fear in your eyes, you looked at Aemond.
âYou-you must understand, she hasnât been herself since I was a child. I donât think sheâs even aware there is-was another-.â
â-Iâm not a fool.â He stopped you. Noticing you had the face of someone who would vomit for the second time that night, he said. âI told you; I enjoyed reading the histories. Iâm well aware the king before my father was Jaehareys.â
Feeling as if you could breathe again, you rested against the wall. âThank you.â
Aemond hummed. âWhy âGigiâ?â
âShe never liked me calling her âGrandmamaâ.â
âAnd whoâs Siobhan?â
Your eyes drew to the ground. No mice were in the house, but a few spiders had made their way in. âMy mother.â
âAh.â Was all he could manage.
âShe uh, she died when I was one and ten; thatâs when GigiâŚâ
âHow?â
âWhat?â
âHow did she die?â
Something clogged your throat, and your head felt heavy all over again. Swallowing the lump, you tried to find the words to-.
â-Forgive me. âAemond spoke. âI shouldnât have prodded.â
âNo, you-.â You shook your head. âI understand your curiosity.â
And there you two were, against the wall in silence. Sighing you finally said.
âShe forgets what she was meant to do when she enters a room with a purpose.â You explained. âI guarantee you, sheâs doing a puzzle instead of making tea. We donât have the best leaves anyway.â
He nodded. âDo you wish for me to leave, then?â
Your eyes went to one of the only windows in the house; the long, thin panel at the top where you could see the feet of everyone in King Landing if it were a nice day. The rain came down harsher, the spattering of water being almost too loud.
âYou can stay until the storm eases,â you answered. âif you want.â
âI would prefer it.â
Nodding, the heaviness of your head did not cease, and your eyes drifted to the doorway in the back of sitting room. You made your way through it, glancing back at Aemond.
âIf I may be candid, Iâm quite exhausted. SoâŚunless youâd prefer being called âYour Graceâ by my grandmother, then youâre more than welcome to talk with me in my room.â
âHm, the former sounds tempting.â Despite his words, he followed close behind you.
You pushed open your door, took a few steps towards your bed, and lowered yourself to lie down with a sharp wince. The prince took his time observing your room, taking in every little detail. From the residue of a mess being pushed under your bed, to old childhood art pieces up on the wall.
One piece had caught his eye the most. A sketch of a womanâs face; a haunting gaze in her eyes that would make anyone believe she was watching them.
Much like yoursâŚ
âThis is Siobhan?â
Better to use your motherâs name as if she were a stranger instead of calling her âyour motherâ.
âGigi drew that.â You smiled lightly. âIt was on one of her namedays.â
âItâs beautiful.â
His compliment unnerved you before it flattered you. You deflected with a joke. âBeautiful enough to have her paint the Targaryens the next time they so desire it?â
âIf she cannot remember to boil tea-?â
â-She is herself again when she does or speak of things she loves.â You sat farther up against the wall behind your bed âEven if theyâre things that no longer are with us.â
He sat at the edge of the mattress. âAnd what are some of those things?â
Oh, where to start? As your mind rattled over what exactly to say first, you truly looked over Aemond for the first time. It was strange; you had acknowledged his attractiveness for just a moment, but never delved more into it.
Then, as you stared at him, you knew exactly what to tell him.
Giggling, you began. âCassian was my grandfather; I hadnât known him, he died before I was born. Still, if itâs not him she speaks about being in love with, itâs âElioâ; a Dornish man, her first love.â
âSome might say they are far greater than the one you marry.â He shrugged.
âSheâs never told me his real name.â You leaned forward. âShe said that he had to keep it secret from her for a long time, and he only told her after she got drunk, and he thought she wouldnât remember.â
The two of you laughed lightly, and you kept going through your giggles. âHe-he was only in Kingâs Landing for a year and went back to Sunspear. They would send ravens to each other, but then he stopped one day. She married my grandfather, had my mother, he died, and that was life.â
âAnd then there was you.â
You nodded, thinning your lips. âAnd then there was me.â
âYouâve talked about your mother, but you havenât mentioned your father yet.â
Sighing, you rubbed your finger into the blanket you rested upon, looking away from him. âWhen my grandfatherâs heart gave out, Gigi had to take on more work at the tailorâs and they still werenât making enough for food. SoâŚmy mother took up working with Sylvi. She was fifteen, and Sylvi only let her cook and clean. When she was of age, she let her go to bed with the men for her coin. I couldâve walked past my father, and I wouldnât be able to know.â
Aemond stared at her, nodding. âYouâre a bastard.â
âItâs the one time I enjoy being smallfolk.â You shrugged. âI can just as easily lie and say my father died while married to my mother.â
âNo one else knows?â
âSylvi and Marija; the woman who gave us Winter Snow.â You scoffed. âSome old neighbors whoâve thankfully died, but I still remember their insults as I passed by them when I was just a child.â
He hummed, and you did not blame him for not saying anything after you. The two of you just existed in your childhood bedroom, the rain still beating against the roof, but not quite as hard this time.
âWhat were you like when you were a boy?â You questioned.
âNot like my brother or nephews.â He answered right away. âTheyâŚteased me a lot.â
âIâve never had brothers or sisters, but arenât they meant to?â
âNot like how they did.â
OhâŚso it was bad. You wouldnât ask him how horrible it was, knowing that there are some things no one would ever want to speak of.
âIâm sorry they did.â
He shook his head. âNo need, it was years ago.â
âIt was still wrong.â
Aemond didnât say anything; didnât even look at you. Then, for some reasonâŚyou felt compelled (maybe even okay) to tell him. âMy mother sheâŚdied the same way my grandfather did.â
âHis heart.â
âWe-we think so. Itâs strange though; she was so young, and just one night we were eating dinner, she stands to go tend to the fireâŚand she fell. ItâŚit was as if her soul had been sucked away from her and all that was left was her body.â
âAnd you think youâll die like her.â
Swallowing thickly, you had hoped he didnât see right through you about that; but at the same timeâŚhow freeing it felt to be seen even in the most shameful and terrifying moments of life.
âShe was the main provider for our house.â You went into more detail. âGigi tried her best, but it wasnât enough. My motherâŚSylvi hasnât told me everything she did to earn enough coin, and I donât think I want to know. Many healers have said that people dying from a bad heart at such a young age is due to stress. I donât know if theyâre right, and even when I was one and ten, I did everything in my power not to feel so, but Gigi would wander around Kingâs Landing late at night, or we couldnât afford food for days on endâŚâ
You were vomiting all of your troubles onto him, it was disgusting; but, once you started, you couldnât stop. The storm had picked up again, and from how the wind shook the walls of your room, you thought they would all crumble.
âSylvi knew of us struggling, and she paid for our meals. I was to become an indentured servant to her, like how my mother was; cooking, cleaning, running odd errandsâŚbut she paid me in coin as well. I think-I think she thought I was going to follow in my motherâs footsteps when I was of age, but I refused. Thatâs when some of the girls and I came up with a way for me to make extra coin, and here we are.â
âShe never let anyone younger than seventeen be a whore?â
For a moment, you pondered how that was the one thing he got from your nervous ramblings. Still, you decided it wasnât best to think about it. âShe didnât want men bedding little girls.â
âI suppose itâs different for girls.â
You frowned. âWhat do you mean?â
âIt was my thirteenth nameday when my brother brought me to Sylviâs pleasure house.â He said it as if it was common knowledge. âHe said I needed to know everything there was about women. Your Madame certainly taught me well. It makes sense I suppose; girls are taught to be more ashamed about it.â
Even with the storm still going outside, the only sound you could hear was the beating of your own heart. ââŚWhat?â
You remembered what it was like when you were that age. Your body felt strange, you bled between your legs for the first time, you wanted a husband right away one moment, and then wanted to be a child forever the next. You were good at talking to men who were older than youâŚbutâŚbeing intimate? NoâŚand Sylvi hadâŚSylvi had-?
âIs something wrong?â
If you were delusional, you would say he seemed concerned. Still, if you were to tell him that what Sylvi had done was hypocritical and despicable of her, you would go red in the face with tears, and he would only spit on you and say you wouldnât understand, and-.
â-Your hair.â You said, having been staring at it whilst your mind rushed. âHasâŚhas it always been curly?â
Aemond scowled, not in scorn, but in puzzlement. It mustâve started to dry as he spent time in the house; it mustâve been frizzy and horrible as well. âYes.â
You forced a smile. âAnd here I thought only the ladies of the night burned their hair since men favor it straight.â
âMothers too.â He sighed when he saw the look you gave him. âIt curled more by the time I was fourteen. She had the servants straighten it for me ever since; I believe she hates anything about me that is a reminder that she is my mother.â
âAemondâŚâ
âI donât need your pity. Iâve been with her since I was born, it is nothing new and I have-.â
You donât know why you reached forward and combed a strand of his hair between two of your fingers. Maybe it was because you were still tipsy, or maybe itâs because you just wanted to. He flinched upon your touch, and so did you.
âFor-forgive me,â you backed farther up your bed. âI-I forgot myself and I-.â
He brought himself forward, taking both of your hands. Without looking at you, he brought both of them into his hair. Almost like it was second nature, you began to gently run your fingers over his scalp. He shut his eye, his hands traveling to drape along your waste, and he bent his head to rest upon your chest.
It was strange. Strange but nice. You were holding him, but just to have the illusion of you also being cared forâŚnot even your grandmother had done something like this for years.
âI like your hair just how it is.â You whispered after a minute. âIf it matters at all.â
He merely hummed, his hand travelling under your shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his finger caress the skin above your wound. Your hands did not still, continuing to comb through his hair softly.
His finger traveled farther up, circling the swell of your breast. You made a noise you hadnât made before, and you thought you sounded ridiculous. He hummed against your chest, andâŚ
AndâŚ
Something between your legs felt like it was beating; like your heart, but it wasnât that.
âIâm going to touch you there.â He mumbled against the fabric of your shirt. âAlright?â
No, no it wasnât alright, but it was at the same time.
It wasnât okay because youâve only heard stories about this from the girls at the brothel, but it was okay because-because you liked him, and he was-
and you were-
and everything feels warm-
and the way he talked to you-
and the way you-!
âGet off!â You whispered once you heard just the lightest of footsteps outside your door. He listened, backing away quickly to the edge of the bed. An almost silent knock came from your door, and you smiled. âCome in!â
Gigi pushed herself in, holding a tray with two steaming mugs, setting it on the bed. âIâm so sorry, your grace. We do not have tea leaves, so is milk alright?â
Aemond nodded. âIt is.â
âHow have the both of you been?â
You wore a thin grin. âFine.â
She nodded, looking in between the two of you. As if she knew what had just taken place, she gave a wry smile and turned to leave. âWell, the rain is dying down now. Let me know if you two need anything else.â
âThank you, Gigi.â You said without another thought.
She didnât shut the door when she left. You picked up the mug, took a sip and immediately felt your body heal just a little. Warm milk does numbers on a soul.
âI should take my leave now.â The prince stood up abruptly, dusting himself off.
You tried to stand. âIâll walk you out.â
The wound at your side burned every inch you moved, and you did a horrible job concealing it. Aemond gently took your shoulders, pushing you back down.
âRest.â He commanded. âYouâre injured, and itâs late.â
âAnd when have you ever cared?â You teased
âPerhaps just now.â He matched your tone.
âDo you know what I hate?â
âMe? Life itself? Men?â
âYes, to the last two.â You feel your chest constrict at what you would say next. âI hate that you told Sylvi you would spend time with me because you paid her forâŚother things previously.â
Aemond tilted his head to the side. âIs that so?â
She nodded. âYouâŚyou no longer have to pay for my company. Youâve seen me in turmoil, and Iâve seen you naked.â
He laughedâŚhe laughed in a way youâd never heard him laugh before. âIs that what makes us allies?â
âFriends?â You reworded. âYou understand the meaning, donât you?â
âOf course I do.â He scoffed.
âSoâŚare we friends now?â
Friends who touch each other in ways they usually donât.
A hint of a smile spread across his lips. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. âFriends.â
You dropped your face, hopefully to avoid him seeing how you blushed. The damage was done though. Regaining yourself, you took a deep breath and looked at him.
âAndâŚIâm aware I wonât be the first person youâll seek if youâre in distress, but please know I will help if you need it.â
âDo not call yourself inadequate.â He shook his head. âI might have some use for you.â
You scoffed. âHow considerate of you.â
âRest now.â He repeated, turning to leave without a proper goodbye.
You sat up. âWait!â Aemond did not turn to look at you, but he stopped. âYour eye. When you were walking me home, you were in pain. Does it still hurt?â
He was silent. For a moment, you thought it was to come up with a lie, then you assumed it was to find the words to tell you the truthâŚyou had too much faith in him for either.
âItâs late.â He said your name softly and walked out of your bedroom. You heard the front door open then shut.
And there you were, on your bed, alone with an undrunk mug of milk.
The rain had completely stopped.
#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#house of the dragon#hotd season 2#game of thrones#aemond x reader
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theorizing
It's still early in the event, but I'm already trying to think about what Hot Topic Issue this year's Halloween event might tackle (assuming it follows the precedent set by GloMasq and Playful Land). Here's the theory I present to you: the conflict will be about escapism and where to draw that divide between fantasy and reality. Why do I think that? Because there are lots of parallels between our shiny new guy on the block, Skully, and us, Twst fans.
Book 7 presents a similar idea when Lilia and Malleus discuss the life cycle of Gao-Gao Drago-kun, how short it is, and how convenient it would be if the virtual pet could live forever in a fantasy world. In the same book, Yuu has finally found a potential route home... meaning an end to their story and their time in their current world. Read another way, it can be said that we, the Twst fans/players, are like Malleus, not wanting anything about our lives in Twisted Wonderland to change. We want to stay here among these characters we have come to love and grow close to, not return to our boring mundane lives in our original worlds... in reality. Likewise, similar points of comparison can be drawn between these themes and Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, even as early as part 1.
Now in this allegory, Skully represents us, the average Twst fans. Here's the parallels I noted:
Skully is notably a first year, which matches up with the grade level that Yuu (the player self-insert/POV character) is assigned to
Skully attends a school where his peers donât understand him or his interests. This mimics the experience of some Twst fans, who may be misunderstood even within the anime fandom. How many times have people joked âOh, you like the Disney dating sim?â/assumed that Twst is cringe? Can you talk to fans of traditional Disney about Twst? Twst may be somewhat niche in your immediate area. Chances are, you have to retreat to online avenues to find like-minded fans. In this way, Twst fans may feel isolated or not understood.
He does not like to talk about school because he doesn't have many people who understand him, perhaps due to his eccentricities. Again, this may not directly translate to all Twst fans, but rather it can be very relatable to those who lack social connections and seek to fulfill that through fandom or escaping into a fantasy world.
Skully is an otaku for Halloween. And what are we, as Twst fans, if not also otaku?
He looks mysterious but has excitable reactions. The behavior reminds me of someone who can be very sociable online or in special circumstances but might come off completely differently in real life or initially due to how their face looks and how they dress.
The strongest parallel, however, is the fact that he, like Yuu (again, the player self-insert character) ALSO gets isekai'd... into the world of The Nightmare Before Christmas. And what happens in this world that Skully gets isekai'd to? He... 1) meets lots of new people--people that don't know him in the "real" world, so he is free to act however he wants around them, maybe even befriend them, 2) gets to meet his Halloween idol, Jack-sama, 3) gets to be praised by his idol, and 4) (presumably) helps out his idol with putting together this year's Halloween. THESE LINE UP ALMOST EXACTLY WITH WHAT YUU DOES WHEN THEY'RE ISEKAI'D INTO TWISTED WONDERLAND... Yuu, who represents you, THE TWST FAN. You, as a Twst fan, 1) meet and potentially befriend these new characters (and maybe even explicitly made an OC to act however you like in your place as the one meeting these characters), 2) hone in on your favorite(s), 3/4) hyperfixate on the intimate voice lines and the moments you have with your favorite(s). It's total wish fulfillment for both Skully and the average Twst fan. In other words, Skully will get lost in living the fantasy that is literally being transported into the world of his Favorite Thing Ever, just like we, the Twst fans, escape to Twisted Wonderland. In the book/Twst, you can be yourself or whoever you want to be. But what happens when that peace and comfort is about to be taken away? Perhaps that's when Skully will snap đ¤ refusing to return to his old life, where he was awkward and misunderstood... wanting to stay in this endless Halloween night forever and ever. Maybe he even tries to prevent the NRC students from leaving too, since he has now formed a friendship (?) with them? Like, he's trying to keep them trapped in this fantasy of his (very Malleus-core of him, honestly). Then it would be up to us to try and knock some sense into Skully, reminding him that there are things in the "real" world to look forward to as well.
Looking back at previous Halloweens, the conflicts presented usually tie back to something relating to the Disney counterpart's own identities. For example, Frollo (in the stage version) lost his younger brother to sin and pinned the blame on an entire group of people. Rollo lost his younger brother to sin and now seeks to eliminate that sin (magic) from the world. Honest John and Gideon worked for a shady guy and lured away children, even though they themselves were terrified of what would become of those kids. Fellow and Gidel are similarly forced to do this dirty work because they are so impoverished they need the job, even if their boss disrespects them. I think my theory about what Skully's whole conflict will be could work from this angle too. The character he is twisted from, Jack Skellington, is known to be somewhat naive and an idealist. Jack pursues Christmas with all of his undead heart, sure that it will return the "spark" that Halloween has since lost. This could be reflected in Skully, our twisted!Jack, in his desire to pursue Halloween--or, more specifically, this novel world where his passion is reinforced and he has a place in it. He would be naive to the world he snubbed in favor of this new one, deeming this new world superior (like how Jack thought the "new" Christmas would enhance the "old" Halloween).
as3gro8yvq ;ngqemf; KJLBFIsIFSLFS ANYWAY, that's my game theory đ Not sure if it'll actually be this, but figured I'd throw my guess out there since my previous "lmao Skully will kidnap Crowley" crack theory ended up being shot down...
#or maybe I'm just talking out of my ass idk#watch this be completely wrong lol#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Skully J. Graves#Yuu#notes from the writing raven#jp spoilers#twst jp#twisted wonderland jp#book 7 spoilers#Lilia Vanrouge#Malleus Draconia#Sally ragdoll#Jack Skellington#nightmare before christmas#twst halloween#twisted wonderland halloween#Dire Crowley#Fellow Honest#Gidel#Honest John#Gideon#Gino#Ernesto Foulworth#Frollo#Rollo Flamme#twst theory
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[contains spoilers]
I'm an eternal digger of good narrative techniques. A decent story becomes great in my eyes if the narrative is done right. And it's one of the hardest things to do really, since there's no one-size-fits-all rule for what technique works well with a particular story and what doesn't. One of the primary reasons I keep obsessing over Lovely Runner is its' narrative technique. In all honesty, if it had a linear, singular narrative, I would not be hyperventilating over it on a constant basis (I still would just a certain amount, because both Byeon Woo Seok and Kim Hye Yoon deserve awards for what they are doing). One reason it has managed to knock it out off the park and take the top spot in my forever-favorite list is how wonderfully well the narrative is done.
The primary perspective used in this show is Im Sol's. It's through her we're introduced to the story. Her perspective gives shape to the plot, the characters, because we learn things through her. Her perspective is absolutely critical for exposition. Without her thoughts and way of viewing things, you would never realize why saving Seon Jae means so much to her, or why she would bend the rules and bulldoze ahead when it comes to his safety (exhibit A, her leaving home on the day of the accident, despite knowing about her fate). She'd rather have him alive than have him in her life. Without her narrative, you'd think it's really all about a fan saving her idol (thanks to everyone who'd rejected the script listening to that pitch by the way, I'm grateful we have BWS and KHY as the leads because of that, I would not change it for anyone else). With Im Sol's perspective, you realize, she is not just a fan: she's an ardent admirer, a cheerleader, a well-wisher, a protector, an invisible friend trying to support her friend any way she can, someone who respects Seon Jae, sees him as an idol but also as a human, someone who wants to give back to him the same kindness, empathy and love she had once received from him over a radio call. To her, Seon Jae is first a guardian angel and then an idol, the angel who changed her view of life, made her appreciate things even amidst all that could be wrong with the world and her life. He saved her. Not just on that day at the hospital but every time she struggled and faltered since then, he was there, as invisible as it may have been. So this time, she wants to save him, no matter the price.
Then comes Seon Jae. Oof. If Im Sol's perspective gives the story its beautiful, beautiful shape, Seon Jae's perspective breathes literal life in to the body of the story. The show wouldn't be what it is today if not for his perspective. Without his view into things, Im Sol appears as a fangirl going to extreme measures to save her idol, clinging onto him like a monkey (yes I mean the poster) embarrassing the heck out of herself, making you cringe (in a good, enjoyable way) throughout. Then you reach the end of episode 2 and it knocks the breath out of you because WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. It all clicks.
All this while we kept thinking Seon Jae was caught off guard and just kind enough to tolerate her antics, and maybe he'd slowly fall for her now, only to realize we were completely oblivious to a whole different side of the story. If Im Sol's narrative draws you in and keeps you hooked, making you root for her to succeed, it's Seon Jae's narrative that makes you irredeemably fall in love with them and sincerely, genuinely, desperately hope they get their happy ending together after all the storm.
And the motifs. Walking/running, for instance. I'll focus on just one scene here. I recall seeing a bts where KHY is discussing the OG 2008 accident scene, and it explains how she has to slow down, while running away, for just a moment, only to be hit by the taxi driver. Have you ever been in a situation of absolute panic, desperation and stress, then suddenly found a familiar face or a name or a thing you could connect to, and felt a wave of relief rush through you? She sees Seon Jae, a person who is calling out her name. Even if she didn't know him back then, the fact that he knew her (and that he had his uniform on), gives her a sense of safety she badly needed that moment. That momentary relief, so visible in her features, then overtakes the crippling fear she felt running in the middle of nowhere with no one in sight in the dead of the night. Her body, already exhausted beyond anything, responds to the relief she feels for those few seconds, slowing down her steps.
And that is when she is caught off-guard and hit. That also might have added to Im Sol's anger at the hospital when she is screaming at Seon Jae, her internal anguish that if only she had not paused seeing Seon Jae, and kept on running, then maybe she wouldn't be hit, wouldn't fall, wouldn't lose her ability to walk. It's one thing to have tropes and symbolic things, but it's a very different thing to know how to use them effectively so they elicit very specific types of emotions/reactions out of people. Lovely Runner excels in that. All kdramas more or less have 'things' that take on different meanings for the couples/viewers. It's the way motifs are used to narrate the story in this one that has me going back over and over again to all the episodes aired so far. These are not just their 'things', these are 'things' that drive the plot forward, tell you about their characters, their personal motivations, what they mean to each other and so much more.
This is getting longer that I intended it to be so will end with this. I feel valued when watching Lovely Runner. And I've seen people saying the same thing. It feels like they respect your critical thinking skills, and your ability to infer, so they don't spoon-feed you everything from the get-go, and you can't predict much despite it being primarily a rom-com. You'd be pulling your hair out (again, in a good way) trying to figure out what they will show next, and you will be somewhat or very far from the truth, which will compel you to think further about the story, the characters, long after an episode has aired...I can't remember the last time it happened with a drama. I love this storytelling.
#Lovely Runner#Byeon Woo Seok#Kim Hye Yoon#Sun Jae#Im Sol#Seon Jae#ě ěŹ ě
ęł íě´#kdrama#kdrama recommendations#east asian drama
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Hello gorgeous!
Sooo I had this idea of Klaus and reader being married (she wants a divorce) but currently separated. She starts seeing Damon. Klaus lets her have her way for a bit as nothing has crossed the line, but then he finds out reader slept with Damon and Klaus goes absolutely feral over it and tells his wife thatâs enough of this and drags back reader home and slides her wedding ring back on her finger.
Not His, Not Yours.
Klaus and I had slowly but surely grown apart.
We had married for decades for now, just over a century actually and to begin with it was all but a dream.
He had hundreds of thousands of gifts and words to express his love. Paintings and poems to show how pure his feelings were.
He was gentle when I needed and only ever rough when I wanted when him to be.
There wasnât a question of doubt between us both. I loved him with all of my heart and he loved me with all of his soul. So much so that he actually proposed to me. Elijah and Rebekah couldnât believe it but were unbelievably supportive. I even turned into a vampire so that I could be with him forever.
And for a nearly eighty years, everything was okay.
Of course the gifts were less frequent but I didnât care about that so much. Not if I still had him. Even if he forgot to tell me he loved me, I didnât need him to, deep down I knew that he did.
One thing I didnât like, was when he would get flirty with other women. Especially because of how he behaved when I, heaven forbid, smiled at a man.
But still, with reassurance from his siblings and Elijahâs promise to talk to Klaus about it, I dropped it and didnât speak of it. So he flirted, it didnât mean anything. Whatâs a kiss when I have his heart?
Surprisingly Klaus never slept with anyone else. I suppose itâs unfair to say surprisingly but to be honest I had feared and expected him to have from time to time.
Especially when he became more distant. When he would disappear or return in the early hours of the morning. I would beg to know where he was and after a series of repeated yelling, he would grab me and show me his memories of the night before. Often he just got drunk and would pass out somewhere random or wonder around for inspiration, sometimes heâd attack a village and slaughter hundreds in mere hours. When finished showing me, he would give me that same look and tell me that I shouldnât look so surprised. He may love me, but he wouldnât ever be better for me.
And I would just nod and told him I already knew that.
And Iâd wait for the next time that would happen.
We went days between sex, then weeks, gradually months and eventually we just didnât. We slept beside each other mostly out of habit but we wouldnât touch.
I never stopped loving him, I donât think I ever could but I wasnât sure if I loved him the same way anymore. And I certainly didnât think he loved me that way. But we werenât exactly friends either. It were as though we were just strangers at this point, strangers who held each others hearts.
And I had accepted that perhaps thatâs all we would be. We lived that way for a couple of years, Iâd stay with him like a shadow but thatâs all I would be.
Until Mystic Falls.
So much happened in not enough time. Klaus became his true self and for some reason part of me thought perhaps that would rekindle something but he showed no more nor less interest so I just went on.
Until one day, his eyes held a spark. But it wasnât for me. It was for Caroline Forbes.
She was blonde, young and new to vampirism but still bold and confident in herself. I was like that once, before I grew quiet and obedient to Klausâs will.
So I took another step back and let him chase her a little. I sort of wanted him to sleep with her so that maybe he would just divorce me and I would know that what we had was really over.
But he didnât. He gave her a present, drawings and spoke poetry to her without her realising but he didnât kiss her or even lean in.
He still would come back to bed and lay beside me like usual.
I didnât want him to think I would hate him if he fell for someone else. Iâd rather he be happy with another than miserable with me. I knew he craved more, so did I.
And so with a lot of courage, I asked for a divorce but he refused me. That I didnât understand.
âWhy?â I asked, my brows pulling together as he scowled
âBecause youâre my wifeâ he answered as though that meant anything anymore âI have loved you for a century. I will not just be done with youâ
âLoved, Klaus. Loved. Itâs in the past.â I argued
âI love you now as much as I did thenâ he told me, his voice raising
âNo KlausâŚyou donâtâ I whispered, my eyes glancing to the floor as I let out a small sigh. This was probably one of the reasons he liked Caroline more. I showed weakness and submission too easily to him. The difference was that I knew he wouldnât kill me if I fought back but I feared it would be worse.
âWeâre not getting a divorce. Ever.â He stated calmly, though I could feel his anger.
âI canât do this Klausâ I mumbled. âI canât just be known and your wife and hide in the house all the timeâ
âThen go outâ he grumbled
âYou donât let meâ I answered, remembering the last time I went out without telling him and he yelled at me for being inconsiderate and stupid. Apparently it wasnât safe for me without his protection due to being so intimately associated with him.
âWellâŚnow you canâ he replied matter of factly.
âYou should ask Caroline outâ I whispered âShe likes you too, Rebekah heard her talking to Bonnie about youâ
âI wouldnât-â
âBut maybe you shouldâ I sighed, hesitantly looking him in the eye once again. âYou should at least tryâŚyou might like to be with someoneâŚâ I paused and swallowed dryly âsomeone elseâ
âAre you seeingâŚsomeone else?â He asked quietly, his eyes flicking between mine.
âNoâŚnot yetâ I whispered and he nodded
âBut?â
âBut I think I shouldâ I murmured before falling back into silence.
We stood there for a while, uncomfortable and guilt ridden before his phone went and he reluctantly left.
He didnât come to bed that night.
To me that seemed like his way of confirming that we wouldnât be together anymore, or for a while at least.
When I saw he had made up a bed in one of the guest rooms, it was clear that was the case.
So I started to go out a little.
When I saw Klaus with Caroline at the grill, I realised I needed to leave. Leave town, his life so that I didnât ruin his chances.
But as fate would have it, when I rushed out of the building, I walked straight into Damon Salvatore. He recognised me in an instant and was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
âWhatâs Klausâs wife doing out and about?â He snickered and I sighed
âIâm notâ I mumbled and he raised a brow
âNot what? Not his wife or not out?â
âIâm going homeâ I whispered, walking outside but he followed.
âOh come on, I didnât mean to scare you off so quickâ he chuckled and I rolled my eyes
âPlease. You couldnât scare meâ I muttered âhave you seen who Iâm supposed to be married to?â
âSupposed to be eh? Things not turning out?â He pressed, walking backwards beside me as I made my way back to the mansion.
âMy marriage falling apart wonât benefit your precious Elena. Itâs been broken for years.â I grumbled, and he rolled his eyes
âForgive me for being curiousâ he muttered, his annoyance shining making my heart sink. I didnât like it when people were rude and now I was the one doing it.
âSorryâ I whispered âI didnât mean to sound so snappyâ
I could feel his eyes on me as we neared the manner and before I could get it the door, his hand reached for mine which however pathetic it may seem, made my smile. Nobody had touched my skin for months.
âYou should come out more, Iâd like to talk with you some moreâ he told me and I faltered
âI wouldnât tell you anything- not about himâ
âI didnât think you wouldâ he answered, before leaving.
After that I went out a little more.
Damon would tease me and make me laugh. He would draw out the little confidence I had left and have me use it. Iâd taunt back at him and go so far as to flirt once Iâd had a few drinks.
After a while he asked to take me out. I thought he was joking.
âOh will Elena be joining us? Perhaps Stefan to?â I laughed but he didnât even smile
âIâm seriousâ he stated, his hand squeezing mine âjust usâŚanywhere you wantâ
I stared at him âI umâŚI donât knowâ I whispered, nervous and confused.
âI can waitâ he answered as he caressed my arm softly.
When I got home Klaus was already there, his eyes on me in an instant. Without a word he placed his wedding band on the table before him and walked out the room. I felt a lump form in my throat as I shakily slid both my wedding and engagement rings off and put them beside his.
I went upstairs and cried. And I felt stupid for it because I was the one who asked for this.
So after a moment I pulled myself together and grabbed my phone. I took a breath before sending Damon a message
I like the Italian the next town over?
He replied quickly
Friday, 7?
Iâll meet you there
Iâll see you soon
I swallowed thickly and closed my messages before searching for apartments near me to rent.
If Klaus and I were actually ending this then I wanted to do it right. That meant I needed to live without him fully, so I sent in some applications to a couple of places.
Before any of them could come back, my date with Damon came around.
It went surprisingly well. We ate, spoke, joked and laughed. He paid, insistent that I shouldnât. He then drove me back to the mansion and kissed me goodbye.
I refused to look anywhere near Klaus when I went up the stairs. He never said anything either, we spoke only if we absolutely had to and on the occasion that Damon and I would see Klaus out, we would instead go to his house for a while.
I spent a lot of time with Damon, he made me feel more alive. He brought back the spark in me that I thought I had lost and built my confidence back up. He made me feel more things in a couple months than Klaus had in the past fifteen years.
I knew it was wrong to compare them, but when all I had ever known was KlausâŚhe was all I had to know how a relationship worked to be able to tell if what I had with Damon was really something.
It progressed quickly, it scared me somewhat. I worried that it was a trap to make me help him with everyone else. However when I heard him defending me to both Elena and Stefan, I double guessed myself.
Slowly I felt myself begin to trust Damon, I felt as though I was learning to love and desire once more.
It was because of that feeling that I didnât stop him when he began to take my clothes off. Or when he trailed his lips down my skin and pressed his mouth between my legs. I cried out for him when his fingers curled inside me and I clung to him when he finally took me as his own.
I stayed beside him for the rest of the night, pressed to his chest with his arms around me. It was a warmth that I wasnât used to anymore but that I needed and yearned for. I stayed at his house for days after, wearing his clothes and living in his arms. But unfortunately I knew that I couldnât just move in there so soon, so I had to go back to the mansion.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
(3rd person)
Klaus found out that Y/n had slept with Damon the day after it happened. Stefan had told him so when in the heat of an argument.
To begin with he thought the Salvatore was just trying to piss him off but when Stefanâs face dropped and his heart sped up, Klaus realised it was true.
Immediately he went home and smashed every item in her room. Shredded her clothes and tore up every flower Damon had gifted her and the little photos she had printed of them. It was after he broke apart her bed and found the box of forgotten memories did he calm down. He found all the poems and pieces of artwork he had ever given her, love letters and other tokens of their love kept safe and close to her. It broke him.
Klaus never meant for their marriage to deteriorate so badly. He loved Y/n, truly. But throughout the years he got distracted. Whenever his family got to town, his focus was off her and whenever a threat showed up he made a point of being distanced from her to ensure they wouldnât attack her. After the first few times heâd done that, she got upset and wouldnât want to kiss him, not when he would go weeks of ignoring her and then expecting her affection.
So he began to drink some more, to forget her touch and her voice for just a moment. But it made everything worse. She began to worry he was cheating on her and to be honest he couldnât blame her for thinking that but in the moment when she would accuse him, he would be outraged.
He couldnât stop himself from yelling, being offended and snapping. But after, when he would hear her cries and see her curled up in their bed, he would push himself further away in hopes that he wouldnât be able to hurt her as much from a distance.
It only got worse.
And now he was on the floor of a room that was once his aswell, crying for his marriage that would no longer last.
Eventually he dragged himself up from the floor and went back to his own room, or rather the spare room that he had been sleeping in. He dug through his drawers to find their rings that he took after they both removed them and put his wedding band back on, smiling sadly at the fond memories of the first time she had put it on him.
He held her rings in his hand tightly as he heard the front door open and closed quietly before soft footsteps sounded up the stairs.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
(1st person)
I moved as quickly but as quietly as I could up to my room. I was in jeans and one of Damons shirts so I really couldnât let Klaus see me.
Hurriedly I opened my bedroom door only to come to a standstill. Quite literally everything was on the floor. If I didnât know what Klaus was like, Iâd have thought a hurricane had passed through the room. I stared blankly for a moment before I both heard and sensed his presence from beside me.
âWhat did you do?â I whisper, staring at all the little things that meant so much to me scattered and broken into pieces.
âI donât want you seeing himâ he told me, his voice firm. My head snapped to his and I felt both anger and sadness swirl inside me.
âYou ruined everything I haveâ I uttered, my voice still barely above a whisper
âYou slept with himâ he stated his tone cold but his eyes showed hurt and I part of em felt guilt but the other side just wanted to smack him.
âAnd?â I asked, my volume increasing slightly
âAnd? And youâre mine. You do not get to sleep around-â
âFor crying out loud Klaus! I am not yours!â I yell, pointing my finger at him âAnd I do not sleep around! I slept with one personâ
âI should have stopped you seeing him ages ago, this shouldnât have happenedâ he muttered
âYou canât control every aspect of my life Klaus. We are not together anymore. We agreed on thisâ i whispered, my tone tired.
âWe have not agreed on anything! I never wanted this-â
âKlaus we havenât agreed on something for a good twenty years! Itâs why weâre hereâ I exasperated
âThat does not give you the excuse to fuck someone elseâ he growled and I glared
âWhy? Did you plan on fucking me? Because I highly doubt it Klaus. And even if you wanted to, I wouldnât have your hands anywhere near me nowâ I retorted.
I knew immediately that he would speed at me and so moved out of the way, he continued to chase me round the house until eventually he had me against the wall. Both of us were panting heavily, my hands pushing at his chest but he kept me caged.
âGet off me!â I cried, kicking my feet at his legs but he only grunted and held me as still as he could. I shoved at his chest with as much strength as I could but it was obvious that I couldnât overpower a hybrid. He faltered only slightly at the impact before his hands were grabbing my waist to lift me. Without thinking I brought my hand to his face, smacking him as hard as I could manage.
His head cracked to the side and my eyes went wide. Slowly, he turned back to me. His expression was one of surprise as he stared at me. I felt myself grow meek under his gaze and my bottom lip wobbled.
âIâm sorryâ I whispered âI didnât mean to do that- I didnâtâŚâ I felt his hold on me weaken but I didnât move this time. My hand tingled from where Iâd hit him and so did the guilt that pooled in the pit of my stomach.
His arms slipped around me, hugging me to him and I just didnât know how to react.
I love Klaus. I do, I always will. But I couldnât just pretend that every bad thing hadnât happened and fall back into his arms. I wondered if in Klausâs mind, if he thought that just sleeping with me and telling me that he found me pretty would be enough to fix this marriage. I knew it wasnât but I worried for what he thought.
Still, I hugged him back gently. By touch reluctant but there. His warmth enveloped me and I felt my eyes water at the once familiar sensation.
âI missed you so dearlyâ he mumbled, his face lowering to nuzzle the crook of my neck. He pulled away slowly and grabbed my left hand, I looked to him blankly as he slid both rings back onto my finger. âIâm gonna fix everythingâ he whispered
âKlaus-â I sighed
âJust let me tryâ he murmured
âI-â
âPleaseâ he whispered and I sighed softly. Only the lords know whether I was going to make the right decision or not.
#emotional abuse#may be triggering#hurt/comfort#hurt no comfort#klaus mikaelson#the originals#the vampire diaries#klaus mikaelson x reader#klaus mikealson fanfiction#klaus mikaelson one shot#klaus mikaleson imagine#rebekah mikaelson#the vampire diares imagine#niklaus imagines#elijah mikaelson#tvd klaus#kol mikaelson#niklaus mikaelson#klaus m#klaus mikaelson x y/n#klaus michaelson#tvd universe#hope mikaelson#klaus mikaelson headcanon#klaus mikaelson fluff#klaus mikaelson yandere#klaus mikealson smut#klaus mikaelson x yn#klaus mikealson x reader#soft!klaus mikaelson
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Requests are open?? May I request Lilia and Malleus from the self aware au with a player who is an artist and draws them a lot?
Self-aware au
I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, death, murder, hypocrisy, fire, coma, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior
Malleus Draconia/Lilia Vanrouge-Player is an artist who draws them a lot
Doesn't matter what kind of style and form of art you practice, you have a fan
Classical? Great! Realism? Wonderful! Stick-man-style? He put the picture in a golden frame (All hail the stick-man style!)
But if Malleus were to ever find out that said stick man is supposed to be him, well he would be over the moon
It was a totally normal day, a cat was choking up a hairball and some poor student fell off of his broom in flying class and was now stuck in a tree
But that is of no importance to us
What is of importance though is Malleus strolling down the path down to Ramshackle and seeing you sit on the stairs with paper and other drawing utensils
Completely normal. Peaceful even. Maybe a bit too peaceful
You see, if you hadn't been too absorbed into rubbing colored pigments into dead wood then you would have seen the tall black wall approaching you
A shadow falls over your shoulder and you scream
Is that... him? Why is the Overseer draw-oh
Malleus is metaphorically (more or less. Meh, he is probably this close to doing it also literally) frothing from his mouth after seeing himself in more than just one paper after the small stack stabilizing the paper you drew on slipped from your hands
Forgetting his manners he rips the paper from the ground, staring with eyes wide as plates onto the thinly pressed wood (granny is somewhere shaking her head)
Why would the Overseer, watcher over worlds, almighty ruler of everything, a god, draw him?
Coughing nervously you explained that you just are interested in are and liked to draw him
Later when he is back in Diasomnia Lilia is greeted with the sight of a tail-wagging Malleus (yes Malleus has a tail and I have no idea how he hides it)
âLilia, the Overseer likes to draw me.â-moments before calamity struck and Malleus accidentally lit the dorm aflame from sheer joy
But... perhaps you shouldn't draw anyone else
Who knows? Maybe that person disappears for a while and just to be found in a deep coma (don't do it)
Whoa whoa whoa darling, let us not jump at him from nowhere with the fact that you like to draw him
After all, he is quite old and we don't know what his poor heart can still take
Now how about you tell him about your interest in art fir- ah... From your expression I take that it is too late for that
Indeed it is
One day you were just sitting there in Ramshackle, T-posing or whatever you do when you are not drawing
Remember that scene when Lilia was introduced to us? Well âHow do you do fellow kidsâ over here just popped out of thin air
Now, that would have been nothing special if it wasn't for the stack of paper with his face on it on the table...
Lilia is staring, you are staring and the gargoyles are facepalming
Poor man has to take a seat all whilst you watch him with cold sweat running down your back
Suddenly Lilia isn't that âalways energeticâ guy but looks a lot more vulnerable
In Lilias mind however he is planning how to burn that one portrait of himself in the Draconia castle and replace it with your art
Or so he thought until he looked what else you drew
For goodness sake, someone call an ambulance! I think he is about to pass out!
If the situation wasn't already awkward enough for you (and euphoric for him) Lilia suddenly kneels down, saying something about being honored and him swearing to be forever loyal to you
Oh sweet summer child, how easily you told him âOh thanks...â If only you knew what would follow...
You see, Lilia might have had seen a few too many heads being severed from their bodies but, oh well, all those students were a teeny tiny bit too close to you for his comfort
Suddenly there is an increase in missing students who get found in... uh... ânot compatible with lifeâ conditions
See? It's dangerous outside! Let him watch over you!
Says the person responsible for everything
You had shown your appreciation through your art, now it's his turn to show his
And what if a few students need to get hurt? (Yeah, âhurtâ)
#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twst x reader#self aware au#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#twst malleus#twst malleus x reader#twst lilia#twst lilia x reader#malleus draconia x reader#yandere malleus draconia#yandere malleus#malleus x reader#yandere malleus x reader#twisted wonderland malleus#malleus draconia#yandere lilia vanrouge#yandere lilia#twisted wonderland lilia#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia x reader#yandere lilia x reader
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âđšââđââđŞâ âđąââđŽââđłââđŞâ // đ˘đđŚđšđŚđŞ đˇđłđ°đŻđ´đŹđş
Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader
Warnings : Cuss words.
You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.
'Cross that line for me, sweetheart?'
Desc. : You are not a temptress, but he is tempted.
ââââââââââââââââââ âđˇâ ââââââââââââââââââ
It was curious, to say the least, how land was divided. The conch next to you was half your property and half the Vronsky estate's property. It had remained that way for ages.
The waves lapped up the sand, like a heart reaching desperately for its other half as you sat watching the entire ordeal.
The Line - one drawn up every morning and marked by tiny flags as placeholders - had always pissed you off. Intrigued you. What would happen if you were to... just a finger? The hem of your dress. Would you immediately be shot at by concealed snipers? Perhaps you'd have to be tried in court.
You had never really noticed much about this Vronsky character before. Another handsome, manipulative bastard. Nothing much.
In turn, he'd also never noticed you. A face. One of many. Beautiful, of course, he was not blind, but never seen as worthy of his efforts. You were not rebellious. You were not adorably innocent. He could not entice you. He could not corrupt you.
In theory, your paths were never to cross. Different lives, same circles.
The key word : theory.
Because there are moments in life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again, when you know that your proverbial pathway is forever skewed and rerouted. These may appear to you embossed in calamities such as loss and grief, or these may be whispered in your ear by silent smiles, lovestruck looks across a ballroom, or the simple offer of champagne.
Or, in the case of you and Alexei Vronsky, all of the above.
And this was one of those torturous, life-altering moments.
"-And that's when I said, it was just a bloody goat !"
Booming, drunken laughter ensued from your left - the other side of the Line. Fuck. Keep drawing, shut up, keep drawing, shut up.
Your pencil made unintelligible sounds as it scratched out a somewhat passable depiction of the moonlit waves. The screams and guffaws grew louder, but the issue was that if you moved, he'd assume you did it because you were on his side. You were not, but it would look highly suspicious if you fled.
No. They'd quietened down. Meaning either they left - highly unlikely - or, they'd noticed you.
"Oi!"
Don't respond, don't respond.
"You! Pretty girl!"
Drunk men are terrifying. How could such kind words be said in a way that made your skin crawl?
"Mate, maybe she's a mute. Or deaf. Or both."
"I know for a fact she's not. She's got quite a mouth on her, as I can remember from last year- HEY! LADY WITH THE SKETCHBOOK!"
And that was Alexei Vronsky. His story with the goat had ended, apparently. Ugh.
You turned. "Uh, hello."
"ARE YOU A MUTE?" his companion yelled.
"Are you daft? She just answered! How could she be mute?"
Drunk men are also idiotic.
"WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE, WE'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO DRAW?"
Bellowing laughter followed.
For fuck's sake.
"I'm alright, THANKS!"
"OI, C'MON! WE DON'T BITE!"
From what you'd heard, he does.
"IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT LINE?"
"Good night, Count Vronsky.", you called back, as you gathered up your things and stood, dusting the sand off your dress.
"HOLD ON! WAIT!"
"Let'r go, mate, c'mon, we've got a party to get back to."
"I WAS JUST BEING NEIGHBOURLY, YOU BITCH!"
FUCKING HELL.
"What did you just call me?!", you yelled, turning. He looked back at you in a swaying, inebriated haze, trying to focus those glaciers he called eyes on yours in the darkness.
"A witch. You've cast a spell on me, bewitched me, so to speak. You're magic."
Ugh. "Whatever."
"Just come over here, or I'll have to come there, and you wouldn't like that.", he slurred, his friends chortling and egging him on.
Buggering Christ.
"You can't. See?", you replied defiantly, pointing deliberately at the faint white outline of the line they renewed every morning with chalk powder. "That would be trespassing."
"I'm Alexei Vronsky."
What was that supposed to mean?
"So? It's still trespassing. My family's had it in for you for a long time - we'll take you to court."
"Then you come here.", he shrugged, taking an unstable stumble closer. "Cross that line for me, sweetheart? Yeah?"
"You're a creep. And you're drunk."
"You're a beauty. And you're technically trespassing, so I need to punish you."
"HOW am I-"
"Your pencil." Fuck. How is it he's sober enough to notice that, but not sober enough to know that his buddy said 'the coat storage' not 'the goat story'?
"It blew in the wind."
"Yes. To my estate."
"You can keep it."
"Are you sure? Isn't this your, uh, fabulous pencil from Paris you were talking of?"
"No." Yes.
"No?", he frowned, picking it up. NO! Not in his grimy, disgustingly delicate fingers. "Seems pretty French to me."
"Are you actually inebriated or do you simply enjoy pretending to be so that you can get away with things?"
He stopped swaying, pointing the pencil in your direction as he placed the other hand behind his back. "You're sharp."
"So you're sober?"
Drunk Vronsky could have been molded. Sober Vronsky was a cunt.
"More or less. My friends feel left out because they are unable to hold their liquor as well as I can, so I act for them.", he explained, with a small look behind him, at his comrades trying to jump over the waves as they came.
"You should be in theatre, then."
"Adding performer to my resume is just a smidge too over-accomplished.", he retorted, an amused glint in his eye.
Ugh.
"So you're going to hold on to my pencil, then, I'm guessing."
"What? No, I know how much this means to you."
Trap. You'd bet your entire estate it was a trap.
"I will give it back.", he continued as he paced, his hand still placed behind his back as though he were planning war strategies. "On one condition."
See? Trap.
"Dinner. With me. Tomorrow."
Did he think this was a smart way to secure an evening with a woman?
"I won't be here tomorrow." Bold-faced lie, and he could tell.
"Then tonight. Right now." You couldn't think of anything you were doing.
"And I'll get my pencil back."
"Yes."
"That can't be it. There's a catch."
"You are... remarkable. Yes. There is.", he whispered, softly, as though impressed that you caught on. "Champagne. I wish to see you drunk. Drunk, in denial and... ruined."
Lot of darkness for someone who'd just been talking about a goat.
"In denial?"
"Nothing. Just... join me for dinner and drink a little, and I promise you shall have your pencil back."
"I do not drink."
"Then I do not return fancy French pencils."
"I can always purchase another."
"You do not have sentimentality, then?"
"No." Yes.
"I see. Then you may be on your way."
"I don't have to go anywhere. I have every right to be here! This is still my side of The Line."
"Suit yourself, darling."
The silence that followed was torturous and unbearable. "I do not like steak."
"Then you shall have no steak."
ââââââââââââââââââ âđˇâ ââââââââââââââââââ
His eyes focused on you from across the table, his spoon paused midway above his plate. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. Terrifying but alluring.
"Enjoying your not-steak?"
You hid a smile. "Yes, I am."
He nodded, bringing his spoon up to his lips as he watched you do the same.
"You've left your friends out there?"
"They know not to cross The Line. They will be alright."
"Why is it you wanted to have dinner with me? To trap me into trespassing?"
"I've wanted to speak with you since I first saw you." Lie.
"And I you." Lie.
"What was it you wished to say?"
"Simply a greeting. You?"
"The same."
He set down his spoon, scrunching up his napkin as he stood up and walked the short distance across the table to you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. "You promised you'd drink."
"I did?"
"You did.", he whispers, accepting the newly-uncorked bottle the servant handed him, and pouring it into the glass next to your plate, smoothly. "And you're a good girl who keeps promises, yes?"
You'd heard he loved using such degrading language, but this was the first time you'd seen it firsthand.
"What gave you that idea?"
"I just figured you were of proper breeding and were raised right."
Good answer.
"Well, the words 'I promise' never left my mouth."
"Well-bred women do not look for loopholes. And they most certainly do not argue."
Lord knows where he'd worked up the audacity to brush some hair off your shoulder, but perhaps he was born with it imbibed in his blood.
He narrowed his eyes at your unchanging expression. "Drink."
"I am not done with my food."
He breathes out loudly, taking your plate and thrusting it into the hands of the nearest servant. "Yes, you are."
"I still have dessert."
"No, you don't. Drink."
"This is not champagne. You said champagne."
"And you said you'd drink. We both have uttered falsities. Drink."
"I fear you may be trying to-"
"Poison you? I am not. I would not like to see you die."
Was that supposed to be some form of assurance? Romantic? Caring? That did not have the intended effect.
"Drink, lovely."
It irked you how invested he was to see you drunk.
You wrapped your fingers around the glass, bringing it to your lips. Tilting it upwards, you let the liquor cascade down your throat, and echoes of your sputtering filled the room - it burned.
He laughed heartily, shaking his head as he stroked your shoulder from behind you. "Do you know what that was?"
"No. But I do know I will not take another sip."
"It was vodka, my dear, and in a few moments, you will want more. Trust me."
"I'm not taking another sip of that ghastly liquid!"
"Not even for me? Not even if I begged?"
"You think your begging has any effect on me?"
"Doesn't it? I'm known to be quite persuasive, and- besides, aren't you supposed to be the empathetic one in the family?"
"And where did you hear that?"
"Just about everywhere, really.", he huffed, resting his elbow on the table as he knelt down by your side. "'Y/N is the nicest one. She cares the most. Empathetic.' Surely you are not telling me those are lies?"
"Not lies, but exaggerations, perhaps."
"I am quite literally on my knees, Y/N, and you should realize how rare that is. Drink more or I will have to force you."
You frowned at him.
"I will do it. Force you. Don't think that because I have let you in my house so courteously that I will continue to be a gentleman with you."
"How could you be? You're nothing but a cad.", you scoffed, as you took another stingingly painful gulp.
He watched the glass, your tongue, your throat, almost mesmerized as he replied. "A cad?", he questioned softly, amused but still fascinated by your every movement.
"A cad.", you nodded, trying not to show how much you were gasping for breath. It hurt, satisfyingly.
"That's a first. No one has ever said 'oh, Alexei Vronsky, that cad'.", he murmured against his palm as he observed you meticulously.
"Then they have met a different person."
"You say this out of personal experience, do you?"
"I've met him. The Alexei Vronsky. He only thinks of one thing."
A lilt of his lips. "And that is?"
"Himself."
He concealed a grin.
"Or perhaps...", he mused, fingertips on the back of your neck as though he were playing your skin as one would a piano. "He is one who shows different versions of himself to different people."
"So he is deceitful."
"I'd say careful."
"Would you, now?"
"I think we put up far too many false pretences anyway. No point in fighting it - it is necessary, to be part of society."
"And what false pretences am I putting up, in your expert opinion?"
He smiled, one too pure to match the description you had so harshly delivered a moment before, but you knew more than most that it was a ruse. "Drink more."
"You're an incredibly demanding man, aren't you? Dine with me. Drink more. Not a single please, nor thank you.", you retorted, as though that could take away from the fact that you obeyed.
"When you are incredibly in demand, you learn to be incredibly demanding."
If ever a smoother talker existed, you'd wager he'd simply be Alexei Vronsky in disguise.
"So tell me, then. Are you a gentleman, a cad, or an opportunist, Count Vronsky?"
You had to steer the conversation back to him, because whatever this vilely beguiling liquor was, it was shooting through your veins at a rate too fast to risk talking about yourself, lest any family secrets spilled out.
"I am whatever you want me to be. And you? Are the rumours true? Are you a virgin, a temptress, or a genius?"
"I am whatever I want to be. For tonight."
"Come morning?", he murmured against your neck as he slipped a finger under a loose strand of hair, and twirled it with such dedication you would think that were his only purpose in life.
"A memory."
"Well, we can't have that.", he pouted, as he stood up, gently taking the glass away from you and finishing the last of it. "What does it take for a memory to stay in the present?"
"Vronsky-"
"A dance, perhaps, as they say you enjoy?"
If you weren't unsure of the functionality of your motor skills in your drunken haze, you'd have punched him right then and there.
"The rumours aren't true, you know?"
"What rumours?", he asked, feigning obliviousness.
He'd just spoken of them, but you were quite sure if you reminded him, he'd attribute it to the vodka. Tell you you were 'surely imagining things, dear one'.
"The ones that led you to come and have a go at me."
"Those? Oh, I didn't believe them for a second.", he grinned, his eyes examining the filthiest, most remote parts of your soul - ones that even you had never been privy to.
A moment washed over the both of you, tauntingly. You looked for any secrets in his eyes, and he looked for any in yours, albeit, more calmly than you.
"Come.", he mumbled, finally, offering his hand for you to get up out of his disgustingly well-crafted chair. "Let's get you back on your side of The Line."
ââââââââââââââââââ âđˇâ ââââââââââââââââââ
"There. Oh, and here. I am of proper manners.", he added after you'd leapt over The Line, handing your pencil back over to you.
It felt oddly anticlimactic after the events of the evening.
His icy blue eyes - striking, so striking that they pierced you - fell onto your lips for just a moment before landing on the pencil in your hand. "You don't want it back."
"What? Of course I do."
He had you. He was onto you.
"Let me rephrase. You don't need it back."
"Sentimentality. Of course I do."
"You really don't want it to stay in my possession, instead?"
"No."
"Liar.", he smirked, his lips curving deliciously, and you just about lost it. "You know I'll take very good care of it, no? Like I took care of you, tonight. No complaints, yes?"
"Besides the aggressive persuasion to drink a fiery liquid that most probably burnt my throat off, no."
"You exaggerate. Tell me tonight was just another of your dull nights. Tell me I haven't been a source of reprieve from your tedious, mundane days of fakeness and gossip."
You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with a reply, although you already knew that any response- or lack thereof - would be all too telling.
"You cannot, can you?"
There was nothing you hated more than when men were right.
Especially men who were as captivating as Vronsky. It was unnecessary and dangerous.
He beamed, clearly so fucking proud of himself, as he looked out at the waves. "It is a lovely dress you are wearing."
No, it wasn't. It was the most commonplace of dresses one could wear. But he'd say it anyway. Because that was his play.
"Thank you."
"It is disgusting, though."
"In what way? A disgusting display of my wealth, or disgustingly lovely?"
He knelt down next to you from the other side, on the sand. "It is disgusting that such beauty and purity like yours can exist and people continue to slander its name."
Had you been a lesser woman, you'd have fallen for it.
It seemed, however, that he knew you wouldn't. It was confusing, to say the least, whether he was being genuine or being genuinely fake.
"It is how I live."
If you'd read him right, he should say something along the lines of...
"It shouldn't be."
There.
"However... the dress in itself is not disgusting?"
"No, it is spectacular- although, I must say, the woman wearing it is far more ravishing."
Games get boring when they are predictable.
"So. What is it you normally do after parties, since you cannot get drunk? Unless blackmailing women to dine with you and drink your vodka is your usual pastime."
He snickered, although a slight maliciousness infiltrated his gaze for a moment. "It isn't so much a pastime as... an unfortunately common occurence. Perhaps that's why you've got an opinion of me as a - how'd you put it?"
"A cad."
"Ah, yes, a cad. I wonder if your opinion has changed."
That was not hope in his eyes, no. That was a challenge. 'Go ahead, Y/N, say no. If you dare.', his look said.
"I wonder that, too. Perhaps it will if you keep your promise."
"Promise?", he repeated, raising a brow. He knew. He knew all too well what you were saying.
"False pretences.", you reminded, watching him as he watched the waves distort the light of the moon. "You said you would tell me what false pretences you think I put up."
He was far too close. The incredibly fragile, entirely imaginary Line wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching over and touching your shoulder once more.
"I think... do you want to know what I think?"
"I might."
"I think that you're lying when you brush off the rumours."
"You think I am a slut? A temptress?" Now, suddenly, the monotonous nature of everyday seemed far more interesting than the thousandth iteration of the same conversation.
"No, I think you brushing them off is the lie. They affect you far too much." Alright. That was... progress.
"Do they, now?"
"Very much. And there is one more, as well, although I doubt you will like to hear it. You crave to prove them right."
Congratulations, Alexei Vronsky, you've caught my attention.
"That is an extremely, extremely bold suggestion."
"Yet you are not denying it."
"I do not wish to have my virtue questioned, Vronsky, and us having dinner does not change that."
"But it pokes at it, does it not? A slight scratch, an itch, asking if that is what you really want. It blurred the lines, did it not?"
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
"You're an incredibly delusional man, Count Vronsky."
"A delusional cad."
"Precisely."
You didn't miss the amusement in his tone, the laughter, the way he knew how perfectly right he was.
"Well, this delusional cad did not lie, earlier. You truly have bewitched me, my dear, and I do not think I shall ever turn you down."
He stood up, dusting the sand off his gloves and pants. You stood up too, not out of respect, but out of the desire to relish his face once more.
"Turn me down?"
"When you inevitably ask for me when your marriage is dry, lifeless and torturous."
Good lord. How long had he been- how far ahead was he thinking?
"I will be right here. On this side."
"Why are you so adamant that my marriage will be-"
"Because I'm the one you need. You've broken quite literally every rule tonight. Crossed the line, fraternized with the enemy, drank unfamiliar alcohol that could so easily have been poisoned or used against you."
"How does that make you the one I-"
"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone. Freeing you. What more would one want from a lover?"
So casual with that word. Lover. As though that was all you two had been, since the beginning.
"Have I mentioned that you're-"
"Delusional? Yes, you have. But you have also yet to mean it."
Who the hell allowed this man to be so confident?
His thumb rubbed against your cheek in pure tenderness that you are well-prepared for - you've learnt over the years he's unpredictable, and since his mercurial nature was the only predictable thing about him, it was easy for you to guess his next move.
Or at least, figure out that it would be the exact opposite of the tone of his words.
"I can help you, you see?", he said, words so faint they were almost whisked away in the sea breeze. "Honest."
"Was that the point of tonight?"
"No, the point of tonight was to get you so utterly inebriated that you would tell me your family's secrets, and hence, your own."
That was the only thing that had come out of his mouth all night that you could guarantee was the truth.
"And since that did not happen, you are doing this?"
"No, I couldn't let that happen. Unwrapping you, figuring you out, it is far too intriguing a task to complete with a glass of vodka and enticing words. I want to spend years, decades, the rest of my life, performing this task, revealing you slowly and addictively, until I have lost myself or driven myself crazy trying to reach the core of your soul."
The silence kissed you two over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "You are terrifyingly good at this."
He almost looked like he was about to say 'at what', but it seemed his mood had turned too serious to coax a half-hearted insult out of you.
"And you are terrifying. You are like the eye of a storm, intricately, almost... sinisterly drawing me closer."
"I'm not sure what you want me to-"
His lips devoured your words, and you could not help but think that this night had progressed far too rapidly to your liking. He was a stranger, a random man who you shared nothing but a flimsy little line with, but here you were, letting him kiss you, letting him ruin you, letting him convince you with his words that this was a good idea.
"Come on, darling.", he murmured against your lips, his eyes still half-lidded in a triumphant haze. "Cross the line. I promise, I'll take care of you."
You surrendered, and all you could do was hope that his beauty was simply angelic in nature, and was not designed for the sole purpose of ruining you and every iota of self-respect you had.
Hard to tell, but perhaps he had meant it that way.
#is he not so pretty?#alexei vronsky#count vronsky#anna karenina#anna karenina 2012#count vronsky x reader#count vronsky x fem!reader#fluff#anna karenina x reader#anna karenina count vronsky#alexei vronsky x reader#fanfic#count vronsky fluff#Count vronsky x reader#count vronsky x female reader#count vronsky angst#alexei x reader#anna karenina fanfic#aaron taylor johnson#atj#alexei vronsky fluff#alexei vronsky x you#aaron taylor johnson fic#aaron taylor johnson x reader#aaron taylor johnson fanfic
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The Farmer's Daughter 9
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters:Â Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iâm happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
After the tense morning, you don't speak to Walter again that day. Or the next. When he arrives, he stays outside with his thermos of coffee and waits for Timothy. At the end of the day, he gives your brother an excuse about chores at home. Maybe not an excuse. He has been spending a lot of time around here.
Nearly a week after it happened, after everything changed, your mother appears in the kitchen with a crease in her forehead. You offer her a cup off coffee as she rubs her eyes. She yawns and and shakes her head.
âWe'll grab a cup at the hospital,â she says, âyou're father has a check-up. Timmy's taking us.â
âOh?â You pour yourself a mug and lean on the counter, âI forgot.â
âLots going on,â she sighs, âcan't blame you for being distracted.â
âUh, yeah, I guess,â you shrug.
âI called Walter, left a message,â she checks the clock hung above the door, âwouldn't be too bad if he did swing by, huh?â
âHopefully he doesn't waste the time,â you grumble.
âHoney,â she chides playfully, âyou know, I think your dad would approve⌠if he could. He always liked Walter.â
âMom,â you frown, âplease, I have enough to worry about.â
âOh, I'm sorry,â she whines, âI'm just⌠looking for a little sunshine through the clouds.â
You wince, a pang of guilt between your ribs, âI'm sorry, mom, I just⌠Walter's nice. He helps so much and I think⌠I think maybe it's too much.â
âDon't I know it. He is so generous. I gave him some money and I found the envelope in my purse,â she tuts, âyou could do much worse. He⌠he could take care of you.â
You exhale, âmom.â
âJust listen,â her tone turns dire and her eyes gleam, âyour pa can't. He's not gonna be able to ever again. I already know what the doc's gonna day and you shouldn't fool yourself. Walter won't help forever, not for no good reason. And next year, your pa won't be back on his tractorâŚâ she sniffles and dabs her nose, âthose days are behind us.â
âMa, you don't knowââ
âI do,â she utters solemnly, âI see the man I married but he's hollow. He's⌠a shell, honey. He's there but he's not really.â
âOh, maââ
âI'm just saying⌠we need to weigh our options. I'll look into selling if we gotta and Timmy, maybe he can go work with Waltââ
âAren't you getting ahead of yourself?â You cross an arm around your middle.
âWe shoulda been talking about this a week ago,â she shakes her head.
âWell, I can apply at the grocer orââ
âYou do that,â she says, âbut you think real hard. You got options,â she steps closer and cups your cheeks, âyou're a pretty young thing. That doesn't last forever.â
You don't say a word as her greyness seeps into you. She draws away and you bow your head. You wait for her to go as you stare into the black depths of the coffee. You take a sip to try to chase away the ice in your veins but it only sends a shiver through you.
đž
Your parents go off with Timmy in the truck. You set to sweeping the porch to keep yourself busy. Your mother's words ring in your ears. She can't be serious, there's more out there than the farm. Pa always said as much and you don't think he meant Walter.
As you get to the steps, the distant rumble of an engine rolls over the ground. You turn as gravel grits under treads and Walter's large truck lazily rocks along the bumpy road. You still the straw broom and grip the handle as he pulls up. Did he not get your mother's message?
He lingers in the truck as you squint against the sunlight. His door pops open and he jumps down, sending up a cloud of dust. He goes around the bed of the truck and opens the back.
He slides out a sheet of wood and drags it towards you. You watch in confusion as he stops and leans it against the side of the porch. His eyes meet yours and his brows furrow.
âMorning,â he checks his watch, âbarely.â
âMorning, Mr. Marshall,â you eke out.â
His eyes flash and he nods. He turns and marches back to the truck, pulling out several planks before carrying them over. You watch him as you lean on the broom.
âWhat are you doing?â You ask.
He stops and looks up at you. He points to your feet and flicks his finger up, âbuilding a ramp. For your dad.â
You look down at your slips flecked in dirt and stray strands of straw, âoh? Didn't ma callââ
âShe didn't ask,â he says bluntly.Â
Your lips slant and you tilt your head, âthat's real nice.â
âYeah well, I'm a nice guy,â he huffs and spins on the heel of his boots, stomping away once more.
He goes back to the truck and retrieves his toolbox. His agitation roils off his tense shoulders and the stone set in his jaw. You're too afraid to ask but you do need to. He has been avoiding you.
âWell, I'll stay out of your way,â you lift the broom and back up the stairs. âIf you need anythingââ
âNot in the way,â he says curtly as he takes out a measuring tape.
âOh, I know but I wouldn't wanna botherââ
âI don't mind,â he shrugs as he steps onto the stairs and measures the angle over them.
âRight, of course, do you need anything? A glass of water orââ
âSeems like I'm the one bothering,â he stands and lets the tape retract harshly.
âNo?â You bat your lashes at him, âI didn't say that, Mr.--â
âWalt,â he growls, âyou know what I like best in a woman. Honesty. So why don't you be honest and tell me what you really feel?â
âIâŚâ you gulp, âWalter, er, Walt, I⌠I'm just⌠confused.â
âDon't act like a child. We both know you're not,â he crosses his arms over his broad chest. You've seen him angry before but it's never been aimed at you.Â
âI⌠I don't know what to say. I'm sorry.â
âSorry. Okay,â he shakes his head and unfolds his arms, going back to measuring, âI'm open to talking when you wanna be an adult.â
You flinch as you watch him. He grits his teeth, ignoring your presence as he focuses on his work. You turn, hiding the hurt deep in your chest. You never meant to hurt him but you really don't know. As much as you try to wade through your feelings, you only feel as if you're drowning in them.
#walter marshall#dark walter marshall#dark!walter marshall#walter marshall x reader#drabble#night hunter#the farmer's daughter#series#au#backwoods au
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"Can I kiss you?"
Octavinelle x gn!reader
A/N: Simple. The sea trio has corrupted my mind and so here I am writing this at 1:03 AM and finishing this up two days later LOL. I actually took forever because I kept squealing and getting off track during the writing process. "I NEED TO DRAW THIS" I would say to myself haha. I wrote them without much consideration on how long each might be so one of them may be shorter compare to the others or it may be longer, but please do enjoy^^ (May or may not do the other dorms, unless...)
[Disclaimer] TOO MUCH FLUFF
[characters] Floyd, Azul, Jade
Azul
3:24 PM - The Mostro Lounge sits under blue and silver burnished lighting as the sound of music fills the air. Accompanied by voices and the clinks of dishes, there you sat in the more private area of what adds to Octavinelle - Azuls office.
Something you both have learned to get accustomed to was to just do work alongside each other without the need of having to talk. It was just work. Nothing more. Of course some small talk here and there, asking opinions or maybe asking for help- though it was usually you who asked for it and less of Azul- but regardless it was back off to work. It's quite simple really, Azul is a busy and hard working person so he'd naturally have a lot to manage with. You had to keep up with your studies and try to manage how to handle your money and savings accordingly, along with planning events into your calendar for upcoming school occasions.
You and Azul have been dating for about half a year now, and although not all the time, most of the time you spend your free time here doing your work accompanying Azul as he does his. You both simply enjoy each other's presence, the silence between you two which is filled with the scritches and scratches of his fish-bone felt tip pen and your pencil against the many pages of papers were not at all awkward. It showed a sense of comfortability and familiarity, a tranquil silence in the room. Though of course, like almost any couple you begin to crave some attention from your dearly beloved.
3:27 PM - Placing your pencil down, it now rolling off to the side a little due to the momentum, you lean back onto the back cushions of Azuls couch placed in the middle of his office. Working for about 15 minutes now you decided you needed a break, stretching your arms back as you release your breath through your nostrils.
"Going to take a break Angelfish?" Without even having to look up, the sound of you leaning into his leather cushion and your stretched out groan already tells him enough information that you're ready to just try and relax and rejuvenate yourself.
"Mmmh yea, I think 15 minutes of work is good enough for now. I'll go back to it once I rest up," is all you say in response as you lean your body over to lay on the couch. He only lets out a hum to let you acknowledge that he was listening. Now that you weren't focused on your own work, you can hear him writing with a rich shink-like noise and papers constantly flipped and turned every 30 seconds.
I wonder what he's working on, you think to yourself as you stare up at the dark blue arched ceiling. You prop yourself up with your elbows, pushing yourself up as you move your legs off the couch. Springing off, you head on over to where Azul was working around behind the desk and peered over towards him. "Whatcha working on?" Voice soft and curious, an undertone of boredom.
"Just some useful material intended to aid students," he says in a gentle manner, his eyes still glued onto the papers. "Oh yea? How much longer till you finish up with those study guides?" You lean over a bit closer as you stand next to him, his handwriting as intricate and beautifully cursive as ever; yet still eligible for those who have a harder time understanding.
He lets out a little inquisitive hum as if trying to accurately calculate when he'd be finished by. "About in an hour or so," he says finally after seconds worth of time. "I'd say make that an hour-thirty to two from now" you say with a little soft laugh escaping your lips.
3:30 - Standing next to Azul as he preps material, you slowly come to look at Azul himself instead of what Azul was working on. Being able to see the sight of his silver crowned locks of hair that curls into beautiful waves. Only after making your comment does he stop his hand and turn to look up at you from where he sat.
After finally not being able to properly see Azul's face the entire time you were working, seeing his face was a sort of refreshment to your heart and the soft smile on your face shows that. "And what prompts you to assume such a thing my dear?" He can only be met with a giggly response, his serious and quizzical face only prompting you to let out more chains of giggles.
"Tell me what you are suddenly finding so funny? I certainly am positive that I haven't done anything humorous." You tilt your head a little to the side, your grin getting slowly bigger as you clasped your hands behind your back. Azul can already pick up that you're trying to whip something up.
"You know Azul, when was the last time you kissed me?"
And there he goes, short circuiting as the sudden change of mood drifts him like the ocean currents. "I-Is this what you're on about?" He certainly has picked up by what you meant with your earlier comment now that you've voiced your question. "Oh dear, do you perhaps feel neglected since i've been working so much Angelfish?"
"Don't try to act smug. Answer my question, when was the last time you kissed me?" You immediately shoot down his question as you direct it back to yours and it sends his cheeks a pigmented red while he tries to keep his cool. He understands that you wont stop asking him this question and so he answers away.
"I recall it to be a few weeks back."
"And where did you kiss me?"
"I-I don't see how that- hah, on the cheek. Seriously (y/n) what is the relevancy in asking such- "
"Ah! Hold it! So you're telling me you've been giving me kisses and I've been giving you kisses but we've never actually kissed at the same time?"
3:33 - Here you are facing Azul as you look at his tinted red face, picking up where your suggestion leads. What awaits is permission to boldly take your relationship to the next level.
"Can I kiss you Azul? And not on the hands or on the cheek like we usually do." You give him a soft pleading look, your cheeks also decorated in a lovely shade of red as you wait for his response patiently. Clearing his throat and having the need to suddenly fix his not crooked glasses, he gives you a very shy yet still doing his best to be serious look. Before answering, he quickly resolves himself and a more confident smirk is plastered on his face. As he pushes himself up from his chair he closes in the distance and comes in close towards you, wrapping an arm around your back.
"Ask and you shall receive, a small kiss is worth the price of my time for you my Angelfish," he says it ever so calmly and confidently. Though the redness of his cheeks give away that he was otherwise and it makes your heart squeeze and beat crazy because of how cute he was being right now.
"You're being so cute right now you know that? You don't have to force yourself, you know." Your voice is gentle and smooth as if it were raw honey. Bringing a hand to tuck the longer piece of hair that made up his hairstyle, you give him the most adored stricken smile ever and he can only feel his heart beating out of his chest.
"No no, it's about time we started to get more intimate considering how long we've been together now. Thank you for going at my preferred pace, I'd like to give you an honorarium payment." You let out an amused chuckle and let him prepare himself, closing your eyes as you wait for him to go in at his own pace. Though you least expect it when he suddenly goes in very quickly. His lips are stiffly pressed against yours for a couple of seconds and it has you opening your eyes in surprise. You're met with a red faced Azul -which can be compared to a steamed and cooked octopus- looking flustered and a little awkward as he seemed to have a little dissatisfactory expression on his face. "That... Did not go as well as I had hoped it to be."
A jovial and convivial laughter fills up the room in your sound and it only makes Azul shrivel in embarrassment. You can practically see the steam coming from his head as well. "Well that was a little anticlimactic don't you think?" Wrapping your arms around his neck he can only let out an embarrassed groan at your little comment. "What do you expect from someone who's inexperienced with committing such an act? I'm positive however that with enough practice I can redeem myself and satisfy you." He tries to sound all the more reasoning, which only prompts you to laugh even more.
"You want to kiss more?" Saying through slips of giggles. You feel his hold on your back tighten a bit more, still applying gentle and reaffirming pressure as he presses you both together. "How else do you suggest I be better then?" You turn and motion your body over to the desk, leaning your lower back against it as Azul follows along. "Hmm, I'm absolutely positive that it'll take you two hours to finish those study guides now." You pull a little amused laugh out of him as he slowly goes in once again, tilting his head to the side and his eyes looking to align with yours. "Mmm perhaps. I guess we'll have to see just how long it'll take for me to get better then." And in he goes, the kiss feeling much more natural and a mark of showing a deeper significance in your ongoing relationship.
Jade
The nights on campus here were unusually less disturbed and a lot colder now, which makes sense considering that it is now winter break. The students here at Night Raven College had all gone home to reunite with their families after departing to pursue and complete their highschool education. However a certain group of individuals tend to stay during this time period, and that being the dorm leader of Octavinelle, the vice dorm leader, and the vice dorm leader's twin brother.
Like a lot of teenagers, its normal to come across at least 10 students at night since many are nocturnal people and they share the hobby of walking around. Especially when the sky is dark. You are one of those people. Someone who indulges themselves into the canvas of black paint littered with shining splatter of stars. Regardless of what the weather is like, you willingly go out of your way to enjoy the peacefulness of the night, watching it as it goes through the different seasons. Walking around in the winter's night air you can see your breath whenever you huff out, a shiver going through your shoulders. A little reminder that its the cold season now.
The chilly weather seems to be getting to you so you turn back from where you presently are and walk back to your good ol' home, Ramshackle dorm. As you make your way back from the main road you can make out a tall dark figure up ahead, prompting you to slow down and start to get wary. Upon getting closer and squinting your eyes a little, you can see teal hair shining a bit under the orange light which was radiating off a nearby light pole. Oh, it's Jade! You remember Jade mentioning that he liked to also go out late at night, though this is your first time ever encountering him on your usual walks. Perhaps he too is taking advantage of the quieter nights.
You and Jade have been a little on and off. You cant quite describe it, its complicated really. Sometimes you feel like you cant understand Jade because he's always making things open-ended, leaving them up to your interpretations. You like him, that much is obvious. But there are plenty of times where he's shown interest in you, and other times where it may not feel as so and it throws you off. Its frustrating not knowing how he feels about you, as if its some sort of game you two play. Regardless of his little plays though, you continue to enjoy yourself in the game.
A slight breeze hits your figure and it causes you to shiver, rubbing your arms to enforce friction in hopes of warming you up. You figured it may be best to leave Jade alone so he can enjoy himself in peace doing whatever he was doing. And off you go, turning on your heel and continuing your venture.
The sky is so pretty, you think to yourself. It has you arching your neck up and leaning your head back as you stare at the night sky, continuing your walk. You cant help but look at how pretty the stars are knitted together in a beautiful cluster, zoning out a bit as you continue forward.
Suddenly a hand is placed on your shoulder and it causes you to jolt up like a scared cat, making you break out of your trance. A yell is ushered out of you as you quickly turn around to see who this person could be, and you're only met facing Jade.
"Oh dear, I do apologize for my sudden notice. But your voice sounds lovely even when out of fear fufu"
Your heart is still pounding and your eyes are opened widely, staring at him with disbelief and shock. "J-Jade! What are you doing?! God you freaking scared me oh my gosh." Your little scared moment certainly has him entertained as he lets out another chuckle.
"You seem to be so infatuated with the sky that you failed to notice your surroundings. I was only doing my part in trying to help you realize that."
"What do you me-?" As you turn around your quickly met with a lamp pole right in front of your face and it causes you to flinch back a bit. "Oh." Turning around to face him again you feel yourself feeling a bit embarrassed that he caught you about to do something embarrassing. "Thanks Jade... What are you doing out so late?"
"I could ask you the same thing. I was just taking advantage of the quiet night and looking at the nature of the trees." He looks over you, a genuine smile on his face plastered as what you can assume to be looking at the area around us. "However I stayed aware of my surroundings despite having my own infatuations." His little snarky yet calm remark causes you to let out a groan, a pout slightly forming on your lips.
"I was also taking advantage of tonight as well thank you very much." Straightening your back, you cross your arms and give him a slight frown as if trying to regain back your little pride. Then quite suddenly a gust of wind howls a bit in your direction, causing you to shiver and quiver a bit. "Tonight is quite cold I must say." His slight remark makes you shiver even more as you are reminded of the cold.
"Yea, no kidding. I didn't prepare well enough so I'm going to head back." Your face is cold to the touch and your nose and cheeks can be seen slightly red under the pale moonlight. "Oh I see, perhaps I can accompany you then." He offers yet you turn him down in a polite manner. Your reasons? It's obvious you like Jade. You really like him, though because of all these mixed signals you can't help but feel like you need to stop. It already frustrates you enough and so you need to let these feelings die down even though sometimes you really do get a kick from the things he does.
"You seem to be quite cold indeed (y/n), if I can't accompany you back then please allow me to warm you up for your trip."
His words seem to catch you off guard and you look up at him quizzically. He doesn't seem to be wearing any sort of jacket, how can he offer you warmth? He chuckles a bit, amused to see your confused scrunched face. Gently bringing a hand to your cheeks your eyes can't seem to help but widen in shock a little from the sudden gentle advancement, your brain going blank.
"Can I kiss you, Prefect?" He says it ever so softly, his voice wrapping you up like a soft blanket. Did Jade really just ask to kiss you? What's going on, is this even real right now? Are you dreaming? Is this another one of his games? You feel your face starting to heat up and your heart is starting to race.
"W-Wait, what? Did I hear that right?" You say in disbelief, but he knows you heard it correctly because of your red face. His hands cupping your face causes you to freeze in the moment and all you can hear is the loud drums of your heart. Leaning down a bit more you can see his eyes perfectly now, his heterochromia jewel like eyes shimmering. "I must admit i'm a little hurt to see you trying to avoid me recently Prefect. I apologize for beating around the bush for so long, I hope you can take this kiss as a form of acceptance for my feelings and my apology."
This eel.... THIS EEL! He knows what he's doing, he knows! You're left stammering a bit before you could answer, the feeling of your head spinning. "I...accept your apology." And with that he goes down in one smooth motion, his lips in contact with yours with a perfect fit. Once he leans back, your eyes are met and he lets out a content hum. "I'm glad to see you're quite warmed up now. And if I must add, happier too." A big goofy smile is placed on your face as if you just won the lottery, your face all red and heated. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind if you were to accompany me back now. Who knows what might be out here."
You seem to be in a giddy mood, no longer holding back. Finally, you can understand Jade's true feelings for you now. It makes you overjoyed, a feeling of happiness now that you understand. And with a smile on his face he agrees, playing along with your little game of words. The feeling of warmth and fluffy happiness fills you up, and the cold cant compare with that as you make your way back with Jade, his little darling Pearl.
Floyd
"WHAT THE HELL FLOYD?!"
Crash!
Ah yes, just another regular day. You, Floyd, your phone in his hand, breathless, a cheeky and amused grin on his face, and just constantly trying to snag your phone back in the spacious long hallway. Call this a regular day occurrence considering how many times he's come to bother and mess with you now.
"Floyd, give me back my pho- STOP SCROLLING THROUGH MY CAMERA ROLL!" Running up and trying to snatch it away by jumping, only to fail because he's now outstretching his arms away and tip-toeing to refrain from you reclaiming back your item.
"Haaah? Your camera roll is so boring, just full of pictures of the sky. We see that everyday, you should take more pictures of other interesting things!" You really were running out of breath here and he seems to take great amusement with it since he's still here messing with you.
The sun shined brightly against the two of you, the open wall of the hall letting the air roam freely.
"Ahaha! What a funny picture of Crabby-chan! Oh, and you got one of little Mackerel too." Floyds not listening to your words, enjoying himself as he indulges in your camera roll. You let out a tired and heavy sigh, heaving a bit as you try to catch your breath. "F-Floyd, why are you doing this? Argh, I swear you've been bothering me so much lately." He only give you a little "hm?" in response as his smile now fades, turning to something more neutral and casual as he continues to indulge himself in your selective memories.
"Ya have soooo many pictures of other people lil' shrimpy. Ah! You even have a picture of Jade and Azul! No fairrrr!" Letting out a whine, you can see his prominent pout as he pinches his fingers on your screen to zoom in on you which was in between Azul and Jade. His eyes stick to the screen as he stares at the picture of your sweet smile looking as if you just finished some heavy and tiring labor just before.
"That was when we went camping during Vargas's stupid camping trip. Of course you weren't there!" You huffed out as you wipe a sweat off your neck, placing your free arm on your hip while you just watch him on your phone. At this point you just gave up and let him do what he wanted on there, of course as long as he's in the camera roll and nowhere else.
"But i'm here now aren't I? And you were even there when I went camping, jus excuses." His slightly upset voice makes you feel a bit guilty yourself, but you try to find a way to dispute his words anyways.
"Not true! If you keep scrolling more you'll see yourself in one of the pictures I took with Ace!" A huff escapes your mouth as you try to stay strong on your claim and he only lets out a disappointed groan. "I'm in the background Shrimpy, and you cant even see my face properly. Ya dont wanna have people mixin' me with my brother now dontcha?" His eyes look over towards you now as he drapes his arm down, just very offended with the lack of pictures you have available of him.
"It's not like i'm gonna show anyone Floyd. No one's gonna know its you except for me." You try to reassure him but he still isn't satisfied at all with your response. The sun shines in as its rays changes its direction and hits Floyd in the eyes, causing his already sour mood to worsen and he lets out an annoyed huff. The shadow of the pillars drapes over you like a veil and the sun hits him like a beam, so he then places his hand over his forehead to block the sun out while walking closer to you in venture for refuge. The light reflects into the phone causing a gleam hitting your own eyes and so you step back, squinting your eyes away. For a moment you actually forgot he had your phone if not for the reminder the gleam gave you.
"Floyd, could you please hand me back my phone now?" You say in a more gentle voice in consideration to his sour mood. His droopy eyes meet yours as a slight pout forms on his face which then looks over at your phone in his hand. Suddenly, his pouty face lifts up into a gleeful smile, his toothy lop-sided smirk giving you unease as if he's planning something not so great.
"Ya know, why not jus' take some pics right now? Say cheese~!" Suddenly, with his longer legs he quickly makes his way over next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling close.
"Wha-? Hey-!" Before you could even ready yourself though, he brings the phone above you two, angling the camera as he tilts his head against yours and maneuvers his thumb over the camera shutter button, pulling your bodies together.
Click! Click! Click!
"Hey stop taking so much! You're going to take up my storage!" Quickly swiping up your phone you press on the little square in the corner to open up the pictures. His arm continues to drape on your shoulder as he looks over at the pictures with a happy hum. Floyd looked as photogenic as ever when he wants to be, his silky skin reflecting in the pictures as his smile radiates and shine while his cheeks being a dusty pink. You on the other hand....Not so much. You were even blinking in one of them, most of the pictures of you looking off and funny.
"I wasn't ready Floyd." A stern look is scrunched on your face as you swipe and look at the pictures with a judgmental stare. A giggle can be heard right next to you as Floyd also looks over you in the pictures, a tinted pink running on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes; his heart speeding up just slightly as he continues the close and intimate proximity.
"I think you look cute anyways." He says it ever so casually and in a gentle voice, causing you to look over at him. Upon turning your head to face him, its only then did you realize just how close he was. How intimate you two were being right now. His side profile looking perfect as ever, his olive colored eye locked on the screen staring only at you, his arm draped over your shoulders, your bodies practically meshing together right now as his pecks touch your back. You feel your cheeks starting to heat up, your heart begins to speed up as if you are starting a morning run the more you begin to get conscious. His eyes suddenly dart to look at you and you flinch back, jumping a little due to being startled; however his arm keeps you in place from moving any further.
"Seriously, you've been messing with me too much..." You grumbled out as you turn your face back to look at the now black screen. It shut off due to the lack of inactivity, and in the reflection you can see your furrowed brows and tightlipped frown. Though from the side Floyd can only give a bigger grin upon seeing your velvet cheeks.
"Cus' I like ya, aint it obvious?" The speed to which you flip your head can be compared to one of a bullet train and your jaw drops, mouth wide open and agape as you're left with no words. "HUH?!" Your whole face is now a full on red, your eyes filled with shock as if he just dropped the most jaw dropping information ever. Well, technically he did.
Tilting his head to the side a little, his face also grows a darker shade of red, though he lets out a giddy chain of giggles to your reaction. "Eh? You're quite bold Shrimpy, movin' kinda fast there huh?"
"W-What?" He can practically see question marks floating around your red beet face, his toothy smug face still apparent as he wraps another arm in front of you. He's basically giving you a side hug right now -a sweet and tender one.
"Hehe, nothin,'" smiling as if its something only he knows makes you a bit bothered and curious, but then he suddenly swings himself in front of you now. The sun hits the back of Floyd, making him radiate ever so brightly. "How bout' we start off a bit slower hmm? Whats it to ya Shrimpy, do ya like me back?" His soft and droopy slanted eyes adoringly stare into yours and you cant help but feel your heart turn into a big wet sopping pillow. Adverting your eyes down, you can only give a little nod. "Well i mean, I don't hate you. So yea, I.... I do in fact, Like you too."
Honestly, Floyds been nothing but smiles now and its as if he found the most pretty set of flowers ever on a grassy field. "Is that so? Ya really like me huh?"
My hearts beating so fast right now.
"Yea, I really like you."
"Shall I give you a kiss then Shrimpy?"
Tilting your head back up at him you can only give him a shy and flustered face. But with the silly state you're in right now, you let out a slip of a tongue response.
"C-Can I kiss you?" Totally unexpected to Floyd, his eyes widen for only a moment till he's flinging his head back with laughter and squeezing you into his chest.
"Hahaha! Will you kiss me?" Calming himself down a bit he looks back at you with you in his arms now, the suns rays slowly shifting over.
"Will I kiss you?" saying almost in a smug manner now, feeling yourself succumbing into his giggly state of self as you yourself now start to get giddy with your red cheeks.
"You will" He says it with a reciprocal teasing tone as he leans forward, the comfort in his lean arms making you feel as if you've been lovers forever.
"I will?"
"I will" And with that he softly goes in to press a kiss on your lips, the sun shining and hitting the both of you and its as if you two were getting the spotlight of a movie.
Click!
Huh? As you turn to slowly pull back from the kiss, slowly opening your closed eyes you see Floyds phone out. His arm is outstretched and propped in the middle of you two from the side to capture the kiss perfectly and you can only let out a gasp.
"A picture for me hehe~"
"FLOYD-"
#twst#twisted wonderland#jade leech#jade leech x reader#jade leech twst#twst jade#jade twisted wonderland#azul ashengrotto#azul ashengrotto x reader#twst azul#azul x reader#azul twisted wonderland#twst floyd#floyd leech#floyd leech twst#floyd twst#floyd twisted wonderland#floyd leech x reader#floyd x reader#twst fluff#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#octavinelle#octatrio
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Heyđ¤ may I please request a fluff/romantic or Bi Han. I know a lot of people donât think he is capable of being romantic but a girl needs some fluff for Bi Han please. Maybe something were he is sweet and caring only towards reader and everyone else he is normal Bi Han. Love your writing thank youđ¤
This got shoddy at the end of the drab. đŚŚ
You were lost within your own head for while when Bi-Han had appeared at your side, gingerly taking your hand within his own, drawing a gasp from your lips as you felt his cold fingers intertwine with yours. âBi-Han. Youâre here.â You breathed out, smiling instantaneously upon being greeted with the beautiful dark eyes of the man you had happily promised your heart to. Your grasped his hand tighter, almost as though you were checking if he was actually with you, rather then some illusion youâve coincidentally conjured up.
âOf course Iâm here, little bird.â Bi-Han told you whilst pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting them linger there for a while before pulling away to gently rest his forehead against your own. His eyes locked on yours, as though he were fearful to look away in the instance that you wouldnât be there when he looked back. âFor I could never be content as to keep you waiting for longer then needed.â He adds as he took this moment to ingrain you eternally within his mind, so that he may never forget who he was fighting for, who he was carving a better future for and who he would vigorously defend till his last breath escaped from him.
Gods did Bi-Han hate being separated from you for long periods of time, truly believing that one day Kuai Liang and Tomas would try to enact revenge for his supposed betrayal, by taking away the one person who gave him true purpose in this life; you. However he couldnât completely disregard his duties as Grandmaster, for it would be sacrilege. Bi-Han was forever grateful that you never held that against him, and instead fully understand that he couldnât fully commit to being your lover when there was so much work yet to be done.
âIf it was for you?â You inquired. âIâd wait for as long as I must to see my beloved home safe and sound. So you neednât worry in keeping me waiting.â You finished as you then softly pecked his plush lips, cooing softly once pulling away from him, enjoying how Bi-Han fruitlessly attempted in following after your lips. For a man as cold as ice he was quite warm and gentle, but you knew he was only like this for you and you often times felt spoilt by being blessed to see this side of him; The side of him that would constantly hold you face in between his hands when checking you for injuries, his thumbs stroking the skin of your cheeks with such gentleness, as though he thought you were going to break. You even saw Bi-Han during his most stubborn and his most angriest of moments and yet still you called him the most breathtaking man youâve ever met because to you that was the honest truth.
âI just donât want to wish you being bored of me when I come home.â Bi-Han admitted softly. âYou deserve a man who is willing to be at your beck and call, to be with you from the early hours of morning, to the later hours of night. You shouldnât have to settle for less because you feel as though thatâs all there is going for you, and instead you should strive for more for you deserve more, way more then any man could possibly give.â Bi-Han truly meant what he said, he truly believed that you deserved better, never to tolerate less, for he felt like he wasnât giving you all that he possibly could and it pained him greatly because youâve him so much throughout the duration of your relationship.
Bi-Han only felt as it was only reasonable to give you an out shoulder you feel as though you werenât being valued enough, as he always tended to put you and your well-being first and foremost in just about everything. But you saw what he was doing almost instantly and you werenât about to allow Bi-Han to make a offer a solution thatâll only end up hurting the both of you because despite his tiering duties as Grandmaster, he was a dedicated, loyal and caring lover. You couldnât have to ask for a better man and never would for Bi-Han was it for you, he was the one.
âBi-Han.â You murmured, taking your free hand to hold his cheek, stroking it reassuringly as you watched him visibly relax within your hold, moving his head to kiss your inner wrist. âTo be bored of you would be like to be bored of living for while you are a very busy man, you are the most attentive, sweet, caring man I have ever met.â You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before brushing your nose against his, breathing him in as deep as you could. âNot once have you ever made me feel less important or less valued. Never. You made me feel worshiped, you made me feel loved, you always found room for me within your busy schedule, and I could never find a appropriate way to express my gratitude to you but I hope to everyday.â You concluded, hoping that you had gotten your point across that you werenât going anywhere without him.
âYou donât need to express anything to me, my beloved,â Bi-Han reassured you, kissing your inner wrist once more. âFor the sole fact that you still being here with me despite all my flaws is the biggest gesture I could have ever received and Iâm eternally thankful that you havenât yet given up on me. Do it should be me expressing my gratitude, not you.â Bi-Han finishes. âThereâs no need for that.â You assured him. âYouâve done enough and youâve just gotten back from a long mission. You must be exhausted and in need of rest.â You then began to pull Bi-Han towards your shared bed by his arm.
Bi-Han wasnât one to complain, as it meant he got to make up for lost time by laying in your arms and leeching off of your warmth whilst putting his aching body to rest, something his soul had yearned to do the moment he return to the Lin Kuei. âThat sounds perfect, little bird. That sounds perfect.â
#mk1#mk imagine#mk x reader#mk1 x reader#mortal kombat imagine#mortal kombat imagines#mortal kombat x y/n#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat x you#mortal kombat 1 x reader#bi han imagine#bi han x you#bi han x y/n#bi han x reader#bi han imagines#sub zero x reader
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ⰠARCH!VED II ¦ DANCING IN THE DARK, HAWKS¥!
ABOUT. in which, keigo dances with a phantom in the dead of night. ghostÂĄreader. set in the 1990s. romance with a pinch of slight angst. wc of 680+
NOTES. written in the reminders of @killyzury, in her love for keigo, and also of the elegant phantom romance.
the solemn tunes of an old piano rang through the corners of the high ceiling hall from a vinyl record.
moonlight seeped through the window and casted a glow into the marble floors of the large hall, the floor occasionally shining under the influence of the moon.
the soles of keigoâs shoes tapped against the ground, emitting a rather clacking sound that could be heard also echoing throughout the hall. he moves around, dancing with grace, swaying his body along the broken tunes of the music.
it was as if someone was seated on the old piano chair, moving their fingers against the broken keys of the old and dusty piano. an instrument who was left in the dark to rot and find solace in darknessâ companionship.
she's here. keigo knows you're here. he could always feel your faint presence lingering around, eyes gazing as he glided across the hall. thus he patiently awaits for you to approach him. when you do, he's all over you.
keigo could always see the ghostly servants of darkness. he could always feel them around him, talk to them even. it was a blessing of a curse that he had to bear with ever since he was a child.
once so familiar with them, now even seeking the comfort and familiarity with a ghost girl who lives along the walls of this old and abandoned castle.
your touch felt so real to keigo, the man could hold you forever even though your skin is colder than it should be.
he sometimes forgets you are not in his world, but in another. a world so lonely and deafening that it has you crawling back to this world just to seek for your own solace, your own sanctuary which you can delve into.
woe to keigo takami who thought that maybe, just a slight chance in his fate, that he could find you in the lonely world you once used to be in and pull you out of it. though, his life has to come to a halt. and you wouldn't want that to happen. it is all so selfish.
warm fingers laced themselves with cold ones, a stark contrast between the living and the dead. his hands are resting on your hips as he pulls you close to gently sway you back and forth, side to side.
âgreetings, mâlady,â softly greeted keigo who flashed you a smile so charming you wished you were as alive as he is in this charming state so your fingers could trace along the curve of his smile.
âgood evening,â you replied, your voice almost like a soft melody in the background. only keigo could hear you. he has always been the only soul who hears your melancholic cries. âmay i ask what this song is?â you asked, slightly tilting your head to the side in mere curiousity.
it will be a series of deceit if the man did not find your little head tilt endearing. he'd be living in a world of lies by then. keigo responded immediately, as if he did not want to keep your words hanging in the air for too long.
âtruth to be told. i have no idea. i take whatever is on the shelf and play it. this happened to be one of the records i found in this castle.â
âso you simply took it and claimed it as yours?â
ânot claim, borrowed,â he corrected you as you furrowed your eyebrows. âall right, you borrowed it. make sure to put it back. i want to preserve this place as much as i could.â
the young takami smiled. âwill do, m'lady.â
as the moon watches every sway, every spin, and every flow of your ruffled long skirt, the essence of time had been lost long ago. in this very moment where keigo dances with you in the dark, moonlight glow, he prays to the heavens that this would never end.
the more he holds you in his arms, the more you draw him closer to your world. until then, you will never stop dancing with keigo takami in the dark.
ŠSENEON 2024 ⰠD!ED, D3AD, G0NE. DO NOT REPOST OR ALTER. OR ELSE THE BATS WILL COME FOR YOU.
#â° D!ED D3AD G0NEÂĄ!#ďšđď¸ .đĽ Ý Ë đ°đŤđđđđ§đ ďš#keigo takami#mha keigo takami#mha takami keigo#bnha keigo#mha keigo x reader#keigo x reader#hawks#mha hawks#bnha#mha#bnha hawks#hawks x reader#hawks fluff#keigo fluff
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