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sitepathos · 2 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 9: The Harassment

His children are already waiting for him the moment he and Alfred walk in the door, no doubt aware of everything that’s happened concerning him and their brother.

As expected, his reunion with you had been posted on the internet and every major news outlet has been talking about it ever since, especially the Gotham Gazette and the Daily Planet. Fuel was added to the fire this morning when he met you at the airport after Lex dropped you off and tried to get to agree to talk to him, you yelled so hard that the entire airport stopped to watch you tear into him, only stoping when security stepped in.

He ignored all the stares as he watched your plane take off for Nevada, far away from your family and home. And he was greeted by a crowd of reporters when he returned to Gotham, all of them flashing their cameras and shouting questions over one another.

He did his best to hide his hurt when many of them asked why were you not present for any of the family functions or galas over the past twelve years.

He wanted to say he was protecting you from the limelight; that you had just lost your mother and the last thing you needed was to be bombarded by those parasites who feed on misery to turn a quick buck, but of all the lies he’s forced himself to say, that would be one lie he couldn’t force out of his mouth, opting instead to vomit everything he has in his guts.

Because he knows the truth: he neglected you. No amount of beating around the bush could eve change the fact that he’s never had a genuine conversation with you. From the moment you arrived at his home, you were ignored because he was too busy wallowing in his own suffering that he couldn’t see you were suffering, too.

Plus, there was no doubt in his mind that if he did say that, it would get back to you and you’d be more than glad to set the record straight.

“That video of you and Y/N’s already gone viral,” Tim says, not looking up from his phone. “It had over a million views in just ten minutes. Now, it’s nearing a billion.”

He suppresses a sigh. Of course a video of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne getting his ass handed to him by his previously unknown firstborn biological son would go viral.

“I could scrub it, if you want,” Tim adds.

If anyone could absolutely scrub a video from the internet and condemn it to the void, Tim absolutely could. But, as much as he wants that video of you tearing into him gone forever, the memory of it would live on in his memory for the rest of his life; the hatred and pain in your eyes haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Also, at this rate, there’s no closing this Pandora’s Box. The world knows you’re his son and that he obviously wronged you. People aren’t going to forget that anytime soon.

Since last night, he’s monitored the Gould Games Pixtagraph page and before his reunion with him, you were sitting at following of a couple tens of thousands, but after last night, your following jumped up to several millions, your studio is tagged in countless reposts of that damn video, and so many people are asking you to explain your relationship with him.

So far, you’ve yet to say anything about your time living with them. On one hand, he’s glad you haven’t responded as it gives them time to do damage control and plan their next move concerning you, but on the other hand, he’s hurt because you don’t deem him worth your time to badmouth him on the internet.

“It’s fine, Tim,” he responds, ruffling his son’s hair as he walks towards the living room, Alfred and his children following behind.

The moment he walks in, his eyes immediately go to the family portrait sitting on the wall above the mantle, a family portrait that doesn’t include you. Before he got his head out of his ass, every time he looked at the painting, it filled him with pride and a sense that despite all his failings, he had done the best he could for his children and created a family that he’s proud of.

Now? That portrait is a constant reminder of how much he’s failed you. He can remember the day he had the portrait commissioned (a few months after Damian moved in with them and when Bruce was sure he wouldn’t attack the artist), he had fought all morning to have his kids dressed in their formal clothing and to behave before the artist arrived. Hell, he can remember the artist asking if this was everyone, he had said all members of the family were here.

While they were downstairs, having a family portrait made, you were alone and upstairs in a room not fit for any human to stay in.

How many times had you looked at this portrait and thought it was proof you weren’t a part of this family and no one even remembered you.

He wants to take it down right now and burn it, but that won’t get rid of his guilt. Nothing will change the fact that he had commissioned this portrait and you were left out, that he cared so little about you back then that you didn’t even cross his mind when he was corralling everyone to the living room the day it was made.

Fuck, he just wants to tear out his own heart just thinking about what you must’ve thought of them over the years.

Well, as soon as you come home, he’ll have that same artist paint a new portrait; one with all of them surrounding you and looking at you with nothing but love in their gazes.

“Based on the video, last night didn’t go well,” Jason asks with a hint of sarcasm, but Bruce hears the hurt and guilt in his voice.

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it, unable to trust himself not to break down, the last thing his family needs.

He knows that his behavior was unacceptable and that he has no right to ask you to leave a place you clearly love to come back to the house that caused you so much pain and sadness over the years.

But now that he knows his mistakes, all he wants is for you to come home so he can shower you in the love he should’ve shown you. To make you a part of his family as is your birthright. To show you off to Gotham’s elite in massive galas at the manor and revel in the looks of envy when they realize they can look all they want, but they’ll never get the privilege of speaking or courting you. To display you for the entire world to behold and watch as your family heaps their undying love upon you.

But in order for any of that to happen, they need to find a way to get you speaking to them, something that may prove to be more difficult than crime fighting.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, breaking home out of his stupor. “If I may make a suggestion?” Bruce nods, eager to hear the butler’s wise words. “Maybe send one of the children to talk to Master Y/N? I had a feeling that the young man still held animosity towards you, but I never thought he would lash out the way he did last night.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Alfred’s right. You hate him, last night proved that, and you have every right to.

“But who isn’t gonna piss him off,” Steph chimes in, all eyes on her now. “I mean, we all did what Bruce did. What’s saying he won’t do to us what he did to Bruce?”

It seems with each passing day, he feels more and more like a pathetic excuse of a man. It’s one thing for you to be mad at him (god knows he deserves it and he’s definitely not the easiest person to get along with), but for you to hold that same hatred for your siblings as you do him? His family’s falling apart at the seams and he’s powerless to stop it.

His parents are probably so disappointed in him right now.

“I’ll go,” Damian announces. “I’m his blood-brother. No doubt he’ll be more receptive to me than the rest of you.”

“You’re the last person who should go,” Jason mutters. “Let me go. I’ll bring him back.”

He knows Jason will most likely bring you back home by your ankles and as much as he’s tempted to bring you home, forcing your return isn’t the proper way to start the healing process. He’s confident that they could handle any difficulties you gave them, but he wants to keep kidnapping last resort.

“Let me go,” Dick begs. “If there’s anyone who knows how to talk to people in this family, it’s me.”

Unfortunately, Dick’s the only one in this family who knows how to have genuine heart-to-heart talks with anyone, specifically members of their family. As much as he wants to fly over to Nevada and bear his heart out to you, he knows that he’s the last person you want to talk to and him repeatedly approaching you would only make things worse for them.

Also, you need him, but Gotham also needs Batman; bar the usual Arkham escape and petty criminal activity, things have been quiet since Joker’s death, but if he’s gone too long, the city’s criminal element will become more active.

And he needs to make Gotham safe for you when you return home.

“Alright, Dick,” he sighs. “Go. Bring your brother back. Take the jet.”

Dick cheers and his other children roar in outrage, but Bruce leaves them to settle their disagreement themselves.

“How was it, Master Bruce,” Alfred asks as the butler follows him to the Batcave. “To see Master Y/N again after so long?”

“I can’t believe how much he’s changed,” he responds as he walks down the stone staircase.

It’s true, when you stepped on stage to accept your award, he was shocked to see how much you’ve grown; if he tries hard enough, he can vaguely recall what you looked like when you first moved in: a scrawny little boy who looked like hell.

Of course you did back then, you just lost your mother and had been dragged away from your home and everything you’d ever known to live with a man you’d never met before in a city you probably never heard of, so it would make sense. All you wanted back then was your father to hug you and tell you everything would be ok and that you weren’t alone.

But he was too selfish to give you what you needed back then. He deemed his own grief greater than yours, the city’s needs greater than yours. And if it wasn’t bad enough he neglected you, he had to go and replace with you with your siblings.

And if he tries harder, he can recall what you looked like when you were fifteen, which was not long after Damian moved in with them. He can remember an incident involving you, Damian, and some sort of pen. Sure, it was stupid for you to fight Damian over some stupid little pen, but he should’ve listened to you back then. He knew Damian hated you on sight because he felt like you were a threat to the legacy Ra’s and Talia spent years putting in his mind; he should’ve stepped in back then because you had no idea how to defend yourself while Damian was trained by an assassin who’s lived for centuries, but he gave Damian the benefit of the doubt, leaving his younger son to grow out of his assassin upbringing.

The last thing he remembers about that incident was him demanding the pen for Damian and you telling him no. Back then, he was angry at you for defying him, but now, he admires that you did. Even though you were shorter than him and weaker than him, you stood your ground.

As much as you probably hate to hear it, you’re just like him.

And last night, he saw you as a successful, confident young man. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw just how much you’d grown (and how he wasn’t a part of your life).

And when you gave that speech?

He’s not ashamed to admit it brought a tear to his eye.

He knows he wronged you, but to know you view your time with him and your siblings hit him like a freight train. And to add insult to injury, the entire world now knows you hate him; hate him enough to lash out at him in public.

His head throbs a bit when he thinks at the amount of damage control he’s gonna have to do to avoid raising too much attention when you come home.

“He’s changed so much,” he sighs as he sits in front of the Batcomputer, his fingers typing away at the keys. “There’s so much I wasn’t there for.”

“Yes, Master Y/N has certainly grown into a fine young man,” Alfred responds. “He takes after his mother.”

That statement makes him pause. You share none of his features, nearly everything coming from your mother; the only thing tying you to him is DNA and his mother’s eyes. As if it wasn’t bad enough you don’t share his last name (he’ll have to look into that when you come home), but if he didn’t know better, he’d never know you were his son.

It also didn’t make him better that Alfred was the one to practically be your father. God knows Alfred raised not only him, but his children, but to know that the wise old butler stepped up to the position he failed to only makes the pit of guilt he’s in even deeper.

He can spend the rest of his life making it up to you and he’ll never even scratch the surface of his transgressions.

As expected, Tim spent the last day gathering every piece of information about you, from your report cards from Goodsprings Elementary to your tax records while you were working during your time in Gotham (and while he’s glad you got out there and found a job you loved, it pained him to know that you had to work while he had more than enough money to give you like he gives your siblings).

He pulls up your medical records (for dozens of doctor’s appointments he wasn’t there for) and sees the last one you had was just before your eighteenth birthday (a major event he didn’t even think of) and according to it, you were in perfect health.

He leans forward as he speed reads it before comparing it to all your other appointments.

“Something unusual, Master Bruce?”

“His medical records,” he answers as he pulls up your records from the day you were born. “I’m looking for any abnormality.”

“Like what?”

“The Meta Gene.”

“What,” Alfred exclaims. “Why would you assume he has the Meta Gene?”

“Last night, when he pushed me. There’s no way he should’ve been able to punch me the way he did. I’m taller and have more weight than he does.”

“That doesn’t necessarily prove anything, Master Bruce.”

He looks Alfred in the eye. “I could tell there was something unusual with his strength, Alfred. And I could tell he was holding back.”

The poor butler looks defeated and Bruce resumes his research.

He’s made his stance on Metas in Gotham known to all: none are allowed to enter and Gotham will be protected only by human strength, determination, and intelligence.

But if you do have the gene, it doesn’t change anything, you’re still his son and your proper place is here, with him, Alfred, and your siblings. He’ll just have to prepare the Cave to hold you.

“There’s no sign of the gene in any of his records, but regular equipment isn’t as thorough as the equipment we have in the cave. We’ll need a fresh sample.”

“That may be easier said than done, Master Bruce. Your son doesn’t even want to give you the time of day, I highly doubt he’ll give you a blood sample. Perhaps you could obtain one from his doctor?”

“Not an option. Look.” He pulls up your last medical record. “The last time he saw a doctor was his eighteenth birthday. There’s no sign of him at any doctor’s office in the last four years.”

“No doctor’s appointments in the last four years? I’m going to have a word with him when he returns.” He gives Bruce a look. “Looks like he did inherit something from you, after all.”

As much as he wishes to know there’s something concrete you got from him, he really hopes it’s not his lack of self care. Of course, there’s plenty of him he hopes you don’t inherit from him, but not taking care of yourself is at the top of the list.

Well, second on his list. His inability to properly care for his family would be on top.

“Hopefully Dick will make some progress.”

To say Dick is both excited and nervous is a gross understatement.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to see you, his baby bird, but he’s so worried about how you’ll react to him.

He knows he wasn’t the best big brother (actually, he wasn’t a brother to you at all), but he knows he screwed up and he wants to make it up to you!

In fact, if you want, the two of you can hang out in Vegas (although someone innocent like you shouldn’t be in a filthy place like that), eating at some of best restaurants there, taking in a few shows, and if you insist, he’ll go with you to a casino (that he’ll choose) and play a few games. After that, the two of you can book a room in the best hotel in Vegas (hopefully you’ll be ok with cuddling with your big brother) and in the morning, you’ll come back to Gotham with him.

He takes in your house as he walks up the driveway. He’s happy to know your grew up in a nice house and your mom provided for you (not many of his siblings had the same luxury) and he loves that he’s getting to see your house with his own eyes, but come on, baby bird, this house is too small for someone like you!

You’re a growing boy and you need something bigger! He knows you make videos games (he played your game and gave it a good review), so you need a place to work, and everyone knows the manor has more rooms than they know what to do with. And do you even have enough space to walk around in your room?

His heart aches when he thinks of that pathetic excuse of a room you were forced to sleep in back at the manor. To know his baby bird was sleeping in a room the size of a walk-in closet while he was practicing his gymnast moves in his room—

“That’s in the past,” he tells himself. “It’s not like that anymore.”

It’s true, Bruce had Alfred get the empty bedroom next to his ready for you, complete with a bed large enough for four people (he can’t wait to have sleepovers with you), a solid oak desk perfect for you to play and work on the new computer they got you, and filled with plushies, posters, and figures from all the video games they know you’re into.

And if there’s something missing from it, he’ll be more than happy to run out and buy it for you!

And if it wasn’t bad enough that the house was too small for you, you lived all alone on the edge of this small town. Come on, baby bird, you need your siblings to keep you company! You must be so lonely living in this house by yourself and no neighbors around.

The family’s already made plans to hang out with you: Bruce has already planned a whole gala for you, Dick plans on taking you to arcades and movie theatres, Jason’s read all your mom’s books and wants to talk about each of them with you, Tim’s called dibs on any and all video game activities with you, Babs wants to bring you to the library and hang out with her and maybe go out for coffee, Steph and Cass want to take you shopping and out to eat at all their favorite restaurants, and Damian has demanded that you go on walks with him every night after dinner and allow him to paint you.

He knows you’ve set up a good life here in your old hometown and he’s so proud of you for going out and making your mark on the world, but you need to come home. You’ll probably be sad on having to leave your childhood home, but your family misses you and the world’s too dangerous for someone like you to be on your own.

You have your family, so you don’t need to work when they can take care of you! And if you want to, you can come down here once or twice a year and check on the place (with one of them accompanying you, of course).

He knocks on your door with his usual playful knock he uses on his other siblings’ doors and waits. When he doesn’t hear any footsteps from the other side, he does it again.

“Y/N,” he calls out. “It’s me.”

He knows you’re home, your car’s in the driveway (Bruce owes you a better car, that one isn’t fit for you) and your phone’s GPS signal is clearly inside.

“Y/N,” he calls out even louder. “I know you’re in there!”

Finally, after forever, the door opens, revealing you; you open the door just enough to stick your head out. He’s blown away by how much you’ve grown; of course he saw the video (you really need to learn violence doesn’t solve anything, baby bird), but it doesn’t compare to seeing you in person. You’ve grown up from that teen boy into a fine looking young man, even if you look like you want to set him on fire right now.

“What the hell are you doing here,” you growl, taking the wind out of his sails just a little bit.

“Is it weird a big brother wants to see his little brother,” he says, flashing you his trademark wide grin.

“You’re not my brother and I don’t want you here.”

Ok, now that definitely took the wind out of his sails completely.

“Of course we’re brothers,” he responds, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I know I didn’t do a good job at it, but—”

“We’re not brothers, Dick,” you interject. “You were there for everyone else, but not me. You never viewed me as a priority.”

“That’s not true—“

“Yes it is, Dick! You didn’t say anything to me when we first met, you constantly went out of your way to hang out with Tim and the others and left me out of the fun every time, and when Damian attacked me with a fucking sword, you took his side and told me to let it go! And you have the nerve to call yourself my brother? Where do you get the fucking audacity?”

Alright, you have a few points. He should’ve included you when he hung out with the others. And yes, Damian had a rough upbringing, but that didn’t give him the right to take his sword and hurt you like that.

“I know, I know, I screwed up. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I know I did you wrong, we all did, but we want to make it up to you. To bring you back home and show you the love we should’ve showed you from the beginning.”

“But I am home, Dick. Gotham was never my home and I didn’t lose twelve years of my life in that damn mansion in a city of the damned just to go back to it, surrounded by people I hate.”

Hate. That one word pierces his heart like a spear. He knows they’re probably not you favorite people in the world, but to know you hate them…

It hurts.

“Baby bird, you don’t mean—“

“Mean it? I absolutely do. You people ignored me for years, treated me like I was just a nuisance, that I obviously didn’t belong in your perfect home and your perfect family. You clearly didn’t want me there and I felt the same.”

“But we—“

“I don’t care how you feel. You obviously remembered me, probably thanks to something Alfred did, and feel guilty over how you treated me and that guilt is making you think I owe you a second chance. That’s why you’re here, Dick. To being me back to Gotham because he knows he can’t emotionally manipulate me.”

Each word you speak cuts him to his core. To know how much low you see them makes him want to cry.

You’re just saying this because they hurt you.

That’s right, they hurt you and now you want to hurt them. He gets it, baby bird. If this is what it takes to get you back home, you can berate him all you want.

But, he needs to get you back home, first. So, as much as he hates to use it, he’ll have to use his ace card. You might be scared when he tells you, but he’ll be with you as long as it takes and answer any questions you have.

“Look, I know it doesn’t justify everything we did, but there’s a reason why we were always not around. It’s because—“

“You’re Nightwing. Is that what you were going to say?”

He feels his heart stop and his blood go cold at your words.

What?

“What?”

“That you’re Nightwing. That’s what you were about to say, right?”

A moment passes as he processes your words. Once again, the wind is taken out of his sails, but this time, it feels like you just sucker punched him in the gut to do so.

You know their secret? For how long?

“How—“

“Wow, you must really think I’m that fucking stupid to not notice that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of you are as subtle as you think you are. I lived there for twelve years and you really think I didn’t notice you all in costume, see your gear left strewn across the house, and hear you talking about criminals when I was right behind you?”

“I never thought you were stupid,” he defends himself.

Really, he never thought you were stupid! He saw your school records, you were a great student (struggled in math a bit, but that’s on him, he really should’ve been there to help you). But he just thought you just missed it with you sleeping on the far side of the manor.

“I also saw you guys celebrating each night when you came home. You know, with large banquets, movies, and take out. Looks like you guys had a lot of fun.”

Another gut punch. To know you saw them having so much fun that you weren’t invited to hurt him and made him want to take you into his arms and take your pain and loneliness away.

“Also, it’s not rocket science; Bruce Wayne gets a new kid every time Batman gets a new sidekick, Batman is clearly using equipment that costs a pretty penny and not many people in Gotham could foot the bill, and Jason Todd rises from the dead not long after Red Hood showed up. Honestly, the fact that no one else in Gotham has figured it out is astounding.”

Once again, a moment passes as he processes your words, his mouth agape and eyes as wide as saucers. He looks around quickly and is relieved to know there’s no camera recording this interaction, so there’s one less thing to worry about.

“Well,” he finally stutters out. “You know what we were up to. So, you know we were always busy and didn’t have one of free time.”

It hurts that he’s saying that you were less important than going out at night and punching criminals, but he’s drowning and he’s reaching for anything to keep himself afloat.

“But all of you made time for each other. I saw you make plenty of time to be there for the others, but never me.”

He really wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. This conversation is one of the most painful things he’s ever done in his entire life. To know you stood in the background and saw him being there for everyone else…

“Well, maybe if you had done something else to get our attention,” he spits out, saying the first thing that comes to mind to keep this conversation going.

“And what should I have done,” you spit out, your eyes little more than slits and filled with hate.

“Maybe you should’ve become like us,” he mutters, his voice sounding pathetic even to him.

“What’d you just say,” you say, your tone a deadly silence.

He says nothing, realizing his mistake. You had a normal childhood with your mom, with no training whatsoever that would be useful in a vigilante situation. Plus, you’re innocent, you don’t belong on Gotham’s harsh streets; you belong at the manor with Alfred, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate.

“I said ‘what’d you just say,’” you yell, making him jump a bit. “Say it again.”

Even though he’s taller than you (thank god), you look absolutely terrifying right now. You’re obviously pissed and repeating his stupid mistake is just going to make you angrier.

“I told you to say that again,” you yell as you open the door wide open and shove him back, making him step onto the grass as you step outside. “Now be a good little circus freak and do as I say!”

The insult is another sucker punch. It’s not the first time he’s been called that, he’s always countered it by showing off his acrobatic skills and silencing the sneers, but that obviously won’t work here.

“I said maybe you should’ve become a vigilante—“

He’s cut off by a slap to the face. When his vision clears, he sees your expression is a mix of anger and sadness, making him feel even worse about himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss, tears beginning to flow from your eyes. “So, I had to waste my life fighting Arkham’s inmates to be worthy of your love? I had to prove myself worthy of affection?”

“No,” he quickly retorts, ignoring the pain in his jaw from the slap. “I’m sorry, I—“

“Fuck you, Dick! Fuck you and fuck that dysfunctional mess you call a family! I hope you all get eaten by Killer Croc next time he breaks out!”

And with that, you storm back in your house and slam the door shut, leaving him to stare at the door, alone with his thoughts.

Shit. He came here to make you more receptive to them and all he did was make things worse. Now you’ll never come home.

And worse, he made you cry, something else he’ll never be able to forgive himself for.

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” he mutters to himself. “Guess I need to phone B and tell him what happened.”

He moves his leg to start walking back when pain surges from his ankle and when he looks down, he notices a vine covered in thick thorns wrapped around his ankle, a small line of blood on the vegetation. He must’ve got caught in it when you shoved him back and didn’t notice it.

He bends down and untangles his leg, taking care not to cut himself on the vine’s thorns.

Really, baby bird, this is why you need to come home. You don’t know how to take care of yourself, let alone a house.

When Dick told everyone what happened, Jason was genuinely surprised. When he first met you, he thought you were some little squirt that had no idea what the real world was like (of course, at that time, he was still pissed at Bruce and still riding high on Pit Madness, so he didn’t bother to spare you a passing glance).

When he learned that you lost your mom in a tragic accident and were forced to move to Gotham, where you were basically ignored and forgotten about for years…

Well, it’s not often he feels guilty about something, but this is definitely one of those times.

All those times when he yelled at Bruce for replacing him with Tim when he was doing the same thing…

Fuck, despite his best efforts, he became the old man, after all.

He was too busy being angry at the world and focusing on his own pain that he couldn’t see you were suffering.

And he knows your pain all too well, kid.

Losing your mother? Been there.

Being treated like shit? Oh yeah.

Have your life turned upside down because of Bruce? Oh, he’s president of the club.

If he had just pulled his head out of his own ass, he would’ve seen you were in pain like him. For fuck’s sake, Bruce didn’t even acknowledge your birthday or get you anything for Christmas while he was downstairs getting a limited edition copy of Pride and Prejudice and opening birthday cards with checks and gift cards.

The thought of you sitting upstairs in that fucking pitiful excuse of a room during your birthday (which is also the day of your mom’s death, ain’t that a bitch). Shit, he just wants to go back to Gotham, kick Bruce’s ass and then his own. Hell, he can remember flashing you his Pit Eyes after meeting you and you’re a damn civilian, for fuck’s sake!

Seriously, he knows he’s fucked in the head, but is he really that fucked up?

Maybe he should finally listen to Alfred and book a session with that therapist he recommended.

Well, he’ll do that when he brings you back home. After Dickhead not only failed to bring you back, but made things worse than before (they were all amazed when he told them you knew their secret, but of course Bruce stated drafting new rules about wearing their suits and handling their gear in the house to prevent someone outside the family from making the same discovery), Bruce finally green light the use of force and sent Jason.

He looks up at your house: a nice, simple thing in a small town where everyone probably knows your name.

While the others said it wasn’t for you, he actually thought what living there would be like. According to Alfred, you lived a great life there with your mother, complete with your own room and a nice tv perfect for eating cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

He imagines doing that with you, him reading Jane Austen while you watch whatever silly little cartoon you like.

Yeah, shocking, but he wants to make up his shitty behavior towards you. Hell, he went ahead and bought everything your mom wrote and started reading and making notes. Now, he’ll never forsake Austen, but your mom is definitely a close second on his list of favorite authors.

She had a thing for the Age of Sails, apparently, since the books always took place on boats. She was also a romantic because she always ended her books with the two main characters falling in love, be it a noble woman and a pirate captain or the son of a major trade company and the commander of his naval escort.

Maybe your mom had some unpublished manuscript lying around and you’ll let him read it. He has plans to discuss her books with you, hopefully you know enough about her to answer them, but all he wants is to spend time with you.

Of course, first you have to come home. Whether you come along willingly or he has to drag you depends on his conversation goes with you.

“Sorry, kid,” he mutters to himself as he walks up to your door and knocks.

You want nothing to do with them. He gets it, trust him, he really does. It wasn’t that long ago he wanted to be as far from Gotham and Bruce just like you. Unfortunately, when you’re a part of this family, you’re in it for life; when it has its hooks in you, you can’t get them out.

Hopefully your transition won’t be too painful. He’ll try to keep the others (mainly Dick) from hitting you too much with their guilt-driven affections.

“What the hell are you doing here,” a voice calls out from behind him.

He turns around to see you with a brown paper bag in your hand and if he squints hard enough, he can see some restaurant’s name on the bag.

That’s right, Goodsprings is a small town where everything’s within walking distance, so it would make sense why you got take out while your car’s in the driveway.

“Look, kid, before we go any further, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you respond. “Go away.”

“Look, I know where you’re coming from. Really, I do. When I came back, I was pissed at Bruce and wanted nothing to do with him.”

“And yet, here you are, a part of that disgusting family and doing his bidding.”

That perpetually angry part of him wanted to say something that would only make things worse, but he manages to put a lid on that. If there’s anyone who deserves to lash out at him it’s you.

He’ll take whatever insult you have if it helps make you feel better.

“We all know we fucked up and we want you back. Just come home, Y/N. If you know who I am, then you know I’m more than happy to do things the hard way.”

“So you’ll use force to get your way. Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You can pretend to be the well-read intellectual all you want, but you’ll always be Crime Alley trash who knows nothing but violence.”

Ok, that hurt. And that lid is starting to get harder to keep on.

He knows he’ll always be a man who uses his fists more than his words or head (those kinds of people never last long in the Alley), but he’s really tried to be more than that. He had to toughen up in order to survive back in the Alley, always hiding his love for literature and showing an attitude to the world, but when Bruce adopted him and he was able to become more than that little brat (despite all the cons living with a bastard who dressed like a bat entails).

“Too bad your mom wasn’t the type of junkie who sells her kid for her next hit. Would’ve saved the both of us a ton of trouble.”

Alright, so you know a lot of their dirty laundry. Shit. He already knew this probably wouldn’t end well, but this is going off the rails faster than he thought.

“Kid, I know you’re pissed at us and you have that right. Trust me, I’ve been pissed at Bruce for years, but you need really to come back—“

“And stop trying to relate to me, you asshat. You say you know how I feel about them, but you don’t. You came back determined to kill Batman and show him how you’re better than him, but you were also crying like a little bitch and begging Daddy to love you.”

You laugh at him mockingly while he’s starting to shake in anger, taking deep breaths to temper his rage.

“Daddy, Daddy, kiss me, kiss me,” you mock. Then your face goes back to pissed as you walk closer to him and look him straight in the eye. “You’re pathetic. Just like that whore, junkie of a mom. And your drunk of a dad.”

That’s when he loses it, despite his best efforts, and takes a swing at you. Oh well, he’s already in hot water with you, adding something else isn’t going to do much damage. At least it’ll be easy to drag you back to Gotham while you’re knocked out.

You drop the bag and catch his fist, stopping it no problem.

“How,” he starts to say before you twist his fist and he lets out a yell in pain.

“Jason Todd lashing out when faced with reality,” you say as you twist even more, bringing him to his knees. “How predictable.”

With your left hand (the bag still in your hand), you grab him by the chin and force him to look at you and when he does, he’s genuinely scared at the joy he can see reflected in them.

You’re taking pleasure in this; seeing him on his knees and at your mercy.

“Before I forget, I owe you for the black eye you gave me when we first met. Unlike your mother, mine taught me to always make good on my debts.”

Before he can do or say anything, you punch him squarely in the right eye, letting go of him so he’s knocked back by the force of the punch. He lands on the hard pavement and lays there with his right eye throbbing from the punch, already swelling up.

“Stay away from me, Jason. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

And with that, you step over him, unlock your door, and slam it shut, the sound of it being locked audible from his side.

“Shit,” he hisses, sitting up and touching his eye, wincing when it throbs in pain.

How the hell did you do that? You’re way smaller than him and you obviously don’t hit the gym, so how did you manage to catch his fist and counter him? And how did you manage to punch him hard enough to really hurt? Seriously, he’s taken a few shots from Bane and that punch was definitely on that level.

“B’s gonna love hearing this,” he mutters to himself as he gets up.

He walks back to the rental car he parked at your curb only to discover all four tires were punctured.

“Shit,” he yells, crouching to get a good look at the damage.

Something small and sharp punctured each tire and from what he could tell, it looks like something pierced the tire and snaked around it, making more holes.

He looks back at your house, but realizes there’s no way you could’ve done it. He didn’t see anything on you that could’ve done this. And no one else passed by while you were ripping him a new one.

So how the hell did this happen.

“Fuck,” he whines, realizing standing around isn’t going to do anything and pulls out his phone to call a tow truck.

Tim’s been curious about things he doesn’t understand all his life. It’s true, if he saw something that he couldn’t explain, he studied it, asked questions, and observed it until he finally understood it.

To say he’s curious about you is a gross understatement.

He’s ashamed to admit when he first met you, he thought he had you figured out. From what news he was able to see, you were the product of a one-night stand between Bruce Wayne and Maria Gould, a moderately successfully writer, and after she was killed by a drunk driver leaving a casino after a night of drinking and losing money, you were moved to Gotham to live with Bruce.

And when he met you, he saw nothing under that story. You grew up in a normal house with a loving mother (truth be told, he was a little jealous about that back then), not a traveling circus like Dick or in the heart of a slum like Jason, nor did you possess any notable talent like gymnastics or brute strength, and you certainly didn’t belong on the front lines, defending Gotham from crime.

You were average, nothing more, nothing less. End of story.

Well, he’s ashamed that he thought that way. You’re his younger brother, damn it, you shouldn’t have to possess anything to make him worthy of his attention. And he of all people knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, so he should’ve talked to you and treated you like a brother, not do what his parents did to him and completely forget you exist.

But he’s here to make amends, apologize to you, and bring you back home.

Also, as much as he hates to admit it, but he’s completely obsessed with you now. He’s analyzed everything he could find on you and he’s incredibly curious how you went from getting mostly Bs and a few Cs to getting all As? Or how did you go about making your game when all you had was that sad Coding Games For Dummies to go on (he would’ve loved to teach you to code)?

And of course, there’s how you managed to push Bruce and block Jason’s punch and give him a black eye. Both of them are easily the strongest out of everyone in the family, so how someone like you managed to take them down is nothing short of astounding (and concerning).

In fact, if he fails like Dick and Jason, he wants to at least find a way of obtaining a blood sample. The last time you had blood drawn was on your eighteenth birthday, none of it showing you even have the Meta Gene, but until he performs the test and sees the results himself, he’s keeping all options open.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greets you as he sits in your booth at the Pearl’s Diner, a restaurant you routinely frequent.

You look up from your meal and your expression shifts in disgust.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you spit, slamming your utensils down on the table. “Are you people really stalking me? It’s been everyday with you people!”

It’s true, Dick visited you two days ago, Jason was yesterday, and today is his turn to bring you back to the fold. He’s really hoping he succeeds, because Steph and Cass are next, and Damian is last (he demanded to come and was pissed when Bruce sent him instead).

“Come on, Y/N, I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yes,” you instantly respond. “Why are you even here in the first place, shouldn’t you be stalking Mr. Wayne from the shadows?”

He hides his wince from you, but your words definitely hurt him.

Yes, he stalked Bruce, but there was nothing nefarious about it! He was fascinated by Batman and Robin and just wanted to know more!

“Look, I know you’re angry at us and you have every right to. We should’ve done better and there’s no excuse we can give that will ever erase the damage done to you.”

“Glad to know you understand that,” you say that with a raised eyebrow. “Now go away.”

“You know I wouldn’t be here just to say that. I’m here to bring you back home.”

“Gotham isn’t my home,” you growl through grit teeth. “How many times do I have to say that? I’m never going back to that city of the damned and I’m sure as hell never stepping foot in that fucking manor.”

On one hand, he gets why you feel about Gotham, it’s a city that’s taken much from its people, it’s constantly dark and gloomy, and its atmosphere is constantly oppressive and intimidating. But on the other, he’s a born and raised Gothamite (no matter how much Jason says otherwise due to his upbringing) and he’s Red Robin, so he has a strong pride for his home. But, he’s willing to let it slide since he knows you had happy memories of Goodsprings and every memory you have of Gotham is negative (something he hopes to correct).

“I know why you feel that way, but no matter what you say or how you feel, Bruce’s DNA makes up half of yours. Like it or not, he’s your father and we’re your family. We realize we screwed up and we want you back.”

“You’re wrong, he’s not my father, he’s a sperm donor.” He winces at how you view Bruce. “Hell, my Momma probably took pity on him and gave him the best night he’ll ever have. If I could, I’d suck out all the Wayne DNA and give it back to him. I want nothing to do with him and I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with you.”

Alright, this isn’t going well (as he anticipated), so he needs to switch gears and get a blood sample. If Bruce is right and you have the Meta Gene, knowing your powers will go a long way. After they (he) studies every last molecule of your DNA and they find ways to counter your abilities, they’ll be able to bring you back home.

Sure, you’ll be angry (probably more than now), but in time, you’ll realize this was for the best; that you belonged with them and while you have the last name Gould, you’re a Wayne and your rightful place is the manor. Hell, he’s helping Bruce draft a story to tell the media why you moved back to the manor and plans for your gala, which will be the biggest event Gotham will ever see, complete with endless buffets, the finest music, and the city’s biggest movers and shakers.

But in order for any of that to happen, he needs a blood sample. He glances down at the ring on his finger, which houses a hidden needle that will pierce your skin without you even feeling it and your blood will be housed in a small vial housed within the ring. He has a blood analyzer in his car, so he won’t have to wait to get to the manor in order to run the tests, he can do it once he leaves and read the results on the jet ride home.

“Y/N,” he starts, reaching out to your hand, thankful you’re wearing a t-shirt. “Please, come home.”

Almost there.

“Alfred misses you.”

Just a little more…

Then, you grab his wrist, halting him and squeezing it, making him wince in pain.

“Why are you so eager to make me go back to Gotham,” you hiss, yanking his arm, causing him to jerk across the table. “Let me guess, now that I’m gone, everyone’s ignoring you? They’re treating you like your parents treated you?”

So Jason was right, you know all their secrets. Specifically, his issues with his parents and how he felt about their lack of affection towards him. Shit.

“Did it feel nice, Tim, ignoring me and pretending I didn’t exist? Jack and Janet made you feel like shit for years and now you had the opportunity to do the same to someone else.”

He tries to flip his wrist to try to slide the ring across any exposed skin so he can take a blood sample, but you have a vice-like grip on it and he can’t move it any; all he can do is look you in your hate-filled eyes.

“Do you ever think they knew something was wrong with you? That’s why they wanted nothing to do with you? Despite their best efforts, you came out so fucked up not even your own mother could love you. How pathetic.”

He tries to break free, but your hand doesn’t budge at all. Hell, he’s using his Red Robin strength and it’s not budging at all. Seriously, what are you?

“I’m telling you this right now, Tim, stay away from me. All of you. I didn’t lose twelve years in Gotham and spend the last four years creating my dream life just have you lot fuck it up.” You squeeze to the point it feels like you’ll snap his wrist off and he bites his tongue to resist yelling out in pain. “If you guys keep coming near me, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

And with that, you throw him back into his booth, his wrist throbbing from the pain, and get up, walk to the waitress behind the counter up front to pay for your meal (which is unfinished), and leave.

He looks down at his wrist to see it’s definitely bruised.

Well, things just got more interesting.

Damian shouldn’t be surprised the there’s failed. Especially Drake, that misfit proves his inferiority at every turn and makes his poor breeding apparent.

Honestly, Father really should’ve let him go instead of Greyson. You’re his blood brother (granted, you come from a different mother than him, but Father’s DNA is what matters) and out of everyone in their family, he’s the only one besides Father capable of reaching you. The original plan was for Brown and Cain to come and bring you home, but a major Arkham breakout changed that.

Well, technically, Father said Brown and Cain were to come to you after all the inmates were returned to Arkham, but he used the breakout as a cover and took the jet to fly to Nevada. Father will no doubt complain about his actions, but he’ll no doubt forget about his actions when he returns with you in tow.

Of course, he knows his transgressions against you. He remembers drawing his sword and drawing blood, he remembers the countless insults he spat at you and your mother, and he remembers sending his pets to hunt you for sport.

When he met you, he was honestly surprised when Pennyworth said you were Father’s firstborn, something not even Mother and Grandfather were aware of because they told him he was to be Bruce’s only blood son. After learning of your existence, he immediately became concerned about his role as heir to the Wayne legacy; after all, tradition states that everything of true value passes to the firstborn son and seeing you put his position as heir to the Bat at risk.

And then he lashed out, drawing blood and cursing you and your mother, who he now regrets calling a whore because he now knows she didn’t intentionally share his bed, it was just the result of two adults making an idiotic mistake.

His time in the League gave him unrivaled perception and he could tell at a glance that you possessed no training whatsoever, nor did you possess any skill useful to fulfilling Father’s mission of combating Gotham’s criminals. You were raised in an average house and lived an average, unremarkable life.

You were no threat to him and knew nothing of what the family was really doing at night.

He knew that, but he felt the need to assert his place in the family’s hierarchy and remind you that you were beneath all of them, even beneath Drake (of course he knows better, no one could be beneath Drake and you belong with him, underneath Father).

He spent the next few years going out of his way to make your life miserable, insulting you every chance he got, cruelly reminding you that your mother was dead, using his pets to chase you throughout the manor, and abusing Greyson’s favoritism for him to deflect any accountability when you tried to defend yourself.

Back then, he didn’t see the value in having a biological connection to anyone because he viewed it as a danger to his position as heir to the Bat. Besides, he had more than enough “siblings” due to Father’s need to adopt every orphan that crosses his path.

Now that he’s grown some surrounded by Father, Pennyworth, and the rest of his family (even Drake), he knows the value in having you by his side. To have someone he’s bound to by blood is to have a connection with another that can’t be beaten by any other and he knows that he was a fool to spurn that gift.

He intends to make up for his transgressions by being the best brother imaginable; Greyson has shown him how a brother is supposed to be and he knows he can improve upon those methods to be better than Greyson. While Father plans on being the one to greet you every morning, he intends on being by your side, involving you in everything he does (except at night when he’s Robin; even if you have the Meta Gene, you have no place surrounded by the filth of Gotham), including painting, where he has plans on painting a portrait of you and him and hang it in your room.

Of course, there’s still the matter of bringing you back home. While he knows that you most likely despise him the most, nothing will hinge the fact that you and him are brothers. There has to be some rational part of you that will be receptive to his words.

He approaches you from behind while you’re crouched at your mother’s grave, talking to it as if it was her. He looks over you to see her tombstone:

Maria Gould

May Her Sails Point Towards Heaven

The tombstone is between two clusters of red lilies that seem to have been planted there, most likely by you if he had to guess.

As he nears you, you slowly turn around and face him, your expression of mourning shifting to a look of disgust and hatred (an expression that unnerves him slightly).

“What fresh hell is this,” you spit out, standing to your full height (you must’ve inherited your height from your mother because he’s slightly taller than you). “It wasn’t enough that your father had to come and ruin my big night, now you have to come and desecrate my Momma’s grave?”

“Brother, I—“

Before he can say another word, you close the distance between the two of you and wrap your hand around his throat, silencing him.

“You have no right calling me that! After you made my life a living hell!”

He brings his hands up to your arm and tries to break your hold, but unsurprisingly, he can’t. When Drake told them about your grip on his wrist, he attributed it to his natural weakness, but there may be some truth to the theory of you being a meta.

“After what you did, I should snap your neck. Wouldn’t that be a bitch, to die by the hand of someone you deemed to be of ‘ill breeding?’”

He regrets ever calling your breeding into question (something only reserved for Drake); he wants to say he takes it back and he deeply regrets it, but right now, he’s struggling to breath.

Just then, you toss him aside, he coughs as he quickly fills his lungs with air.

“You’re lucky we’re at my Momma’s grave, or I’d kill you.”

You spit at his feet to show your disgust for him before storming off to your nearby car. He watches as you drive off before looking down at the ring on his finger, the same kind Drake hoped to get a blood sample from you; he takes it off and looks on the inside to see the vial filled with your life essence.

“Once again, Drake, I have demonstrated why I deserve the Wayne name and you don’t.”

He pockets the ring and makes his way to the rental car. He had hoped to convince you to return to the manor, but he was content to extracting a blood sample to answer some questions they have about you.

You might know their secrets, but they’ll soon level the playing field and when they do, they can bring you home.

And when they do, he’ll be the brother you deserve.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @fantasyhopperhea @ellaprime7 @ratchetprime211 @bunbunbread @solelifauna @diejager @v0idl1nq

#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth #dc x male reader #batman

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galactic-magick · 29 days ago

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I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

#viktor arcane x reader #machine herald x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #machine herald

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swarovskiseraph · 2 years ago

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SOME* OF YA'LL ARE NEVER GOING TO GET YOUR DESIRES, AND YOU'LL HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT YOURSELVES

*WARNING: TOUGH LOVE RANT. also, like everything in life, take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not doing anything i mention in this post, then this post doesn't apply to you.

before anyone comes for me, MOST of us are going through (or have gone through) hard circumstances. many of us have come from abusive households, abusive relationships, poverty, homelessness, & just overall bad circumstances.

but you know why the bloggers & anons who succeed in manifesting their desires/desired lives ACTUALLY SUCCEED?

because they took accountability for their current state and their limiting patterns.

because they were disciplined & determined enough to claim their desire(s), apply the law, & persist regardless of EVERYTHING.

because they knew that this practice would actually change their lives forever and allowed NOTHING to stand in their way.

AND GUESS WHAT? NOW THEY HAVE THEIR DESIRES/DESIRED LIFE!

if you were to be 100% honest and tell me why after months/years of being in this community you STILL haven't manifested your desires/desired life yet, what would be the answer?

overconsumption? procrastination? laziness? lack of persistence?

whatever the case may be, what i do know for a FACT is that it has been no one's fault but YOURS.

many of you guys come running on this platform; asking the same repetitive questions, complaining about not seeing results, whining about how sad your life is and how hard your circumstances are, or just straight up hating on some of these bloggers that are helping you FOR FREE, when they could be using that time to enjoy their desires/the life that they manifested for themselves.

LIKE...DO YOU REALIZE HOW PATHETIC & ENTITLED SOME OF YOU GUYS ARE?

"can you pleaseee manifest/tap into the void for me?" 🥺

"im so lazyyy, i can't be bothered to persist..." 🥱

"loa is FAKE! you guys are a bunch of lying b***hes..." 🤬

"my life is sooo hard, i have such a horrible life...*continues to trauma dump*" 😭

OHHH MYYY F*CKINGGG GODDD!

there are MILLIONS of people in the world who are in unfavorable/horrible circumstances that have NO IDEA what the law of assumption is, and have NO WAY to access this type of information!

you guys literally have the knowledge and awareness to make the most beautiful life possible for yourselves with JUST YOUR IMAGINATION, and yet, A LOT of you guys are the most ungrateful, lazy, irresolute, undisciplined whiners, who don't want to do even the BARE MINIMUM to change your entire lives!!

TRUST ME, everyone on this platform (including myself) understands that there will be setbacks. we all know that they are going to be bad days. we all understand that everyone has their own personal/mental issues. we get that life has obstacles and that not every day will be a win.

BUT, you guys NEED to put in the effort & not give up! you guys NEED to STOP letting your ego win! you guys NEED to get tf off of social media and stop overconsuming information. you guys NEED to claim your desires/desired life, stay consistent & persist until your desires/desired life has materialized.

because guess what, a day turns into a year pretty quickly, and you'll have gone another year of NOT having your desires/desired life, and it's going to be no one's fault but yourself...

do you REALLY want another year of watching everyone else get what they want besides you? do you REALLY want another year of not having your desired appearance, your sp, or financial freedom?

REALLY?

i hope the answer is no...because that's a HUGE waste of time that could be used to actually have the things & life you want.

everyone deserves to live the life they want...but at the end of the day, no one & nothing has the power to manifest the life you want but YOU.

#law of assumption #loa #manifest #manifesting #manifesation #spirituality #self concept #neville goddard #success story #void state #void success #void success story

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n0tamused · 7 months ago

Note

I don't k know if your busy or not but is it alright with you doing a Jiyan x injured reader? Like one day reader got hurt and decide to not tell Jiyan but he soon found out?

Thank you for your time and have a great day/noon/night

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, angst, ends on a better note, hope you enjoy this anon :)

Thundering drums fill his ears with their haunting echoes as he raced through the sea of moving soldiers.

Strands of his hair were loose from its ponytail with more strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, small parts matted with mud and dust. His clothes weren't shown any more mercy, with parts cut here and there with blood speckled throughout. Yet, it wasn't his clothes and hair that were haunting, but his face. Pale and eyes wide, devoid of any emotion in particular and looking like two deep voids that threatened anyone they looked at.

Jiyan’s heart was echoing, drumming and beating, but he couldn't feel any of it with how cold his very blood felt - he could swear he was dead and this was hell.

He rushed through into the open corner of the base dedicated for treating the injured, his eyes jumping from one face to the other, searching.

His feet had a mind of their own as they walked past the injured and the unconscious, sparing them some looks and bathed words of reassurance, his tone so soft that, were he in a better mindset, he would've asked whether the other even heard him properly.

There!

His mind yells, jumping at the first sign of the familiar head of hair. It's you! His heart leaps further up until he can taste the metal wash over his tongue. Days have passed since he has seen you vanish off the battlefield and he had grown restless by the day, wishing he could deny the possibility that you could be gone forever. So when word reached him you were found injured and brought back to the medics, he was racing at first chance.

He is quick as the wind, running up to where you were laying, arms and torso all up in bandages, the smell of medicine and herbs so heavy in the air it made even his nose scrunch. “Y/n!” he calls to you when he sees your lashes fluttering, one sign you were awake, and your movement the second sign. You are alive, despite a little voice in his head telling him this is just a cruel illusion. His hand finds yours, fingers curling around it and holding it, closer to him, feeling your warmth before two fingers slide to the inside of your wrist out of pure instinct to feel your life pulse for himself.

“Ji..Jiyan?”

“It is me, (Y/n).. Are you in pain, are you alright?” His mind is reeling with questions and all the ways to scold you but he can’t bring himself to be angry, he lost the capacity to be angry at you ages ago - he just feels scared, the empty abyss within him yawning for reassurance of your state and yearning to swallow you into its void where you couldn’t come to harm.

“I..I’m alright” On cue, your cough interrupts your response, making your chest jump and your torso attempts to pull itself up. Jiyan is quick and cautious as he helps you sit upward, rubbing your back up and down as your coughing fit subsides. “Have you eaten anything?” He asks as his eyes drink in the details of your face - pale skin, half lidded eyes, cracked lips and few scrapes littered across your exposed skin. You shake your head, barely able to tell what he was doing as he moved about you like a bumblebee, hopping from here to there and bringing a flask of water up to your lips and helping you drink. The water feels heavenly as it slides down your throat, quenching the feeling of an upcoming fever.

“Tell me what happened..” His voice is softer now, quieter as he wishes to keep some sense of privacy even in this open space, but it is no less worried and pent up with tension that squeezes him. His eyes are quick to meet yours when they look up at long last, looking at him and taking in his own disheveled appearance.

Your lips open and close as you search your brain for adequate words, but it takes a moment for you to gather your thoughts. “My memory is muddy from the actual battle, but I remember you being ahead of me.. and I was dealing with a couple of TDs behind you.. I.. I bit off more than I could chew, and I led them far away from you and the others but there were... just too many.. I was surrounded- I did my best, Jiyan.. But I slipped somewhere along the way.. I don’t know what happened afterwards. I only woke up two days ago..”

“Why didn’t you send word for me?” he bites the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from sounding frustrated or accusing. Images of your retelling paint themselves vividly in his mind, and his heart aches and bleeds for you.

“I wanted to heal first..” you mutter with a small shrug, not knowing the true answer yourself, even as guilt and regret seeps into your heart. “I’m sorry..”

“It’s.. It’s alright.. you are here now” He sighs as his eyes flicker down to your wounds, and he then takes a look around. Jiyan’s heart is too weary to simply leave it at this, too frightened to just let you be after days of believing you were dead. He looks back to you, a bold hand cupping the side of your face and helping you look up at him.

“I’ll go see if there are any free rooms inside the base where I can help you change these bandages, they are in a dire need of redressing.. Then I’ll get you something to eat, alright?”

You could cry at his words, his kindness and desperation to help you not escape your fuzzy brain, so you only nod, lips pressed into a firm line. He notices your eyes become watery and shock flickers over his visage, and faster than he could know he is already cupping your face with both hands. “Hey…” he whispers, worrying, filling his golden eyes that only sought to comfort you, not sadden you. Or were you in even more pain now? He feels a rush go through him, needing to get you somewhere where he can hold you. “It’s alright.. I’m not mad at you, alright? Breathe..” he soothes your eyes that flutter shut when the pads of his thumb brushes over it. You nod again, swallowing your tears.

“I’m okay..”

“You’ll be okay, my love.. just leave it all to me..”

#-better an arrow than you #Jiyan x Reader #jiyan x you #jiyan x gn reader #jiyan x y/n #jiyan x yn #jiyan angst #jiyan imagine #jiyan drabble #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves imagine #wuwa x reader #wuwa imagine #wuthering waves angst #wuwa angst

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oofthwoods · 10 months ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own.

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

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jaethaone · 4 months ago

Text

Coming For Whats Mine

Part 2

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black female reader, mentions of Carmelo Hayes x black female reader

Rating: 18+

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: None really. Slight angst? maybe? Hint of toxic at the end. That’s all really.

Summary: Set at SummerSlam, Four Months after Wrestle Mania, Yn is set to defend her WWE Women’s Championship Title after her win at Wrestle Mania. It’s also been four months since she’s last seen, or heard from Roman despite their “relationship” at the time. How will things go for the Champion when the rumors of his return prove true.

A/n: So this is the first fic I’ve written in like 4 years, SummerSlam kind of gave me a sliver of inspiration so bear with me. I’m always up for feedback so reblog, comment, let me know what you guys think. I also left it open for a possible part two.. maybe. This Is Also Considered An AU since the events in the story don’t exactly follow real life.

GIF: @jeysuso

The bustling energy at SummerSlam 2024 pulsated through the air backstage as sound technicians, lighting crews, and wrestlers flitted about like frenetic fireflies. Excitement brimmed over in every corner; tonight was pivotal, not just for the promotion but for wrestlers both in and out of the ring.

Yn took a moment for herself, the chill of the backstage environment a welcome contrast to the crowded chaos outside. She stood before a mirror, The glint of the title belt rested on her shoulder like a crown she’d fought hard to earn, the gold reflecting her determination. The echo of cheers from the audience seeped through the walls, only intensifying her focus. Yet, despite the momentous occasion, a lingering heaviness sat in the pit of her stomach.

It had been four months since she had claimed the WWE Women’s Championship, and it felt like only yesterday when she had tasted victory after a grueling match against IYO SKY the same night Roman Reigns had lost his title to Cody Rhodes.

“Yn, you ready champ?”

Bianca’s voice broke through her thoughts bright and buoyant. She appeared at Yn’s side, her own hair styled to perfection, radiating confidence as she and Jade entered her dressing room after knocking.

Bianca, her fiery spirit contrasting with Yn’s calm demeanor, wore a dazzling outfit that shimmered under the harsh lights. Jade followed, her presence like a grounding force, her eyes full of both mischief and wisdom.

“I’ll be fine,” Yn replied, forcing a smile as she turned to face her friend. “Just another match, right?”

“Just another? It feels monumental to me,” Jade said thoughtfully, nudging her friend playfully. “Especially with the rumors swirling about Roman returning tonight. You two used to be… close?”

“Yeah.. close,” Yn replied, her tone fluctuating between nonchalance and suppressed emotion. “That feels like forever ago.”

“Or a different era,” Bianca added, eyebrow raised.

Despite Yns indifferent tone she couldn’t mask the tightness creeping into her chest. Days blurred together into months since that fateful night at WrestleMania, where Roman lost the title to Cody Rhodes, and Yn was crowned champion. It was supposed to be a moment of mutual joy, but the victory had felt hollow. Roman had ghosted her, leaving a void where triumph should have blossomed. Despite their burgeoning friendship, one that had hinted at something deeper, he had vanished, and with him, her hope.

“Four months is an eternity in WWE time. You really don’t feel anything now that he’s back?” Bianca asked breaking through Yns thoughts

Yn shook her head, pushing strands of hair out of her face. “No. I mean, we all have our lives to live, right? Roman ghosted me after ‘Mania. I saw it for what it was.” Despite her words, she felt a flicker of uncertainty. She had believed in something that night, something she wished wouldn’t fade with his silence.

“Uh-huh! Sure,” Jade challenged, eyeing Yn with skepticism. “You’re telling me you don’t care at all? You two had something special, and now he’s just…gone?”

“Seriously, Yn,” Bianca added. “You can’t deny it. You liked him.”

Yn inhaled sharply, steeling her heart against the memories of laughter shared and conversations that crawled past midnight.

Yn brushed off their concern with a laugh, but it felt hollow. “I’m all good. I don’t think about Roman. I have a match tonight, and I need to focus on that. It doesn’t matter what he does or doesn’t do anymore. Besides I’ve got Carmelo. We’re not serious, but he’s here.”

“Carmelo? Really, that’s your takeaway?” Bianca Deadpanned. “Just be careful; he’s not exactly your usual type.”

“Great!” Yn grinned, but it was a little forced now. “Your concerns about Carmelo are adorable, but I can handle myself.”

She could hear the raucous cheers outside growing louder, a reminder of the pressure that lay ahead. Tonight was about her, her title, her reign. To maintain that, she needed to block out everything else. But as the show rolled on, Yn couldn’t escape the gnawing apprehension filling her thoughts. It surrounded her like a fog, thickening with each moment that passed leading to her title defense.

Time passed in a blur. The moments leading up to her entrance felt drawn out, yet time seemed to tick away invisibly. When it was her turn, the lights dimmed, and the arena erupted. The audience roared, adrenaline coursed through her veins, but the shadows of the past clung stubbornly.

Despite this she stepped out to face her challenger, she was an embodiment of strength and resilience. The adrenaline fueled her, and nothing was going to stand in her way. Each cheer, every shout of her name, ignited the fire within, and her determination flared to life.

The match unfolded with a punctuated rhythm of hard-hitting action, each move resonating with the audience who cheered her on. Yn felt powerful, confident, her expressions dropping into fierce concentration.

It was brutal yet exhilarating. Yn gave everything she had, countering her opponent’s moves with the skill she had honed over countless hours in the ring. The crowd rallied behind her, and she thrived off their energy, pushing herself beyond limits, chasing victory as she’d always done.

Time melted away, and at last, the bell rang. Yn stood victorious, breathless and basking in the exhilaration of the win. She raised her championship high, the bright lights illuminating her triumph. Cheers erupted, but all the while, there was a nagging sensation in her gut, the victory felt hollow.

As she exited the ring, the crush of bodies shifted, and the atmosphere in the locker room transformed. It was electric, reminiscent of old times tinged with uncertainty.

Yn sat in her locker room as the rest of the night cruised by, watching the remaining matches unfold. Unknowingly holding her breath as she watched the match between Solo And Cody For The Universe Championship.

Watching as every “member” of the Bloodline came out to assist Solo in trying to secure his win over Cody You stood to your feet as the familiar music hit your ears and the pop of the crowd could be heard from your room. The rumors were true.

The Tribal Chief was back

After watching Roman superman punch and spear Solo allowing Cody to retain his title, and also watching Roman tell Cody that said title belonged to him, you felt that it was time to head to your hotel. Granted you could have left a long time ago, not watching to face the real reason you decided to stay behind.

She steeled her racing heart and grabbed her bags, stepping out into the quiet of the halls, the noise of the crowd now a distant crescendo.

As she rounded the corner there he stood. Roman Reigns, backlit by the leering lights of the arena, as if he had stepped out of a dream.

He looked different yet the same—strong, confident, and undeniably captivating.

“Yn!”

“Roman,” she replied, her heart hammering. She hadn’t anticipated this confrontation, nor was she prepared for the swirl of conflicting emotions erupting in her chest.

“Congratulations,” he offered, an easy smile playing on his lips, yet something felt rehearsed.

“Thanks,” she replied curtly, crossing her arms in subconscious defense. “Interesting timing, coming back after all this.”

“I’m back for good,” he clarified, an edge in his tone indicating the seriousness of his intention. “But I wanted to say—”

“Say what?” Yn interrupted. “Say you’re sorry for ghosting? For pretending we meant something?”

“You ghosted me, Roman. Four months. All this time, and not a word.”

He winced, an ache dancing in his eyes.

The air between them was thick with unresolved tension.

“I missed you.”

She laughed at that. “You have a funny way of showing it”

“It wasn’t just that night, Yn. that lost. It felt as if I lost everything. I had to rebuild.” His gaze softened, making her heart flip against her will. “You… you were a part of that journey I thought I needed to let go of.”

“And what? You think just appearing will change anything?” Yn shot back, her frustration rising. “You put me through hell—and yet, I fought to be the champion! To earn this belt!”

He stepped closer, reducing the distance with every heartbeat thrumming in her ears. “You’ve always been a champion babygirl. I’m just glad the rest of the world gets to see what I’ve already known”

Yn’s chest tightened, anger and nostalgia battling for dominance at the nickname. “You think it’s that simple? You don’t just disappear and then show up like a knight in shining armor because you feel like it."

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said, his voice steady. “But I want to earn it. I need to try. For you.”

“I also see you.. with him—” he gestured vaguely, as if Carmelo were an afterthought.

“Carmelo treats me right,” Yn insisted, but doubts flickered like shadows behind her bravado.

“Does he?” Roman's intensity was disarming. “I never wanted to let you go; I was scared. But I know what you’re worth now.”

Yn’s heart raced, torn between the spark ignited by Roman’s words and the steady, purposeful connection she had built with Carmelo. “It’s not about you anymore, Roman. You chose yourself. You didn’t want what we had. If you want to play the game, you’ll have to accept that I’m moving forward.”

His expression faltered, and for a moment, she found herself yearning for their shared past, pushing against the memories of laughter and warmth. Yet, it was all too easy to fall back into the gravitational pull of his world—a world filled with echoes of promises and guilt.

“I’m here, Yn,” he said quietly, as if hoping his words could reshape her very understanding of their reality. “What I did was wrong, but I’m not here only for redemption. I’m here for you, if you’ll let me.”

The moment stretched like elastic, both thrilling and frightening. Yn remembered the spark she felt when they were together, the laughter, the whispered dreams. But she also recalled the shattering silence that followed his departure.

“I—” she started, taking a deep breath, heart racing as she grappled with the looming decision.

For what felt like an eternity, Yn stood silent as the shadows of doubt and desire melded and twisted within her. She thought of Carmelo, the person who had been there for her. Their relationship was light and airy, a painful attempt to distract herself from the past. Yet here Roman stood—the embodiment of unresolved emotions she had tried to bury deep.

“Roman—” she began, but he interrupted, stepping closer, the distance closing.

“Just give me a chance to explain. I was scared, Yn. Scared of what I felt for you, scared of the title loss, and scared—I know I didn’t handle it well. But I’m back now, and I want to make things right.”

“Things can’t just go back to the way they were,” she countered, a part of her wrestling with the truth of his words. She could fall back into this, but the other side—the need to protect herself—screamed loudly.

“You’re right. They can’t,” he agreed, his gaze unwavering. “But we can create something new. If you’ll let me.”

Yn felt the weight of indecision settle heavily. A part of her craved the safety of the stable friendship she had begun building with Carmelo, but her heart ached at the possibility of all she’d sought and lost with Roman.

Ultimately, she would have to choose. Would she risk the familiarity and comfort of her connection with Carmelo, or would she allow the flame that had once flickered so brightly with Roman to reignite?

“Tonight, I am the champion,” she whispered, steadying her resolve. “But I don’t know if I can be your...whatever it is you want from me.”

“I— I just don’t know if I can trust you again. I have to protect what I have built alone, Roman, even if it isn’t what you think it should be.”

A smile ghosted Roman’s lips, bittersweet but hopeful. “No rush. I’m not going anywhere this time. Just know that I’ll be waiting—should you choose to return.”

And as the air thickened with possibilities and remnants of the past hung like a thin veil, Yn found herself standing at the crossroads of longing and familiarity.

Meanwhile Roman was back not only for his spot as Tribal Chief and Head of the Table, or His Championship.. those will all come in due time trust. He was back for what was his, and that included Yn.

#roman reigns fanfiction #imagines #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black reader #wwe smackdown #wwe fanfiction #black reader #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns

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mostbored69 · 1 month ago

Text

Through Ashes, New Light (Kinich x Reader)

The war against the abyss seemed to have affected every miniscule part of life and land in Natlan. Huge patches of greenery were burned to a crisp by Pyro vision holders fending off the monsters, houses and infrastructure affected by their flames as well, fighting tooth and nail for the survival of innocent bystanders and other warriors alike. The water of the Toyac Springs, after the initial impact, has yet to return to its normal vibrancy of blue, and the remnants of abyssal corrosion is very much still evident even with the help of the Meztli tribe’s manipulation and constant care of the water. Broken Geo structures littered the paths connecting each tribe. Thrown around in defense, perhaps, or simultaneously shattered with whoever’s spine was thrown against the hard rock. The war continued in the scenery. Every corner, inside and out, reeking of death.

Despite the power of elements obvious in each destruction, you only ever saw green. Dendro, vines, foliage, flashing before your eyes until you had stood in a healthily blooming forest surrounded by the screams forever burned into your memory. Your heart had never beaten anywhere this fast before. Like about to give out, or run away, without the rest of your body able to follow suit. Trapped, by the vines. It was all there had been, until nothing remained but a cold breeze where before your family stood.

You’d heard of Kinich before, very few people hadn’t. The Malipo, the hunter, and even fewer people had ever interacted with him personally - you included. It had come as a shock when the debris slowly settled and the vines retracted their grip, a while longer until you had the courage to open your eyes again, to be met with his heaving and bloodied frame. Sweat fell from his forehead, accumulated seemingly before he’d gotten here in the first place. His presence and state was proof enough of an appalling catastrophe developing throughout the nation in the most brutal manner, so seeing him alone drained you of hope faster than the cries of your tribe. People were still dying, right beyond the horizon. It did not end with your family.

Kinich had slowly turned his head towards you, breathing still heavy while the look in his eyes was utterly indecipherable. You wondered now, as you stared at your reflection in the water, if he had been equally puzzled by your expression: if it was just as empty and dazed, and what exactly either of you had witnessed already in this bloodshed. The void clearly present laid your hearts on your sleeves. It did not have to be said out loud, exhibited in any way for you both to understand the cloud of tragedy hovering over this land.

That day, you hadn’t spoken a word to each other. He had left quickly for everything else demanding his attention, the list must've been infinitely long, so the second you had found yourself alone again, the true realization of danger and loss began to sneak up your spinal cord with no care for the wound on your leg. Limping away still meant getting away, as far as possible from the continuing screams, the blood-soaked grass and the rubble of what was once your home. Had he blinded your sight for this reason? The worst thing was somehow gone: the bodies.

After encountering a group of survivors, your body couldn’t take much more in the false safety. The second your shoulders relaxed as you sat down, with someone tending to your leg and your eyes closing automatically, was enough to pass out despite the still lingering danger. Talking to them again days later when the rain had washed away most remnants of blood, you came to understand how they, too, had no hope of getting away. They had huddled together inside a decrepitated hut until… well, you’re not quite sure. Asking around produced contradicting or outright implausible answers, which naturally wasn’t a surprise considering the chaos all around. You had no reason to dig further. All that mattered was gone, and an explanation couldn’t satiate your doom.

Every tribe had since been working hard to rebuild what was lost, but they considered the people most affected by this war to be better off using the time to heal however much was possible. It’s still unclear whether this was a blessing or a curse, since not being distracted by the truckload of work meant sitting alone with memories and the purple water. It reflected your face like a mirror. Many people sat here day in and day out, and none of them would ever make a single sound. You recognized some faces from time to time: a mother without her child you’d seen crying in town, a man who’d walk home with a handful of wildflowers once a month, sometimes twice, for his wife, now not batting an eye at the succulent next to him. Everyone knew the lineup, though no one had the guts to speak. At least without a tone they’d use for a wounded animal.

Movement caught your eyes from across the water, solely a quick glance, a quick flash of color, made your skin crawl. For a couple seconds, your sight is replaced by a grayed memory of Kinich, who struggled to catch his breath and whose tight fingers around his weapon were stained at the tips. The picture faded in and out of focus until both the memory of him and the physical him turned their heads towards you in that blank expression, saying everything and nothing at the same time. You wondered what Huitztlan’s equivalent of sitting by the water was, whether or not he indulged. Whether no one dared to speak to him, either.

You’re first to look away. Back down at the water, there was no reason to hold eye contact. You had wanted to thank him many times, ask him of any details he remembered and if he was willing to share them, though you realized how much you’d hate to be asked that yourself. It seemed like a slap in the face were you to talk of anything other than the victory, and it’s evident he did his share of hard work for it. Even now at your tribe, not at home to bask in the dark under the sun.

Come to think of it, Kinich was really here despite that expression, similar to the husband and the mother and you. Was he indeed so strong to keep going just like that? You’d not heard much news of who exactly the other tribes have lost, though the total was high enough to doubt someone wasn’t impacted in any way. Especially him who traveled across the nation, a witness to the full extent of destruction during the havoc. He’d seen first-hand all the deaths you were now mourning as a people, and still he found the strength to come back in a feat that was unfathomable to you. Perhaps gratitude was appropriate, and he should at least know that much.

Your head shot up, fully expecting to find him waiting in the distance, but truly you had no idea how long you’d been in your thoughts for. He was gone already, and the sky had darkened with rain clouds. Instinctively, your shoulders slumped back down in disappointment, immediately relenting to the passed opportunity until you had enough of the plethora of horrible feelings that had been eating away at you. That much time couldn’t have passed, if you’re fast enough now. So, getting onto your feet swiftly, the chase after Kinich began.

While your legs carried you over the bridge as fast as possible, past the workers and the clerks who were barely evaded, all you could think about was what to say exactly. Thanking him for saving your life in a way it didn’t stress you both out any further seemed to be an impossible task, from words to pick and tone to choose to where to put your hands, there was no time to read up on etiquette as the clouds grew thicker and the path grew slimmer. Finally, up in the distance, there he was. Steady pace, you’d reach him soon, but the words chosen were not perfect yet.

He turned around once he heard you approach. Out of breath, winded, you clutched at your chest as you caught each other’s eyes, for the first time with emotion. Confusion against determination, it said less of your feelings than the blank stares you were used to, while a stone fell from your heart the second you spoke to him for the very first time. “Thank you, Kinich. Thank you so much.”

The rain began falling, first slowly but soon picking up in intensity. The surviving greenery around the path knew to cherish this blessing as nature stilled within the sound of heavier and heavier rain. The oddest thing, however, was that he, too, stilled. Unbearingly so: your fingers fidgeted nervously when silence is all you’re met with. At least his confusion subsided to be replaced with a calmer expression, but you wondered if it could’ve stemmed from the simple realization it was no monster who had run up on him. There went not wanting to stress him out further. Running at him crazed was possibly worse than a slap in the face.

“I’m sorry,” you said, though the sound did not even reach your own ears due to the rain. He titled his head, unclear whether he hadn’t understood you or why you would apologize, and when he turned from the path to slowly trott over to the mountain side, all left for you to do was follow him bewildered from a distance.

Natlan’s terrain presented many hideouts for the rain - in some cases, for danger - within the rock of its mountains. You’d heard stories of traveling merchants stuck in caves until a storm had passed, some trapped until a group of predators decided on a different hunting ground, or simply to cool down after long stretches. It was enclosed enough to feel safe, but remained a good view of the circumstances outside. The rain at the cave entrance flowed like white curtains in the wind. Like snowed in, a particular sense of privacy built itself up when you watched him sit down on the ground, both drenched by this point, without sparing you another look for reassurance, whether you were supposed to follow him in here in the first place.

There were no suitable words left in your arsenal to even spark small-talk, so for the first couple minutes he was plagued by a looming silhouette, standing somewhat awkwardly in the only source of light. Your plan to do this dignifiedly had failed from the very start, although luckily that fact was not apparent to you. It was the first interaction you’ve had in a while. Doing so to begin with was enough to convince of adequacy.

“The rain’s quite heavy, and shouldn't last too long. It’s safer to wait it out than go back.” While it was pouring buckets outside, the echo of his voice in the cave still made him audible enough for you to look up, sounding like a memory rather than the present. Unsure if it needed an answer, you remained silent for a while. “...You ran here. I don’t think that’s smart.”

The statement confused you more than anything, but it soon cleared up when his eyes wandered to your leg and approximated the area where the wound had been: given how it’s now smooth, he held his tongue. Water was a great, natural healer, and the experts in the tribe made quick work of any such trivial injuries once the chaos died down. It was never a reason to worry, and definitely not the cause for your pale complexion that day.

With a sheepish smile still feeling foreign on your lips, you answered him: “It’s taken care of, no fear. Thanks for your concern, but you saved me from any other wounds.” Regarding you for so long it rather pressured you to sit down as well, he eventually looked off to the side and offered some much needed breathing room. The rain’s white noise filled your ears like a daze, mixed together with the dreamy sound of your voices echoing off the hole in the mountain created a serene canvas. Almost scary, living in a memory.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“You lived far from the tribe, there weren’t as many monsters and even less people. It wasn’t a hotspot at all, so there was not much for me to do. Should you regard me as some savior I’d advise you not to. There’s little glory in war-”

“They still died, you know? There was not much for you to do but it was enough to kill them - kill me as well, had you not shown up. Please don’t speak in that manner.”

He turned to look at you slightly surprised. Perhaps the first time someone didn’t watch their tone carefully when speaking to him after the tragedy, they’d usually smother people with either admiration or worry once they noticed that empty look, warriors and victims alike, as if it hadn’t come from the same, underlying causes. Both seemed to be the wrong reaction, however, for both reminded of death.

A considerably long pause began to drag before he finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’d like to hear from me, so I went with my perspective.” You tried to force another smile while you leaned back against the cold rock, the drenched fabric of your shirt clinging onto the wall. This time, the smile was a bit easier to bear.

“You’re Malipo, I understand. There isn’t any particular thing I want to hear from you, not anymore at least.” The sight of the rain was captivating enough to steal your scattered attention, being given another small, though needed break in conversation. No longer used to holding one for so long, it took more energy than ever just thinking of words that fit whatever you tried to convey despite there not being much left on the tip of your tongue. It felt somewhat desolate again, in this memory.

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere. The area was clear, there was no one to tell you where to evacuate, and after all, your leg was wounded. I don’t leave the wounded behind just like that, but when I came back, you had already run off - I hoped you had, but there was only blood. Later, at the stadium, there was no sight of you.”

“...I don’t remember much of it, if I may be honest, although it seems I give you quite the scare. Excuse me.” With much less devoid pupils, the difficulty of understanding one another spiked the more, especially when, after careful consideration, you locked eyes. “In fact, I’d like to forget about it for now.”

The quiet persisted long after the rain stopped. You weren’t sure who left first, from the dazy scene back out into the open, but the sun had already begun setting when someone stirred. Relenting, like the quick shower.

From a tranquil sort of view, the seasons seemed to change overnight. Leafs fell in the softest breeze, and the water lulling in the distance drew autumn in a soothing light. The weather had been working for every tribe’s benefit, not too cool and not too hot, since after all the work was done, it offered an opportunity to enjoy the newly rebuilt infrastructure and bask in the water that had returned to normalcy. The world appeared ready to let go, with news spreading that this upcoming spring should blossom beyond any records for a grim reason somebody’s yet to admit, but they tried their hardest to force the earth back in its usual rotation, ecstatic for ordinary days to return. You were uncomfortable, more and more. They looked too ready and too sure.

One good thing about so much rebuilding having been done was the fact these streets and houses were often vastly different from before. Old and jagged wood had been replaced, stained and sun-bleached tapestries made anew - while the patterns and general shapes stayed the same, the tribes must’ve looked the way they did in the time of the first heroes. So untainted, though now it was a simple illusion. However, the new view made you able to return and live, without horrible daydreams, in your old home. The unfamiliar house had never been so quiet.

A saving grace in terms of somehow integrating back into society was bestowed by an older shopkeeper who had lost the only employee under his wing: his own son. As tragedy often did, the tribe fit back together like a mismatched puzzle. You looked at each other and saw the dead, but no matter how bizarre, it was the only thing remaining to keep some going and fighting against the pressure deep in their stomachs, that, indeed after a closer look at their reluctance to smile as brightly as before, was still present. A zeitgeist ingrained in the whole generation.

Working with the shopkeeper had its advantage far beyond a sense of family. The man was older, his body not cut out anymore to be marching off for goods or lifting them in the first place. Though lovable, even communication was past his time, so it left only you for the task. Each assignment felt like a vacation away from personal tragedy, and correspondence with the Scions of the Canopy offered the rare chance of stumbling upon Kinich every once in a while, both at his tribe and at yours. They said he’d been busy these days, whenever you asked for his whereabouts. You smiled and nodded, smiled and nodded, since a truthful reaction was not appropriate considering you could barely call him a friend.

It had been weeks since you saw him last. The nagging feeling you’d get every time a courier came without having required his help, or walking back after delivering some goods and being let down when there was no glimpse of him, accumulated throughout weeks to the point even starting a new day felt too much of a hassle. Something made your heart throb whenever he’d stop by and politely keep a conversation with the old shopkeeper. You’d stand off to the side, exchanging some words of courtesy and maybe, if you were lucky enough, your eyes would meet and you could give him your best attempt at a smile. Each time it became more genuine. You had hoped he noticed the change, like a child showing off their drawing.

The skill to smile slowly regressed as you made your way back to the People of the Springs, carrying the hefty bag filled with Yumkasaur fur and Koholasaur scales (ethically sourced, as the old man would say). Kinich was still nowhere to be found today, and on top of that the delivery was misscheduled. The merchants for this order weren’t even at the Scions of the Canopy to pick up their stuff, which meant you had to carry it all back due to - not pointing fingers - a particular someone’s bad ears and/or memory.

When you at last returned to his storefront, the sweet old man was sitting with an apologetic smile and a cold cup of soda awaiting you personally. No possible way you could be mad, not after what you’ve done for each other, though the exhaustion and persisting annoyance had you drop the backpack and grab the cup, bowing down to him briefly before turning on your heel and heading back from where you came. Tomorrow it would be all forgotten, but today you were off work. He’d go back home soon as well, the sun slowly setting left no other choice but to call it a day.

Home… or house, although further from the tribe, was no struggle to get back to after having done a thorough job warming up your legs already. The view on the way was as scenic as it got for now, birds chirping, water flowing, no stairs to climb even inside. Before it fell into itself your parents’ home had two floors indeed, whilst during the Great Renovation you had practically begged everyone helping to keep it a small bungalow, a bunker against the empty space that would have otherwise haunted you into insanity, which turned out to be the right thing to do when they had refused your help over and over for the sake of ‘healing’. A bedroom, maybe, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, please. They had made those weirdly spacious, feeling pity.

The goats your family kept used to mow the lawn for free, ethically sourced labor, to quote, though not so much on your part. They required a crazy amount of work and care, things you had barely left for yourself by the end of the day, so the hard decision to give them away into better hands had soon fallen with teary eyes and a snotty nose. It was for the better, you still told yourself, for they were loved and brushed and fed after surviving such disaster, and the lawn was overgrown with wildflowers that popped in color year-round in a strange and ironic tradeoff. You’d never seen him as someone who would keep goats, the husband. Sometimes you braided the grass in between the flowers leading up to the door, perhaps it made her happy, leading up to the one step of the entire house, before the entrance. Occupied now, by Kinich.

His attention was fixed on the dewy grass - the braid had loosened over time - as the sun illuminated tiny water drops on each blade. The light hit his face now almost at eye level, and what a sight that was for sure. You had tried your best to extend every conversation with him, whether about the sweet tea the old man made on especially hot days or a group of saurians behaving strangely near the tribe’s borders, while some of these were even held when you could catch him in private, although since the night of the war, there had yet to be a moment you two were truly alone. Until now at sunset, back where it had begun. With no way to have prepared for this and no manual to follow, the only option was to improvise.

You had spotted Kinich somewhat late, and not expecting him whatsoever made your approach no surprise. Fairly sure he heard the ever-so-soft footsteps in the grass, since sticks and dead leafs betrayed any newcomer to even mild attention for the surroundings, similar to how the deer sounded in the morning whenever you left your window open. He didn’t look up, however, not until you stood before him.

Another inanimate expression that could’ve taken you hours to analyze was met by your confused gaze and tilted head, but, like him, no words. There was no real reason to lock the front door - any potential abyss monster in this area would’ve been strong enough to rip it off its hinges, and anyone picking the lock was an idiot for picking the house with the least appeal -, so you trotted inside after a couple moments.

“You can come in, Kinich, it’ll be dark soon. All the bugs crawl towards the light.” With that, you turned on the lamp in the kitchen, already brighter than the remainder of sunlight and backlit his sitting frame through the open door. He did eventually listen and grabbed a seat by the table, awkward in unfamiliar terrain. Some color returned to his face as you put your belongings on the counter and faced him, shoulders forcefully relaxed and trying out another form of a smile. Drained from the whole day made it a challenging task.

“I haven’t been around for a while and there’s still a lot of work to do, but today I finished a mission and had some freetime.” You could only nod to this. Not on close enough terms where you could expect an explanation for his whereabouts or even reveal what kind of frustration it caused, anything else felt wrong. He leaned back into the chair a bit, keeping his eyes on you. Only after making sure he truly was not getting another response did he continue, but the pause alone was enough to make your fingers fidget. “People said you’ve been asking for me. Is something the matter?”

Even trying your best to keep your tone as casual as possible, it appeared to not have been enough to fly under the radar, and looking back it should’ve been obvious by the way you scanned through the crowds before giving up and asking outright, although for some reason you hadn’t considered the possibility of him finding out and acting on it. In truth, there was no real reason for your curiosity. It wasn’t worry per se. He was a grown man with a huge sword and a vision, but it wasn’t for loneliness either. The sight of him here, in and of itself, was easing to the heart no matter how bashful the confrontation, and before you could begin to stammer over an explanation, he slowly rose from his seat. “Y-yes, I did ask, but nothing’s the matter. You didn’t have to come all the way here or wait for me. I’m sorry.”

Walking into the light calmly, it shone on him from above and drew a soft shadow across his features. He gave a gentle smile that took you by surprise, and you wondered if it was as rare of a sight as you thought it to be. Who had been lucky enough to see?

“Why did you ask for me, then? I’m back on my normal schedule and have time to spare, if there’s anything you need me for, please don’t he-”

“No, no, you’ve done enough for me,” you interrupted, waving your hands in front of your chest and shaking your head. It was more than just the truth, Kinich really had done all he could and the longing for a glimpse of him was not something you were entitled to, but here you stood in front of him, about ready to explode. A soft sigh left your parted lips. With confusing feelings, your shoulders slumped. “I… I think I just missed you. There’s not much to my day but you’re always a great addition, I looked forward to whenever we met. If it comes off as strange, please know it’s not my intention.”

Saying these things out loud made your skin crawl, it didn’t matter if they were the truth or not. All those days were still spent on keeping an eye out for him, if not in your tribes then on the paths between them, and the nights continued in the absence and disappointment that made your body roll into itself on the bed, under the covers, so maybe you did miss him. It only made sense. According to the look on his face, he wasn’t yet convinced either.

Your breathing turned shallow when he stepped a little closer, causing dizziness with every second devoid of a reaction to the point your cheeks slowly reddened and your eye contact began to waver. Even knowing who he was, the presence of a man without anyone else around felt partially imposing and intimidating, more so because you had no real experience. Now struggling to improvise, the ball was in his court.

“You missed me… yes?” He used a tender tone, though it did not help with your burning face and sweaty palms. A hesitant nod was all he got and tilted his head - perhaps he wasn’t all that scary -, causing a strand of hair to fall into his face. Handsome, too, it was a fact you hadn’t really sat down to unpack just yet, but having it now thrown back at you held the potential to make your knees buckle and voice quiver were you to try and speak. Trying to push that thought aside, you had to manually focus on his next words. “So… what can I do? You still called for me, Y/n, is it just to look at me?”

The use of your name, the way he casually let it fall from his lips as if there was never once to wonder whether he’d remembered it in the first place, made your eyes widen ever so slightly and the rest of his sentence fade into oblivion. Unfortunately, that is, since you continued to remain silent and observe him. His skin, that had tanned during whatever mission had kept him occupied and wandering through the land, and the tight muscles under his shirt moving rhythmically with his breathing, the soft strand of hair, the growing smile the longer you thought about this, all in focus.

Meeting his eyes for the first time in a while, they seemed to have undergone drastic change. The rare instances of genuine interest in his demeanor had not prepared you for the warmth that was apparently possible, that drew you in, so without approval from your brain, you took a step forward. Still leaving space that neither were able to close so far.

“There’s nothing I want, just… you.” Attention pulled to his lips when he sighed, you quickly looked away to not give the wrong impression. It wasn't an annoyance in his tone, something else entirely that you could not confidently place, and if you weren’t a deer in the headlights right now you would’ve appreciated the soft care he put into each of his actions. Genuine: you wanted to be the same.

“You didn’t seem to be a clingy girl. It must’ve been frustrating, then, all this time. I apologize.” His words took you aback once more, unsure whether you had to defend yourself or not, but his face revealed not a hint at a joke and begged to wonder what responsibility he thought to have for someone he happened to save one horrible day. You didn’t want him to do more. Not him, not the people of the tribe, not your friends or the old man, they had all done enough. So why was he still looking at you like that? A different kind of pity, without reminding of what you lost.

In the end, it was you who closed the gap. Slowly, at first, but you couldn’t take it anymore. Throwing your arms around his neck, he wrapped his hands around your waist in a tight and surprising embrace. It happened before you could realize, dragging on silently for longer than you could’ve hoped, and the stress of the past weeks visibly diminished into thin air as you fully relaxed against him. It did something to the both of you. The unexpected proximity gave way to a handful of new sensations - your warm body against his, the smell of your sun-soaked hair, standing on tiptoes to bury your face into the crook of his neck, and in turn you got to feel the gentle stroke of his fingers on your back, drawing circles that crawled up your spine.

It was only a matter of time before you pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. The air you breathed began to mix, hot, steamy, you had never been this close. As if scripted, both of your gazes were pulled down to each other’s lips, parted and waiting painfully, though it was another gap someone had to find the courage to close. This time, luckily, it was him pulling you back in, not even with enough time to spare for another thought when he saw the way your chest rose up and down, those soda-tinted lips he could taste on your tongue, the sweat, still glistening on your skin. How could he have the heart to deny such delicacy, knowing his presence casted those shy smiles and red cheeks? Precious, he only wished to have known sooner what exactly you needed.

Full version on AO3 (linked). Thank you very much, have a good day and stay safe!

#ao3 #ao3 link #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #x reader #smut #genshin impact #kinich #kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich x y/n #kinich smut #genshin smut #reader insert #female reader #archive of our own

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 month ago

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..…But instead, what you got was a man leaning against a brick wall, exhaling smoke from a half-burnt cigarette, his eyes focused on something else entirely. He looked tired, worn down by life, his clothes rumpled and his hair falling in loose strands around his face. In that moment, he was just a man, shoving a bundle of what you assumed was cash into his coat pocket with a practiced ease. His eyes were dim, distant, as though weighed down by years of survival.

“You’re a hard man to find,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice, the lighter in his hand glowing faintly purple as he flicked it closed. His eyes scanned you, guarded and uncertain, but there was no immediate spark of recognition. No sudden epiphany. Just a cautious wariness, the kind that came from too many years of living on the edge. “We met?” he asked, his Cajun accent thick and weary, the words dripping with suspicion.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his attention shifted. His gaze slid past you, landing on the figure standing beside you—Laura.

His entire body went still.

“Laura?” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the raw emotion in it was unmistakable. His cigarette fell, forgotten, to the ground as he stepped forward, his eyes wide, disbelieving.

Laura didn’t say a word. She simply nodded, taking a step toward him in return. And then, in a moment that took you completely by surprise, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. Gone was the tough exterior, the guarded, hardened warrior she usually appeared to be. In that moment, she was just a young woman who had found someone she thought she’d lost forever.

You watched as Remy’s arms came up around her, holding her close, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t expected. His hands were gentle, a stark contrast to the rough edges of his appearance. He clutched her to him like he was afraid if he let go, she might disappear again, like she had before. His chin rested on the top of her head, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. The two of them stood there, locked in that embrace, the world around them forgotten.

You could feel the emotion of the moment pressing in on you, heavy and bittersweet. You remembered the way Laura had described Remy to you—the way he had taken on the role of protector in the Void, looking after her like a father would, keeping her safe when everything else was falling apart. And now, seeing them together, it was clear just how much they had meant to each other. Neither one of them wanted to let go, both of them terrified of losing the other again.

“I told you,” Laura whispered into his chest, her voice muffled but filled with emotion. “I told you that I’d find her if I ever got out.”

Her words seemed to pull Remy out of the moment. His eyes, which had been focused solely on Laura, flickered back to you. And this time, there was something different in them. You could see the recognition flood his gaze, like a dam breaking, like all the pieces that had been scattered across time and space suddenly fell into place.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the way he looked at you—like he was seeing something he had been searching for his entire life—made your heart clench. It was as though everything Laura had told you, everything you had felt but never truly understood, was reflected in his eyes. The bond, the connection, the years of isolation and dreaming of someone he had never met but had always known—it was all there, written in the way his gaze softened, the way his entire posture shifted.

He didn’t need to say anything, because in that moment, you both knew.

Laura’s words echoed in your mind, the ones she had shared with you during those long conversations where she tried to help you understand just how much Remy had believed in you, even before he knew you.

He believed in you more than he believed in anything else.

You took a slow breath, your throat tight, as the reality of the moment settled around you. This wasn’t the way you had imagined it. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping revelation you had pictured—there was no dramatic spark, no instant recognition that knocked you both off your feet. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

Maybe it was enough that he was standing there, looking at you with the quiet realization that you were real. That you had found him, just like he had always believed you would.

Remy’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet understanding that spoke of years spent dreaming of this moment, even if he hadn’t known it would come like this. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

“I didn’t think you were real,” he admitted quietly, almost like he was confessing something he hadn’t dared say out loud before. “Thought you were just somethin’ I made up to keep myself goin’.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. “I’m real,” you said softly. “And I’m here.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Guess I should’ve known,” he added, a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Felt you all this time. Should’ve known you’d come lookin’ for me.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and all the uncertainty, all the fear you had carried with you melted away. This was it. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had been chasing across the multiverse. And now, standing here in front of him, you realized that maybe it didn’t matter how difficult the journey had been. Maybe all that mattered was that you had found him.

You gave a small shrug, the weight of the moment still hanging between you and Remy, but you needed to break the tension, to pull you both out of the whirlwind of emotions that had just passed. “Yeah, well,” you said, your voice carrying a hint of dry humor, “we broke about six multiversal laws getting here.” You threw your thumb behind you, gesturing vaguely toward the chaotic path that had led you to this point. “So, uh, I’m kinda expecting my buddies from the TVA to show up any second now.”

Remy’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking to the space behind you as if expecting a swarm of time-traveling agents to appear at any moment. The lighter in his hand flickered purple again, a nervous habit you realized, though his face remained calm, unreadable.

Laura, still standing close to Remy, glanced between the two of you. She looked back at Remy, her expression softening, though her voice remained steady. “We’re gonna take you back with us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Back home. It might not be your home, but she’s there,” Laura nodded toward you, her eyes full of unspoken meaning, “and I’m there too.”

Remy’s eyes darted to you, then back to Laura, conflicted. You could see the hesitation in his posture, the uncertainty that came from years of being lost, of never really knowing where he belonged. You felt a pang in your chest—he had been fighting his own battles for so long, without knowing you were out there, fighting yours. But now, everything was different. You were offering him a way out, a chance to be part of something again. You were offering him you.

“Where’s home?” Remy asked, his voice low, cautious.

“Earth-616,” you replied simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to explain multiple realities. To you, it had become second nature, but you knew it would take him time to adjust. All of it—the multiverse, the TVA, the fact that you had crossed dimensions to find him—it was a lot to take in. But you didn’t have the luxury of time to ease him into it.

Remy raised an eyebrow, clearly not familiar with the technicalities of multiversal cataloging, but before he could ask any more questions, your watch beeped, cutting through the moment like a siren. You glanced down at it, your heartbeat quickening. The TVA wouldn’t be far behind; you had made too many ripples in the fabric of reality for them to ignore.

“I’ll explain everything once we’re back in my apartment,” you said quickly, urgency creeping into your voice. “But right now, we really don’t have the time. We’ve gotta go.” You turned to Laura, who was already standing at the ready, her eyes sharp, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing further explanation. “Now.”

You took a deep breath, focusing your energy, feeling the familiar pull as you raised your hands. The air around you shimmered, and with a swift, practiced motion, you began to rip a hole into the fabric of reality—a portal between worlds, a doorway back to Earth-616. The swirling energy hummed with the power of the multiverse, opening into the familiar space of your world, your home.

You turned to Remy, your eyes locking onto his. "You coming or staying?"

For a brief moment, you held your breath, watching the flicker of emotions cross his face—hesitation, curiosity, and then something deeper, something that resonated with the bond you had always felt but had never fully understood until now. You knew this choice wasn’t just about leaving, it was about stepping into the unknown, trusting a connection that had tied you both together without either of you ever knowing why.

But Remy didn’t hesitate for long. His decision was already made, written in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours. He knew, just as you did, that wherever you went, he would follow. He would follow you to the ends of the universe if it meant being by your side….

#sneak peek #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #fanfiction #marvel #deadpool & wolverine #gambit #Remy Lebeau #because it is taking so long to write #and it’s so fucking cute to write #and fun #and I needed to touch on Laura and Remy #and give them that father/daughter like relationship like they have in the comics

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sickuma · 1 year ago

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SILLAGE — a Simon Riley fic. 1/2

❱ This is the au i wrote on tiktok captioned "he realized he wanted to stay too late" this will have two parts! I've been making a lot of ghost fics lately LMAO and I'm sorry if the plots are consistently angst, it's what I like doing the most. This one though is a little heavier than most of what I've written, definitely has some personal linking to it with my experience :)

��？ Warning. . this is a heavy angst fic, mentions of suicide and acts of committing, if that is something that triggers bad emotions, please exit the fic.

paring is Ghost x Reader this is unedited! mistakes such as spelling and grammatical errors are to be expected !

! if you are going through something heavy right now, please seek someone you trust and you are able to talk to about your emotions, nobody should have to go through their troubles alone, you're loved<3 My messages are open if you need a stranger to listen :)

Part 2 (^_^;)

SILLAGE — (n.) The scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someones perfume.

"The deployment takes place soon."

He mumbles, without turning to face you. Occupied by packing up the things he'll need for this mission and more,

He was packing everything.

"Do not wait for me [name]."

"What does that mean?" You ask, a look of indifference plastered on your face. It wasn't necessarily the first time this conversation has been held.

Though it is the first time you're not opposing. For the entirety of that 7 months you're together, fights happened, arguments would sprung. Yet you find yourselves back into each other's arms within a week,

It was a tiring cycle. Something you knew was unhealthy for the both of you, especially with your deteriorating well-being which he has no waking idea about. You've never brought light to it.

It was an ugly part of you, something you despised.

Something you won't ever show him yourself.

With a short sigh, he stood straight, hands propped on his forehead indicating his rising stress. "I can't, we can't."

"I can't let this go on longer.

You kept quiet, awaiting for him to speak more, to tell more of his worries you're evidently familiar with. It was something you've grown aware of,

His fear of abandoning you,

His fear of dying on the field while you wait aimlessly for him.

"This is for the better [name]." Cowardly, is what you would have described this. But you are in no place to be speaking of such as you're also deep into your own hell of mental instability.

For a lot of times this argument has happened, it was the first time you are not tearing up. Asking him to stop spewing nonsense and convincing him to stay.

Why did you keep doing that? You wondered. Now you finally have the answer.

It's the fear,

Fear of your darkness once he's far from you, far from your heart. He was completely unaware of how he'd changed you temporarily, how your sleeping heart awoke with just the sound of his voice.

For the longest time you have not felt anything close to what he made you feel; for the first time you are able to feel. And the thought of that suddenly being taken away from you made your body tremble.

But this time you stood firmly,

He was right. This can't go on forever,

You two may have different reasons for saying such but what mutual fact was that it was true. Staying with each other will only drive you to madness.

With his fear of attachment, and your fear of abandonment. It was bound to fail.

You were already planning on cutting ties even before he brought this up once again; you knew you can't stay. Not any longer,

Not when this void plagued you like a curse.

The air was thick and dire, your lack of response threw him over the edge. It was unpleasant. He had expected you to do the same, to react the same, to stop him.

To fight for him like you always have,

But you're no longer capable of doing that. If you can't fight for your own will to live, how does he expect you to fight for this wilting relationship?

You hated it. Feeling helpless.

But you're certain it's the right thing, tonight, you'll finally do it. Like you always planned.

"I see."

Simon felt conflicted, your short answers and your lack of expression, it gave him a strange gut feeling. This sudden gut decision to stay and make sure everything's okay,

He can't.

He needs to go, one way or another. He's doing this in regards to you, and the safety of your feelings.

If only he'd know you're incapable of feeling, without him you can't. Your gaze followed his walking figure as he brought his things at the door,

Turning to you with a pinched expression, though he was shocked to see you looking at him with a smile.

"Be safe."

You spoke ever so gently, with that slight smile he adored but for some reason it felt odd to see it. It troubled him, he shrugged it off, not wanting to drag this moment longer,

Afraid he'll give in and pull you into his arms.

He kept staring, as if he didn't wish to walk out the door. If he does, it means permanently, his heart was against that. "Can I hug you?"

"One last time?"

He was taken aback, stunned at your sudden request. And for a lot of reasons it hurt him, to hurt you in such a way you end up smiling in acceptance, asking him for one final hug.

With an anxious swallow, he dropped the bags and slowly drew closer to you. Pulling you close, perhaps too eagerly? Too desperately. But he didn't care.

If its the final time he gets to have you in his embrace, he'll make the most of it.

He lets the moment linger, with your hands clutching his shirt, he took you in. Taking your scent, the calm thumps of your heart, he needs all he can get.

With his eyes closed, he carefully rubs the back of your head when he suddenly felt warm on his chest,

It was tears,

Your tears. You were crying silently.

"[name]—"

You interrupt him with a chuckle, pulling away from the hug to wipe your tears.

"Sorry, it escaped." You humoured, wiping them away.

Right at that moment he felt his heart shatter, he felt cruel. On the other hand you felt fulfilled, with the final hug you wanted,

You can finally do it.

"I love you Si." You smiled once again, looking up at his towering figure. Though his expression remained stoic, almost softening as his thoughts dwelled with what his heart wants.

He shook his head, closing his eyes shut as he turned around to take his things. Twisting the knob in the process, stopping to spare you one last glance.

"I—" he almost said it but he stopped himself, he didn't want to make it any harder for himself, no matter how badly he wanted to say it.

"Goodbye [name]."

Those were the last words he spoke to you, as the sound of the door closing erupts in your ears. Leaving you in the eerie room you dreaded,

It's as if you could still feel his embrace.

Once you're sure he's far enough, it's when you started the preparation. Sitting down indifferently to write a few notes; letters to those few you held close.

One final regard of what you were too cowardly to say in person, a goodbye.

And so, you wrote.

﹑

To Simon,

My Simon.

If you're reading this, I am gone.

Whether or not you find this letter, I can only hope you know how much I've loved you. That even without reading this, you're still aware of how much you made me feel.

Thank you, truly.

For the longest time I have struggled to feel, most times it would just be devoid of yearning; my yearn to view life as something worth living for. To no avail I never got that, the idea to keep living never shone bright to me, of course, until you showed up and brighten up my space with your own special way,

It took us quite a few to get along, we really did.

But when it happened, it was ethereal. Things felt right, for the first time I was able to feel,

For the first time I had this sudden urge to keep living, to keep living for you. To see you, to hear your voice, to be beside you. I'm afraid I've grown dependent on that,

As someone who has never felt love nor care, I had no sense of value for myself. Yet you looked at me, you told me you love me and believe me I was ecstatic.

I depended on you, you were my source of happiness and I owe you for every bit of happiness I've gotten from this unfortunate life so when we're apart i find myself remembering just how miserable i am, how my family is, how i am as a person and how hard it is for me to feel.

Without you I can't feel anything.

But that was unhealthy,

I was merely distracted. The void never left, it was there temporarily filled with what I convinced myself was a will to live. I'm sorry. I really am, I wish I could have been better. I wish I could have been stronger,

Braver, to see your achievements even if we're not together anymore. My heart remains yours. It's not your fault, it never will be. I'm sure that you know If anybody could have saved me it would have been you.

I know I lack the ability to feel, but with you, I never lied. I never faked anything. My love for you is here and it's the only feeling I am able to recognize, I know that night you walked out of the door saying we are better off apart, for the safety of my feelings and for the sake of your growing attachment. I cried but I cried because I agreed.

I'm sorry for surrendering to my weakness,

But I can't keep it together; not any longer. I can only hope that you'll be glad to know that maybe I'm somewhere free from the void of my emotions. I'm somewhere better, freely able to feel. Please be proud, with you I felt so much and that will never change. It's me your [name] :) always will be.

Goodluck to the strongest lieutenant! Remember to keep him happy and healthy, take care of the person I cherish the most, okay? Wherever I am, I am somewhere carrying the short-lived love we had. Treasuring it forever,

Stay frosty yeah? Don't be like me.

Until next time, lieutenant :)

﹑

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ckret2 · 5 months ago

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Is the ending bill getting therapy? I don't think that's right bc that's not incredibly cruel but I need context to that last ask

Bill's locked up in some kind of mental facility/prison from which its villainous inmates aren't allowed to leave until they're... idk, fully cured & repented or whatever. Once they're cleared to leave, they can reincarnate as, like, worms or butterflies or snails—all the example options mentioned in text are pretty pathetic little creatures. If you don't work on yourself and get cleared to leave, you could stay there for LITERALLY forever—and the doctors running the place seem very keen on the idea of that happening to some prisoners.

From the sound of it, the Theraprism is a facade of benign healing and normal therapeutic techniques mixed with some truly horrific Victorian insane asylum-level human rights abuses, amped up with cosmic/psychological horror. Locking patients in a sensory deprivation void is an acceptable punishment for misbehavior.

It's possible that if Bill faces his past, his trauma, and his crimes, and puts in the necessary work to grow as a person, he'll get set free to reincarnate. But it's also possible that even if Bill does that, he won't be allowed to leave until he's completely broken down and reshaped into an empty husk of his former self, everything that once made him "Bill Cipher" now gone. We can't tell from what we read. But there's a subtle air of sadism around how the doctors talk about their patients and treatment.

Bill acts like he's enduring the cruelest most torturous imprisonment imaginable, but he'd do that whether or not the facility's benign.

But like—he's abusing his therapeutic journaling time to communicate through a book with mortals in the desperate hope he can trick one into freeing him, just to get condescendingly scolded for it and his book confiscated, so he is desperate to get out and truly limited in his options

#anonymous #ask #the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #spoilers

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mono-lee-mmxxii · 3 months ago

Text

Fic for the Shapes & Pines AU by @void-dude! I haven't been near my computer for a couple of days but I have had my phone so uhh, Tad Strange fanfic, yeah? Yeah

Summary: Tad has a nightmare about a memory he'd rather not think about

He had to be, if he was back in Euclidia. The sounds of his neighbors leaving for the store filtered in, a series of sounds he'd heard so many times he swore he’d remember them forever. Well, he thought he would.

---

Tad was dreaming.

Now, the memory is muffled and warped by centuries of time. To his dreaming mind, it's crystal clear, because he already knows what happens next. He's seen it all before.

In the mirror, he gets ready for work. His hat and tie, and of course his umbrella. Weather in Euclidia was abrupt, and difficult to forecast, and he'd spent enough years babysitting to know that he should always be prepared.

As he was checking his pockets one last time, he heard the neighbors again, much louder than before. Heading back to the house.

“Do you smell smoke?” Tad heard the neighbor ask, the words drifting through the open window.

“Did we leave the stove on?”

He remembered not smelling it until then, and his dream mirrors that. Now that attention has been drawn to it, he could smell smoke in the air, stinging his lungs.

He went to check his own stove in concern, and stopped in the doorway.

This month he'd been late to pay the gas bill- he hadn't paid it at all, actually, and it'd been cut off already. So none of what he's looking at should be possible.

Blue fire leaps from every burner, flames almost a foot tall. It's scorching the walls, and it won't be long until the whole house is on fire.

As he's standing there, the candles on the table burst into brilliant blue life.

This close, he can see that the fire looks different up close. It's got more than just fire. It looks like the stars.

Realization hit him like a physical weight, and he thinks he's going to be sick.

Oh Billy, what have you done?

It took several seconds before he could move again, the fire creeping closer all the while.

When he could move his shaking legs, he bolted for the front door. If he could just find Billy, maybe they could find a way out. A way to stop this.

Or at least he wouldn't be alone in death.

“Don't look at it! It burns to look at! Just run!” He could hear another neighbor scream, and realized they must have gotten close enough to see the stars.

"I can't! It's everywhere!".

A shudder ran through him, and he looked around frantically in the street. A triangle, any hint of yellow- where was Billy? Where were Euclid and Scalene? Their house was so close by, it was just right around the corner and-

What remained of the Cipher house was the center of the blazing inferno, Tad realized. The entire house was ablaze, and it was taking everything else down with it. Even the dirt seemed to burn into ash and then wither away into nothing.

In the ashy dust surrounding the house was an imprint of Billy. Further back, he could see the ashen shapes that his heart knew were once Euclid and Scalene. They had been his first clients as a babysitter. Over time, they'd become almost second parents to him.

“Billy?” He called, hoping the little triangle would pop out from behind something, or perhaps appear in the corner of his eye.

Nothingness.

The fire was creeping closer, and he was shaking. Sweat, cold and clammy, dripped down his face and off his corners.

“Billy!”

If he hadn't hurt looking at the fire, maybe there was something about their mutations that made them special. Maybe they could survive if they could get shelter.

He didn't want to be by himself when the fire got to him.

“BILLY!!!”

He was going to be alone.

The whole Cipher family was gone. From the constantly kindhearted Euclid and patiently creative Scale down to little Billy, who had grown out of velcro on his shoes only a few years ago.

Gone, for good.

Tad couldn't run anymore, not from the fire or his fear.

He sank to his knees. Coldness gnawed at his extremities despite the world burning around him.

Never before did he think he was gonna die all by himself. Before he could dwell on just how isolated his death would be, he was yanked to the reality in front of him by a terrifying scream.

Fire and wood screeched and crashed and roared behind him in a splintering cacophony.

Tad turned around in time to see a collapsing tree, still burning, headed right for him.

Oh, hopefully the impact will kill me before the fire does.

He thought, right before the burning tree collided with him and everything went dark.

---

Tad woke up in a dark place.

Surpringing, since he didn't think he'd wake up at all.

He felt like he was floating, and the darkness was heavy. He was warm, which felt… wrong, somehow. Hadn't it been cold, after the fire?

He cracked his eye open, looking around lazily. Nothingness as far as he could see.

He was still alone.

Closing his eye, he decided he was going to sleep until he stopped waking up.

Just as he did, the void he was floating in shifted. He jerked, every muscle tensing as the falling sensation startled him awake.

“Sorry,” Stan whispered as he slid back into bed.

“What for?” Tad asked blearily, reaching for his husband with fumbling hands.

“Didn't mean to wake ya.”

“What were you doing?”

“Had to take a leak.” Stan confirmed, and Tad snorted in lieu of a laugh.

“Wash your hands.”

“Already did.” Stanley snagged Tad’s searching hands out of midair, pulling them close for a kiss.

From the bed, Tad grinned at him. He was still half asleep, struggling to keep his eye open.

“Good. Get back under here, it's cold.”

“I know.” Stan murmured, getting back under the blanket. “Mabel cranked the AC last night. I'll have to get on her about that in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sleep now, talk later.” Tad patted Stan’s face, still grinning. He’d decided a long time ago he liked the feeling of stubble, scratchy and prickly against his hand. But only his human.

“Whatever you say, dice… man…”

Stanley was already asleep. Tad would've laughed, if he wasn't falling asleep too.

And for the rest of the night, his dreams were quiet.

#shapes and pines au #stanley pines #tad strange #i suffer nightmares and so Tad must suffer nightmares as well #comfort at the end #stan and tad are giving me life

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 9 months ago

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In The Stars.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here x

in which, harry is remembering you, his beloved wife, mother of his child, that passed away, this is him grieving, remembering the lives that the two of you shared together and will always share together, no matter the circumstances.

word count - 2.8k

warnings: mentioned of death, mentions of breast cancer.

April, 2010.

❛ Sunday mornings were your favorite

I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road

You did your hair up like you were famous

Even though it's only church where we were goin’ ❜

As Harry strolled down Woods Creek Road on a Sunday morning in the summer of 2010, the sun cast a warm glow over the quaint street.

His heart raced with anticipation as he made his way to meet his girlfriend, who awaited him at their usual meeting spot on the corner.

The two of you were meeting up just like the two of you did every Sunday morning before heading to church and meeting up with your families. It was a little ritual that would forever be engraved in your hearts.

You stood there, radiant in a pretty light pink summer dress, your hair elegantly styled up in a bun, giving you an air of effortless grace. Even though you were just headed to church, you always carried yourself as if you were destined for the spotlight.

As Harry approached, he couldn't help but admire how stunning you looked, a sense of pride swelling within him for being the one lucky enough to call you his own. Your eyes met, and a smile lit up your face, sending a rush of warmth through Harry's veins.

"Hey pretty girl," Harry greeted you, his voice filled with affection as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"Hey, H," you replied, your voice soft and filled with love. "You look handsome today."

Harry chuckled, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks at your compliment. "Thanks, pretty. You always look beautiful."

Together, hand in hand, you made your way to church, the sound of birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze accompanying your steps.

As the duo walked hand in hand towards the church, he couldn't help but admire her beauty once again.

"You know it's only church that we're going," Harry teased with a playful grin, nudging her gently.

She laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the quiet street.

"I wore this dress to look good for you," she replied, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Harry's heart swelled with love for her.

"And you always do," he said earnestly, pulling her closer. "Y’could be wearing a paper bag and you'd still look pretty."

She blushed at his words, leaning into him. "You're too sweet, H."

They continued their stroll, their conversation peppered with laughter and affectionate glances,

February, 2024.

❛ Now, Sunday mornings, I just sleep in

It's like I buried my faith with you

I'm screamin' at a God I don't know if I believe in

'Cause I don't know what else I can do ❜

In the dimly lit room, Harry lay tangled in the sheets of what used to be their shared bed. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out the world beyond, as if he hadn't felt the warmth of the sun in ages.

His once vibrant eyes were hollow, filled with a pain that seemed to consume him.

Sunday mornings had lost their luster, their meaning stripped away along with the love he had lost. He no longer had the will to rise from bed, to face a world that felt empty and devoid of purpose without her by his side.

Staring at the photo of a toddler on his bedside table, being held by his darling wife was a painful reminder of what once was, whilst the toddler slept in there room next door, you were no where to be found.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. He had buried his faith along with her, his heart screaming out to a God he no longer knew if he believed in.

Tears welled up in his eyes, his chest constricting with the weight of his sorrow. He longed for her presence, for the warmth of her touch, but she was gone, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill.

In the silence of the room, Harry found himself grappling with a pain so profound, he didn't know what else to do but scream into the void, hoping for some semblance of solace in a world that had turned its back on him.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. With trembling hands, he reached out and grabbed the photo of his wife, holding it close to his chest as tears streamed down his face.

"Why did y’take her?" he screamed into the empty room, his voice cracking with pain. "It should ‘ave been me!"

His cries echoed off the walls, a raw expression of the agony that consumed him. He clutched the photo tightly, as if holding onto it could somehow bring her back to him, could somehow ease the unbearable pain of her absence.

But she was gone, and Harry was left alone in a world that seemed intent on tearing him apart.

January, 2024.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever ❜

"H," you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper, "I want to see her grow up. I want to see her graduate, get married, have children of her own."

You were referring to your and harrys freshly turned two year old daughter Grace Anne Styles, she was everything to the two of you, with her fathers curly hair and signature green eyes, her personality was all you, kind, caring and nurturing.

The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the faint whir of machines monitoring your vital signs, creating an atmosphere heavy with uncertainty.

Six months ago, when you were diagnosed with breast cancer, Harry had clung to hope like a lifeline, determined to fight alongside you every step of the way. But as each day passed, that hope dwindled, replaced by a gnawing fear of what the future held.

You lay in the bed, your once vibrant spirit now dimmed by the relentless assault of the disease. Cancer had robbed you of your strength, leaving you fragile and frail. Your hair, once a cascade of curls that framed your face with warmth, had been replaced by a bald scalp, a stark reminder of the battle you fought with every breath.

Even your wedding rings, symbols of the love you and Harry shared, no longer fit your slender fingers, so he wore them on a chain around his neck, keeping them close to his heart.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"You will, pretty girl," he said softly, his voice filled with determination. "Y’going to get better, I know it."

But deep down, Harry couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his chest, the fear that he might lose you before you had the chance to see your dreams fulfilled.

So, as you drifted off to sleep, he sat by your bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of impending loss.

"I don't want to say goodbye," he whispered into the darkness, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because this one means forever."

He brushed a tear from his cheek as he watched over you, vowing to cherish every precious moment they had left together, unwilling to let go of the love that had defined their lives.

April, 2024.

❛ And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers❜

As Harry sat in the garden with Grace nestled in his lap, the night enveloped them in its quiet embrace. The stars twinkled overhead, their distant light casting a soft glow over the garden, while the faint crackle of embers from the nearby fire pit added to the ambiance. But despite the beauty of the night, Harry couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of loneliness that washed over him.

All day little Grace had asked about seeing mummy so who was harry to deny her of that?

"Look, Daddy! Look at all the stars!" Grace exclaimed, her small finger pointing up at the shimmering sky.

Harry forced a smile, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"They're beautiful, aren't they, sweet girl?" he replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Yeah, but I still can't see Mommy," Grace said, her voice filled with longing. "When is she coming?"

“I’m not sure sweet girl,” Harry's heart shattered at her words, the pain of your loss echoing in his chest.

"I know you miss her, sweet girl," he said softly, pulling her closer. "I miss her too, but she’s always going to be up there isn’t she? up in the stars watching over me and you.”

"I want to see her," Grace insisted, her bottom lip trembling.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears as he looked down at his daughter, her innocent face filled with confusion and sorrow.

"I know, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish I could bring her back for you."

"Why can't you, Daddy?" Grace asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Harry's heart clenched at her words, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a lead weight.

"Because she's in the stars now, sweetheart," he explained gently, his voice trembling.

Grace's eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in Harry's chest, her small body shaking with sobs.

"I want Mommy," she cried, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Harry held her tightly, his own tears mingling with hers as he struggled to find the words to comfort her.

"I know, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I want mommy too."

February, 2024.

❛ Oh, it hurts so hard

For a million different reasons

You took the best of my heart

And left the rest in pieces ❜

As Harry sat in front of the photo of the two of you on your wedding day, the memories came flooding back like a tidal wave crashing over him.

The room felt empty, the silence deafening, as he clutched the half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. With Grace sleeping at his mom's house for the night, he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, it hurts so hard," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room.

He traced the outline of your face in the photo, his fingertips lingering on the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes. The love they shared had been pure and unconditional, a bond that seemed unbreakable. But now, with you gone, Harry felt like a ship lost at sea, adrift in a vast ocean of loneliness and despair.

"You took the best of my heart," he murmured, his voice thick with tears,

And he didn’t want to admit that the rest was left in puzzle pieces.

Tears streamed down his face as he poured himself another glass of wine, the bitter taste doing little to dull the ache in his heart. He felt like he was suffocating, drowning in a sea of memories that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Why did y’have to go?" Harry whispered, his voice filled with anguish as he stared at the photo, as if willing it to provide him with answers. "We were supposed to grow old together, to watch Grace grow up, to share a lifetime of memories."

But the photo remained silent, a frozen moment in time that offered no solace, no comfort in the face of his pain. And as Harry sat alone in the darkness, he realized that no amount of wine could dull the ache of your absence, no words could bring you back to him.

"I miss you, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "More than words can say."

June, 2024.

❛ Diggin' through your old birthday letters

A crumpled 20 still in the box

I don't think that I could ever find a way to spend it

Even if it's the last 20 that I've got, oh ❜

the weight of your absence felt heavier than ever. Today was Grace's third birthday, a day meant to be filled with joy and celebration, but instead, it served as a painful reminder of the life you should have been there to share.

With trembling hands, Harry sifted through the stack of cards, each one a precious memento of the love you poured into every aspect of your daughter's life. He ran his fingers over the familiar handwriting, his heart breaking with each heartfelt message penned by your hand.

But then, something caught his eye at the bottom of the box—a crumpled £20 note. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he unfolded the worn bill, his fingers trembling as he realized its significance. It was the last £20 that you had given him, tucked away as a surprise in one of Grace's birthday cards.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he stared at the crumpled note, his heart aching with the weight of your absence. He had never been able to bring himself to spend it, holding onto it like a lifeline to the memories of the life they had shared together.

"Mommy got y’something special," Harry said softly, his voice thick with emotion, as he called Grace into the room. "This card is from her."

Grace's eyes widened with excitement as she took the card from Harry's outstretched hand, her fingers tracing the familiar handwriting.

"From Mommy?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder as Harry also handed her the crumpled £20.

"What are you going to spend the money on, sweet girl?" Harry asked gently, his voice tinged with sadness as he looked into his daughter's innocent eyes.

Grace's brows furrowed slightly as she considered her father's question. After a moment of thoughtful silence, she looked up at Harry with a determined expression.

"M’going to buy some happiness," she replied softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "So that you can be happy, Daddy."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at his daughter, her words piercing through the veil of his grief like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out to pull Grace into a tight embrace.

"Oh, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Y’already make me happier than I ever thought possible."

February, 2025.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers ❜

The anniversary of your death was a cruel reminder of the void that now existed in his life, a void that could never be filled. He set down the bouquet of flowers he had brought, their vibrant colors stark against the somber backdrop of the cemetery.

"M’still holding on to everything that's dead and gone," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the silence of the graveyard.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he sat down beside your grave, the cold earth beneath him a painful reminder of the finality of death. He traced the letters of your name etched into the headstone, his fingers trembling with grief.

"And now you're in the stars, and six-feet's never felt so far," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Y’should be here, by m’side and we should be living life like we were supposed to be doing, I shouldn’t be visiting your gave, s’too unfair."

"I brought you y’favorite flowers," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I hope you like them."

He paused, as if waiting for a response that would never come. The silence of the cemetery enveloped him like a shroud, amplifying the ache in his heart.

"I wish you were here," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish we could have just one more day together."

Tears streamed down Harry's face as he poured out his heart to you, his words a mix of sorrow and longing.

"Grace is growing up so fast," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's so much like you, y’know? Sometimes it feels like you're still here, watching over us."

He reached out to touch the cold marble of your headstone, his fingers tracing the letters of your name.

"I miss you every day," he confessed, his voice breaking with grief. "I don't know how to live without you."

As Harry spoke, memories flooded his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had shared.

"Do y’remember our first date?" he asked softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was so nervous, but you made me feel like everything was going to be okay."

He wiped away his tears, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"I wish I could turn back time," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I wish I could tell y’how much I love you one more time."

And then, with a heavy heart, Harry pressed a kiss to your grave, his lips lingering on the cold stone as if seeking solace in its unforgiving surface.

"Goodbye, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind.

“Until we meet again.”

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helluvapoison · 10 months ago

Note

Hi! Idk if your request is open but if it is, can I request a little moment of Zestiel having some alone time with his wife/husband asking him why did they marry him—since there wasn't really that much of information about Zestiel, let's assume that he's a murderer* when he's alive and the reader found out about it after they've been seeing each other for some time now. Your content is awesome, btw^_^

Till Death

Zestial x Reader

Why did he marry you?

warning: murder, inaccurate zestial lore

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• It used to be that the honor of a man’s word was enough. A firm handshake would be just as legally binding as a contract

• He almost had it all. The vineyard, the estate, the fortune. None of it made him as joyful as having your hand

• The empty space on your ring finger taunted him daily, his chest pocket heavy with the solution to the void, though you were sweet to remind him you were his in every other way

• “Soon my sweet,” He promised and promised and promised

• It was to be kept well under wraps until the finer details were settled but make no mistake, Zestial had every intention of spoiling you rotten afterwards

• “Thou will not go into business while affiliated with heathens,” His father snarled, his words held the deed to everything high above his head

• Devastated would be an understatement but it didn’t last long. He could rebuild. He could take his knowledge and start over with you by his side from the get go. The ordeal would take longer but it wasn’t impossible and he refused to settle for less than what he was owed

• So his father took the matter into his own hands and paid off your family so you would be sent far, far away

• Zestial always said there would be no distance he couldn’t cross to be beside you, you were forever entangled in the web he’d so lovingly spun for you alone

• However, he’d learned his diligence from the very man who’d isolated you

• You were gone

• What Zestial’s father didn’t teach him, and never could be bothered to learn himself, was patience

• So for him, biding his time was the easiest part. Alone, he pried his feet from the mud and wrapped his aching hands in salve. Pain would be his companion, the friend that drove him closer to his goal. Slowly earning back his father’s trust until the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed— in ink this time, and everything he wanted was his once again

• Well.. almost everything

• “A toast,” Zestial was the first at the table to raise his glass, “To the ever growing vines of this business, nary shall they be corrupted by the weak. A promise from thyself unto thee.”

• “Here, here!” His guests chanted, emptying their glass flutes in a single swig

• Zestial’s smile spread wider and wider as the merriment morphed to coughing, gagging and, finally, gurgled screams. Crimson spewed from their lips and denied them their final breaths

• All except for his father who, thanks to the wine laced with something different, was frozen in horror to Zestial’s left. He would be last to face the wrath he unleashed upon himself

• “Son—“

• “Silence! There is nothing thou can say to escape thou’s fate. Return my beloved to me. Tell me where they reside this instant or I will burn this wretched land to ashes with thee inside of it. Tell me now, and I will find it in my blackened heart to show thou mercy thou doth not deserve.”

• “Go to hell.”

• “I shall meet thee there and make thy death far more painful than this one.”

• Zestial watched as the flames engulfed his childhood home and the fields he’d spent years learning. As unforgiving as he, they left nothing spared

• The sins on his back were nothing compared to the crippling loneliness that only followed him to the afterlife

• He was so sure he’d never see you again. You were too good for Hell, too pure for Heaven, but that didn’t stop him from exerting every option available to find a single sign of something undeniably you

• There was no way you would recognize him in this state, he hardly could himself and it only got harder as the days stretched into eons. He’s long forgotten his old self, name included

• Be it his devotion or a miracle, he cared not for which was responsible, one hellish day a familiar pair of eyes met his and he knew

• Confident his empire wouldn’t crumple without him, Zestial disappeared for weeks. And in any case it wasn’t uncommon for him to slink into the shadows, leaving everyone on edge for his inevitable return

• When he eventually emerged it was with you beside him, a very obvious claim shining around your ring finger

• Never did he get tired of the overwhelming joy that gripped his soul seeing the ring on your finger. The list he thought would forever be incomplete now contently filled out and lied to rest

• Now, sitting by the lime green fire with you enveloped in his cape, you reveal you’re plagued by such thoughts?

• Why did he wait for you? Why did he look for you? Why did he marry you?

• “Beloved, ask not such a foolish thing. Life was cruel without thee and death brought no relief. Only thou could fill the cracks of my mind, body and soul. If I should forget it all again, well, doth would be a measly price to pay if only to save room in my mind for you.”

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ after rewatching zestial’s scenes i’m tweaking the way he speaks. i hope you don’t mind me inserting my zestial agenda aha! enjoy and thank you!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #zestial imagine #zestial x reader #hazbin hotel zestial #zestial headcanon

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maybege · 6 months ago

Text

The App - Part 2

Summary: You know who your perfect-match alpha is and it is not the guy from The App.

Pairing: alpha!Boba Fett x fem!omega!Reader

Wordcount: 11.0k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, A/B/O dynamics (scenting, knotting, etc.), older man/younger woman, implied age gap, explicit sexual content, unprotected sexual intercourse, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, slight (loving) degradation, semi-public sex, creampies, size kink, fluff fluff and more fluff

So … this second part kind of exploded which is why it took me so long to actually finish it lol but I hope the wait will have been worth it for you because ngl I am just swooning over alpha!Boba. Also I placed a little Easter Egg in here for another upcoming fic so bonus points to anyone who finds it 👀 Either way, I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think in a comment or a reblog!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

It was two weeks – and no phone call – later, that you decided to take matters into your own (nervously trembling) hands.

Boba thought he didn’t have to call you? Great. But you would not let him think that you were not interested, because you were. He was the one who had shown you what it could feel like to be loved by him and you would not let him ghost you without any explanation.

And if you so happened to want to give Josh back his jacket he had forgotten at your place and you needed to visit him at work for that? Well, then it would just be the most fitting coincidence if Boba was there too.

It was your luck that the receptionist, Peggy, recognized you from the few times you had visited Josh at work and simply waved you through to the elevators. No questions asked.

The doors slid open and you were faced with an empty floor and your heart plummeted. You stepped outside, letting your eyes roam over the open office space. But except for a few people you did not recognise, no one was there.

Shit. So much for coincidentally crossing Boba’s path.

You gripped the jacket tighter, fighting the insecure thoughts in your brain. So Josh was not here. That still meant you could leave the jacket and maybe write a quick note for Boba, just to let him know you were here and open to talk.

Maybe it was better this way. What were you going to say when you met Boba anyway? “Hi, sorry to show up unannounced but you said you would call and you didn’t and I’d very much like for you to call me.”? Yeah, no, that would not do.

Josh’s desk was as empty as always, particularly neat and void of anything that would make it seem remotely personal. You scoffed. How The App could have presumed you were the perfect match, you would never understand. You only regretted it had taken so long for you to see it.

You shifted on your feet, unease filling you at the thought when your eyes fell to the office at the end of the room. Just a few desks separated you from the glass-walled office that Boba inhabited during his work days. And that Boba was sitting in, right now, his phone by his ear.

It seemed he had not noticed you yet but your heart started racing all the same. This was your chance, this was the moment you had to use or else you would beat yourself up over it forever. This could give you clarity.

Taking a deep breath, you set a determined pace to the office, only to falter when he suddenly looked at you. You could not hear what he was saying but you could see the way his entire body shifted. How he paused his words, his eyes running over your form before hanging up, his hand gripping the phone tightly.

You opened the door without knocking and Boba stood up, his eyes still on you. He wore a black suit and with the way it clung to his broad frame, you were convinced that it had been tailored just for him.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly, “Is Josh here?”

“No,” he said, still standing behind his desk, “He is gone for lunch. They all are.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly, “Okay.”

Neither of you moved.

“I, uh, I brought his jacket,” you said, holding up the piece of clothing as if he would not believe you otherwise.

“I can see that.”

“I, uh, can I leave that here?”

“No.”

You faltered, “No?”

“I mean, you can, just not in my office, please,” he said, stepping around his desk. You could not help but swallow, trying to brace yourself for his proximity. His words did not seem inviting but there was something in his scent, something in his eyes, that had you hoping still.

So you took a step forward, a step closer, and you could see his hand flex and his jaw twitch. His eyes darkened and then he was in front of you, his chest brushing against yours and it was all you could do not to lean into him and beg him to scent you again.

Stars, did you want him to scent you again.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

At this point, you could not have cared less about Josh’s stupid jacket but there was no way you would not use it as a reason to stay. Even if it was just for a minute, for a second, longer in his presence.

“Why?” you breathed, taking in his scent, eyes already half-hooded at the familiar smoky scent.

“Because I don’t want anyone’s scent in here but yours,” he answered, just as quietly, “Omega.”

Omega is not an insult, it is a love confession.

The blood was thrumming in your veins and you wanted to tell him everything. You wanted to tell him you loved him, you were pretty sure you did. And you wanted to ask him to scent you. And you wanted to tell him about how he was right, that Josh was a horrible match and The App was wrong and maybe he was your match.

No, not maybe. He looked at you so softly, so tenderly, it confirmed what your heart had known all along. He was your match.

But all you got out was a helpless whisper, “Alpha.”

As if it was even possible, his eyes got more intense, boring into yours as if to say I know.

“You did not call,” you said, almost accusatory as you watched his fingers brush over the back of your hand, “I thought maybe – maybe you don’t want me.”

“There is no universe in which I do not want you,” he murmured, his nose brushing your temple and his hand wrapping around yours, “I wanted to give you time. I didn’t … want to force you into something you might not be ready for.”

“I had no way to contact you,” you whispered, “I was so stupid, I just deleted all the groups when I broke it off with Josh and – what?”

“Nothing,” Boba said innocently but when you looked up you could see his mouth twitch in a suppressed grin.

“That’s not nothing,” you pointed out, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

“I didn’t know you had broken off things with him,” Boba stated, his smile widening, “Josh may have announced that he was the one who ended things.”

Say what now?

Your displeasure only grew because Boba chuckled again, a deep rumble in his chest that made you feel all warm and tingly and you leant into him, effectively hiding your frown. It was not that you particularly cared about Josh or how the world would see the end of your relationship. But hearing that he was evidently too ashamed to tell the truth about the end of your relationship just made you angrier because it showed the kind of person he had been all along. And you had been too blind to see it.

“I knew it was a lie all along,” he assured you quietly, his warm hand running down your back, “No alpha in their right mind would ever let you go. And I am pretty sure most of the others thought so too.”

“I don’t care what they think,” you answered truthfully and looked up at him. He was so close this way and you could see that he must have shaved this morning because the stubble was almost non-existent and you wondered if you could still feel it if he were to kiss you. “I only care what you think.”

“I think,” he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, “You should get that stinking jacket out of here and then come back so I can kiss you, omega.”

“You want to kiss me?”

You hated how surprised you sounded, how eager, but Boba did not make fun of you. His face looked dead serious and your heart skipped a beat. This man wanted to kiss you!

“Actually,” he said, straightening up and looking to the elevator where a few employees had come back from their break. You did not recognize them but you knew it meant it would not be long until familiar faces returned from their break. And you did not want to see them. “Did you have lunch yet?”

You shook your head.

“Let me take you out, then,” he suggested, seeming as put together and in control as always as he quickly went over to his computer and typed something, “Italian sound good?”

The smile appeared on its own on your lips and you felt like your feet no longer touched the ground, you were that happy.

“Italian sounds great.”

There was something to be said about Boba leading you through the city with his hand on your lower back like it belonged there. Like you belonged next to each other.

“Table for two,” he had told the maître d’ at a fancy-looking place you never would have considered for lunch. Suddenly you found yourself grateful for the fact that you had dug out your most beautiful winter dress for the day and the boots you had spent a whole movie on cleaning so they looked brand new.

You were sat at a slim booth, facing each other and your heart skipped a beat when you crossed your legs and your foot accidentally brushed against his slacks. You were so close.

Boba rumbled, eyes dark while he looked you over, his gaze lingering suspiciously long on your neckline that dipped a bit lower than what you usually wore. “Thank you for letting me take you out,” the alpha said, “I really appreciate getting to spend time with you.”

“I enjoy spending time with you, too,” you mumbled, avoiding his intense gaze by folding open the menu, “Though I wouldn’t have expected it when I first met you.”

The laugh he let out made your heart flutter (He sounded so happy!). “No, I hadn’t suspected it either,” he admitted, “If I recall I called myself an old man no one would ever want that day.”

“You are not that old!” the protest slipped off your tongue immediately and you felt your cheeks burn when he raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

“I am, though,” he said without any heat, “But at least I can say that it makes me better at some things.”

“Like what?”

He leant forward, his voice dropping to a low rumble that you felt reverberating in your chest, “Like I am better at making you come than all these boys on that app these days.”

All air left your lungs in a woosh and you swallowed harshly, trying to get your bearing and ignoring the sudden urge to press your thighs together. Or open them for him. Both sounded good at this point.

“Oh,” you breathed, your foot landing against his calf. It did not turn into anything sexual per se but the contact was enough to have your heart skip a beat. The tension was palpable between you and you wondered how you could have ever thought he was unbearable when he could make you flustered this easily.

“You probably are,” you replied quietly, your cheeks burning at your confession, “I have never felt like this with anyone. So … so on edge.”

“On edge, hm?” he smirked, leaning even closer, “I really wish I could sit next to you, omega, I want to see how close I can get you by just teasing that scent gland of yours.”

“Me too,” you whispered, taking a sip of your wine in the hopes of cooling down, “I really want you to scent me again.”

Boba did not say anything but demonstratively put his hand on the table palm facing up and open. You followed his silent instructions and put your hand in his, immediately enjoying the gentle skin-to-skin contact.

His thumb brushed over your wrist and your entire body shuddered. This was what you needed.

“Better?” he asked, his voice deep as his thumb carefully ran over your scent gland over and over again. The ones on the wrists were not as sensitive as the one on your neck, they never were, but it was enough, still, to have him gently scent you out here in the open for anyone to see.

You did not know what surprised you more: How much your body seemed to crave his touch or how he did not seem to mind to scent you in public. Your previous partner had always refused to actually scent you – it was just not something they wanted to do. But here was Boba, looking at you with so much tenderness and scenting you in plain sight. Not ashamed of you in the least.

“What do you want?”

I want you to fuck me.

“To eat,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, obviously recognizing the needy look in your eyes, “Because that waiter looks like he is ready to come over and I know how nervous you get about ordering.”

Your heart grew in size. He knew you so well, this quiet man who seemed to notice all the things you needed and was not afraid to point them out to you. But that realization did not help you when it came to the ache between your legs because he knew you so well and you just wanted to have him in your bed to try out all the fantasies your head could come up with.

“The – the pasta,” you finally found your words, your heartbeat picking up at the thought that maybe he would stop scenting you now that a witness would be here, “Please don’t let me go, alpha.”

“Never,” he vowed, “The ravioli, you mean?” he guessed, coaxing another sigh out of you when the pad of his calloused thumb drew a circle over your wrist, “With the cherry tomatoes and the basil reduction?”

You nodded with your eyes closed, completely letting yourself enjoy the way he touched you, the way he caressed you. “Yes, that one.”

The waiter came by and Boba ordered for you both, still holding your hand and the waiter did not even spare a glance at the way he touched you. You had spent so many years afraid of what the world would think when you were so obviously treated as an omega in a relationship. Spoiler alert: They did not care. And it was glorious.

“Now only one question remains,” Boba said with a smile when your food arrived, “Can I take you out for dinner sometime? On a proper date?”

A few days later, a knock on your door drove you into a flurry. You counted until six in your head before you opened the door, pretending like you had not waited in the hallway for ages for him to show up. Not because he was late, no, Boba Fett was punctual as always, but because you could not wait for this evening to start.

This date today was something you had looked forward to ever since he had called you and officially asked you out. (“There is that lovely little place down by the river,” he had said, “My friend owns it and I could get us a table with the best view. What do you think?”)

Now, Boba Fett was standing in your doorway, looking even more handsome than usual, in dark slacks and a white button-down with the top button undone, revealing a little bit more of his chest. He looked serious, just as much preoccupied with looming at you as you were with looking at him. Which meant that it took both of you a moment to realise that he was holding a colourful bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Forgive my distraction,” he said, “You look stunning.” He held up the flowers, their scent floating between the two of you, “Here. For you.”

You were sure the smile on your lips could not get any brighter as you accepted them, your fingers brushing, “Thank you. Let me get them in some water. Wanna come inside?”

He hummed, following you into your tiny and cluttered apartment.

You tried not to look back at him and gauge his reactions. You liked to describe your apartment as cosy and homey and, yes, maybe a teeny tiny bit cramped. You had never been one for the minimalistic way of life and your apartment reflected that. There were pictures and books and trinkets everywhere, your fridge was covered in magnets from your travels and postcards from your friends and family.

It was no surprise, in hindsight, that Josh had not liked your place at all and he had not shied away to articulate that out loud. Several times, in fact, until you had just resigned yourself to the fact that you would stay over at his place and your souvenirs would have to live the rest of their lives in storage boxes.

But this was your home. It was you. Which is why it was more important than anything to you that Boba liked it.

Boba was too good a man to criticize your place openly, you knew that. But you still could not resist glancing at his broad form in the living room while you filled the vase with water.

“What do you think?” you asked, hoping to hide your nervous undertone when you set the vase down on your kitchen table. You could not wait to wake up each morning and be greeted with the sight of the flowers your favourite alpha had gotten for you.

“Feels like a home,” he said, running his fingers over a stack of books that had no space in the bookcase, “Feels like you.”

His words were soft-spoken and sincere and you watched as his gaze roamed over your apartment. The couch with the sunk-in cushions where you always sat, the mess of books and notepads and remotes on your coffee table, all pulled together by the singular scented candle you treated yourself to once in a while. The walls were covered with pictures and prints of your travels (or the places you wanted to travel to) and your friends and family peppered in between.

It did feel like you. And when he said it, it sounded like a compliment.

“Thank you, alpha.”

His head shot up and, in his eyes, you could see the thoughts he had. If calling someone omega was a love confession, what did it mean to him to be called alpha?

He crossed the few steps that were between you before he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you in for a kiss. It was soft and gentle and so full of love it made your heart swell. His scent was in your nose and the stubble on his jaw rubbed over your skin, making you want him even closer.

“Let’s go, omega,” he whispered against your mouth, “Or else we will be late and Paz will have my head.”

“If you say so,” you grinned, “Lead the way, alpha.”

Hours later, you still were not ready to say goodbye.

You had talked and flirted and laughed and eaten and now, Boba had driven you home, parking a few blocks away with the insistence that he should walk you home. You had accepted with a smile.

“So,” he started, casually walking alongside you, “How was it for a first date?”

You hummed, pretending to mull over your answer as if it weren’t incredibly obvious. The streetlights illuminated the sharp lines of his face, the profile of his nose, his full lips, and the twinkle in his eyes as he glanced at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“It could have been worse,” you teased him, “I don’t think it was the worst first date I have ever been on.”

Boba chuckled, coming to a stop in front of an entryway that looked like yours. Your heart fell at the thought of having to leave him. If it were up to you, this night could go on forever.

“Not the worst first date,” he quoted you, his grin lighting up his whole face, “I count that as a win. Besides,” he turned, facing you, “The most important thing is whether you would go out with me again. What do you think?”

“I would,” you murmured, entirely too fixated on how close he was and if you could get him to kiss you again, “Of course, I would, Boba.”

The silence between you two was comfortable but you could not feel like time was running away from you two. So you blurted out the first thing you could think of.

“Do you want to come up for a coffee?”

“You don’t drink coffee,” he reminded you with a little smile, “You told me that tonight, remember?”

“Oh,” you had forgotten about that, “You know I wasn’t really asking you up for a coffee, right?”

“Hm,” he said, stepping closer to you and you did not shy away. His eyes roamed over your form. His hands were still in his pockets and he was looming over you, his breath washing over your face. “You know there is nothing I would love more than to come up for … not coffee”, he winked and you smiled, “But this is our first date and I – I want to do this right and proper. So, no coffee tonight, little one.”

“Oh well,” you pouted, your hand reaching out to tug his hand out of his pocket. Boba smiled and followed your lead, his hands leaving his pockets and landing on your lower back, pulling you against him. “Your good night kiss will have to make up for that disappointment then.”

His nose brushed against yours and the familiar excitement built up again in your belly at the prospect of kissing him. “I guess I will have to work really hard for it,” he joked quietly before he closed the distance between you.

The kiss started soft and gentle, his mouth moving against yours, slowly coaxing you open. But it did not take long before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you. It did not take long before his tongue mingled with yours, his teeth brushing over your bottom lip and one of his hands wandering to your ass, slightly squeezing.

It was when the slightest of moans left your lips that he pulled away from you, your body instantly missing his touch.

“Dinner, then?” Boba asked, his breathing slightly laboured, “Next week?”

You did not make it to dinner.

And you hated yourself for it.

But whatever flu had caught you, it had caught you good and as you drafted the text to Boba, cancelling the dinner date you had spent the last week looking forward to, you felt like crying out of pure frustration. But there was no way you were able to leave your apartment today.

So you did the only thing you could. You planted yourself on the couch, curled up with a heated blanket and too many mugs of tea and set your timer to when you could take the next painkiller to keep the migraine at bay. You could not even focus on the old sitcom that you had put on in the background, instead just dozing on and off and trying to find a position that did not make every single muscle in your body ache.

It felt absolutely miserable.

A knock on your door got you up and you trudged to the door, hoping that it was just one of your neighbours with a package that got misdelivered. Stars knew you weren't up to anything else.

“Boba,” you mumbled, completely confused at the sight in front of you, “Did – did you not get my text?”

He stood in front of you, dressed in jeans and a shirt made from a material so soft, your fingers itched to touch it. “I did,” he confirmed, holding up a white plastic bag that smelled divine, “So I brought you some soup.”

That was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you.

You wanted to tell him that but somehow, your tongue refused to move and the words would not leave your mouth. You just stared at him, tears brimming in your eyes as you looked at this alpha who did not seem to be angry at you at all for ruining his plans.

“Will you let me come inside?” his voice was gentle and caring, “I can heat up the soup and make you some tea. And then I can get out of your hair and let you rest.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you found your voice again, happy that you managed to express at least this one thought, stepping aside to let him in, “Th-thank you for coming, alpha.”

You watched as he set the food down in the kitchen before coming into the living room, taking in the damage. The pity was clear in his eyes and you felt a little ashamed at him seeing you so out of control. Everything was a mess and there were used tissues lying everywhere, your laundry had not been done for a week and the dishes were piling up in your sink. Not to mention that you had not managed to gather the strength to take out the trash which was why your kitchen was currently a No Zone for you.

But none of that seemed to interest him.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?” he asked finally, his brows furrowed as he took in the haphazardly thrown blankets on the sofa.

You shrugged, tugging on your sleeves. You would have to change your shirt soon, the fabric felt unusually scratchy today and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. ”The bed feels cold,” you tried to explain, “And – and the pillows don’t sit right. And I’m too sick to – “

“Make a nest,” Boba realised, his eyes softening, “You’ve been needing a nest all this time, ‘mega?”

You nodded, avoiding his eyes and bracing yourself for the rejection that you would inevitably see in them. So far, Boba had proven different from Josh in every way, different from all the other alphas in every way. And while you knew that your brain was most probably playing tricks on you, you felt too miserable to stop the intrusive thoughts that tried to tell you that this would be the point where he realised that being with an omega – being with you – would be too much work.

“Do you want me to help?”

Your head shot up and you were unable to hide the surprise on your face. But the look on his face was sincere as he looked at you, expecting your answer.

This was one of those moments, you realized, where you could accept what the universe – Boba – offered you. Even if you had never experienced it before. Careful not to jostle your head too much, you nodded and made your way to your bedroom, hearing his footsteps behind you.

The curtains were still drawn but with how bright it was outside, one could still see the half-finish nest you had attempted to build on your bed. It just looked sad now, the twisted blanket and the pillows you had half-heartedly thrown on top of it.

But with Boba behind you, it just felt incomplete and you realized what you had been missing. “I – I want it a little bigger.”

“How much bigger?”

Big enough for you to join me.

But the words remained unspoken as you focused on pulling the blankets apart, getting a bigger circle shape to fill out the entire space your mattress offered. If you pulled it just this way, then you could have –

“Do you have some extra blankets I should get you?” Boba asked from where he had been standing on the opposite side of the bed, carefully copying your movements. You liked the look of his big hands touching the materials of your nest, colouring them in his scent. Maybe, if you were lucky, he would stay long enough that his scent lingered even after he left.

You nodded, pointing to the closet next to the door where you stashed your extra pillows and blankets. The kinds that were always freshly washed and soft enough that you endured them even in your heat. Now, you felt hot too, but in a sick kind of way and your head was thrumming with pain.

Deep down, you knew you should rest. You knew it would not be long until the dizziness set in or the itchiness of the fabric made you want to cry. But Boba was there and he had seen the mess and you did not – you swallowed harshly, your hands starting to tremble – you could not bear if he left now.

“Omega,” Boba rumbled upon his return, clearly having noticed your distress, and your hands stilled at the strict tone in his voice, “Let me take care of this.”

“Don’t want you to work,” you mumbled as you pushed the circle a little wider, “I promise I'm not that much work.” You looked up at him, your voice earnest and your eyes tearing up and you cursed yourself for how weak Josh had made you, how weak you felt at having to face the fact that Boba Fett meant more to you than you had wanted to admit.

His face fell at your words and you could feel the tears threatening to spill.

The blankets fell into the space of your nest, freshly washed and smiling of your favourite laundry detergent. But you could not focus on them now. Not when he made his way around the bed to you until he was right in front of you, the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Omega,” he whispered, his hands cupping your face. They felt cool against your skin and sighed in relief, your eyes closing, “You are sick, my omega,” he repeated, “You are not too much work. I want to help you. Please, lie down in your nest and let me help. Let me take care of you.”

You hesitated for a second, the demons in your head still whispering about whether or not he was telling the truth. But one look in his warm eyes and you knew he was and you knew you could trust him.

Boba only let go of you once you nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead before helping you straighten out the blankets. “Here is what we are going to do,” he said, his voice warm and gentle, “I will help you make the nest and then you will lie down and take a nap, okay?”

“And you?” you asked unsure, fluffing a pillow in the corner, already imagining yourself and Boba lying down right there.

“I will take care of a few things and then we will see what you need.”

His voice did not leave much room for protest and if you were honest with yourself, you did not want to protest either. Taking a nap in your nest sounded like a dream and having Boba close by? That was even better.

It did not take long after that before your nest truly looked like your nest. The blankets and pillows were arranged in a perfect circle, high enough for you to lean against them and your favourite blanket was folded inside, too, ready to cover you whenever you needed.

“I will leave you to it, omega,” Boba murmured, his hand gently running over your back before disappearing into the hallway.

Only after you heard him cluttering around somewhere, did you take off your leggings, feeling positive that he would not leave. After a bit of thinking, you took off your panties too. You changed into your sleep shirt, the one thing that felt soft against your skin and it was long enough to cover your ass, too. The only things you kept from your original outfit were the fuzzy socks. Just at first until you could feel the cold leave you.

Lying down in your nest was just as glorious as you had expected and you dozed off in no time. The little sounds from the depths of your apartment and the dimmed sunlight through your curtains paired with Boba’s lingering scent on your blankets resulted in your body feeling relaxed and pliant for the first time in three days.

You did not know how much time passed but by the time you opened your eyes again, you felt much better and Boba stood by your bed.

He carefully arranged the pillows around you, making sure they were as fluffy as possible and you smiled when his hands lingered on your shoulders. “Is that okay?” he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled, reaching your hand out for him, “Do – Will you join me?”

The large man smiled, his voice still careful as he pulled the curtains closed. “I would love to, omega, what's the dress code?”

“Shoes off,” you ordered with a weak smile, “And the shirt, too. And the belt.”

He hummed and you did not have to see him to know he was smiling. You watched with interest as his hands went to the bottom of his shirt, more and more tan skin revealed to you as he pulled it over his head. It was the first time you had seen him like this and your heart skipped a beat at the thought that maybe it would not be the last time.

“Like what you see?” he joked, his hands going to his belt and you bit your lip, your eyes not leaving his body as he crawled into bed next to you. He pulled a soft blanket from somewhere, covering you both with it and you sighed, shuffling closer to him.

The alpha’s arms went around you, holding you to him so you could tuck your face into his neck, breathing in his comforting scent and enjoying the sheer touch of him against you. While the silence between you felt comfortable and you found yourself thinking that you could stay like this forever, you also could not shake the little bit of nervousness at this new position you found yourself in.

“I have never shared my nest with anyone,” you confessed into the crook of his neck, “I – I don’t know if I am doing it right.”

“It feels right, doesn’t it?” he asked you gently, his hand holding the back of your neck firmly. You closed your eyes, giving you some relief from the strain behind your eyes. His finger started moving, gently and slowly massaging the back of your neck.

He was right. It did feel right.

“If it helps, it is my first time in an omega’s nest as well,” he replied and you hummed. “No, that’s a lie,” he added after a moment of silence, his hand movement never ceasing, “I was in my mother’s nest a few times when I was very little.”

“A few times?” you asked, remembering how you had spent entire weekends as a toddler with your parents in their nest.

“I have a lot of brothers,” he revealed, “Like a ridiculous amount, really. It was sometimes a fight to get in there, you know? Not that it made me feel any less loved.”

You smiled at the thought of a young Boba toddling around with his brothers in a big nest.

“It sounds nice,” you murmured, running your hand over his chest. You focussed on the warmth of his body, the way his skin felt under your fingertips and how you could feel his heartbeat.

“It is,” you could feel him nod, “Family reunions are a nightmare though. Pure chaos.”

Your laugh got stuck in your throat when his nose brushed over your neck. His breath washed over your scent gland and you could feel how your body attuned to him.

“This is nice, too,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to him. His nose on your scent gland sent warm shivers down your spine. It was calming and made you feel safe and cosy and like you could finally rest.

“It is,” he agreed quietly, turning your body so he was on his back and you were glued to his side, “Rest now, my omega, I got you.”

It was several days of rest until you finally could breathe through your nose again. But when the rest of the flu had dissipated and you felt like you could return to life as usual and Boba asked you out to the opera, you knew it would be even better than the date you had originally missed.

The older alpha took you out to dinner first. To a fancy restaurant by the water where the waitlist was several months long. So long, in fact, that you marvelled at how he managed to get a table there. As it turned out, the small restaurant in question was owned by his friend Paz, a giant of an alpha who came out of the kitchens with a huge grin and a promise to deliver you the best meal you ever had.

And just like Boba, Paz Vizsla was an alpha who kept his word. Paired with the most delicious wine you ever had, you were served a three-course pre-theatre dinner that had you humming with delight.

But the true highlight of the night was not the strawberry pistachio tarte or the seafood pasta, no. It was the man in front of you.

Boba’s eyes never left you. He held your chair for you and had his hand on yours whenever time allowed. He looked so handsome in his black suit with a dark grey dress shirt and you found your eyes straying to the first few undone buttons that granted you a look at his chest.

Stars, you were so done for.

“You look stunning,” he complimented you, “That has to be my favourite colour on you.”

It was a dark green silk dress that was clinging to your body “in all the right places” as your friends had assured you in the group chat. And hearing Boba thinking the same things made you happier than you could have imagined.

“And you look very put together, as always,” you teased him back, leaning forward and not missing the way his eyes flashed to your neckline. If only he knew …

Your alpha smiled at you, then, and leant back in his chair like it. You watched with bated breath as he held his thick hand up and started rolling up his sleeves, revealing his tanned forearm to you. First the one, then the other and then he dared to wink at you because he knew exactly what you were thinking.

And it was exactly these filthy thoughts that got you into the mess that followed.

Because Boba had a private boy. Of course, he did.

You felt like a princess when he led you up the carpeted stairs through the gorgeous old building to a little room that was reserved just for you. It was hard to look at the steps in front of you when you were so distracted by the painted ceilings, the stucco and the giant chandeliers that, just for a second, gave you the feeling of travelling back in time. But Boba’s hand was right there to steady you, his hand squeezing yours warmly when you heisted before.

The first thing you were greeted with was a set of fancy drinks – your favourite mocktail and a scotch that was older than both of you for Boba. Only then did you take in the room.

For some reason, you had thought that the door would lead immediately to your private seats for the show. Instead, you were standing in a little reception room, furnished with a plush couch and a minibar and looked far fancier than any hotel room you had ever stayed in.

Slow music was playing from a record player and if you listened carefully, you could hear the orchestra getting ready through the thick curtain. It was cosy and private and made you feel like you were far away from everyone and everything.

You sat down on the couch, sinking into the fabric with a laugh and Boba joined you. Sitting next to you, with his legs spread and leaning back against the couch with one hand still holding his scotch, he was the picture of sex appeal. Everything about him made you hyper-aware of the arousal simmering in your core.

“What are you thinking about, little omega?” he rumbled, taking a sip of the amber liquid. You watched his throat move and swallowed with him, wanting to press your lips to his Adam's apple.

“Nothing,” you whispered, slowly leaning forward. Your heart was pounding in your chest, “Just that you haven’t kissed me yet.”

The glass of scotch landed on the side table with a clank and he turned towards you, his eyes intense. “We can't have that,” he stated, a small smile on his lips, “C’mere, love, let me remedy my mistake.”

You don’t know who moved faster but his warm hand cupped the side of your face the moment your lips met his. He tasted of scotch and something uniquely him that had you opening your mouth for his tongue.

Desire overcame you and in no time, his hand on your hip held you steady as you climbed on top of him, your knees settling on the couch on either side of his lap as you tried to get as close as possible. He was warm and solid and you just wanted – you needed – to feel him.

The fire in your core was fuelled by the low groans that left his mouth and when your hips stuttered against his and you could feel him hard against you, you wished you were anywhere else but the opera. Maybe your bedroom. Or his bedroom. Anywhere with a bed, really.

You were completely out of breath when you pulled apart. Boba had a lazy smirk on his face, his free hand trailing slowly over your neckline. He ran his finger over the silk of your dress, right over your tit, circling where you needed him most and sure enough you could feel and see your nipple pebble through the thin fabric.

“Tell me,” he rumbled, “What did you think would happen when I realised that you were not wearing a bra and that you are this close,” he hooked a single finger into the neckline, gently pulling the fabric down your skin until your chest was free to the cool air, “to showing me your pretty tits?”

“I wanted to look pretty,” you mumbled, your ears hot at him knowing how bare you were beneath this dress. You had never done anything like this but Boba – Boba brought it out in you. It made you feel a little dirty in the best way and you knew you had Boba to thank for it.

“That’s one way to say you’d like to skip straight to dessert,” he teased you and you could not help your smile. The tension did not falter though and neither did the movement of his finger circling your nipple but not quite touching it.

You wriggled your hips, trying to get closer to him.

The groan that left him had your pussy weeping.

“How long did you know?” you asked shyly, arching your back so he could touch you freely.

“When you bent over at dinner,” he revealed, his thumb finally brushing directly over your nipple, bringing it to a peak. The feather-light touch was repeated on the other side as well. “Had me rock hard in an instant, princess. I had half a mind to sit you in my lap right there so no one can see how I would bury my cock in your sweet pussy.”

“Alpha,” you breathed. His fingers tightened on your nipples and you squeaked when he gently pulled, the mixture of pain and pleasure making you whine.

“Performance doesn’t start in the next 30 minutes,” he rumbled, his mouth closing over one east and you gasped, “How about we get you out of this pretty dress and I make you come?”

“Boba!” you gasped, “You – We – we are in the opera.”

“That we are,” he agreed, lightly biting the underside of your breast.

“You – you don’t mind?”

“Omega,” he said softly, standing up and pulling you with him until you were standing in the middle of the room, “I have you half-naked in my lap, ready for me to devour you. I don’t mind where we are as long as no one sees how pretty you look for me. So what do you say?”

You did not say anything but you shimmied your shoulders until the dress fell down your torso. Boba’s hands were big and warm on your back as he helped it along the rest of your body. The silk fell from your body in a whisper and just like that, you stood in front of him completely bare, in a private room in the opera.

Stars, you never would have thought to do something like this. And Boba Fett still looked at you like you were the most beautiful sight in the entire world.

“Stunning,” he stated, his dark eyes running over your body. He sat down on the couch again and patted his thighs. You stepped closer, feeling strangely secure and forward – completely bare for this man who made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“It’s unfair, though,” you pouted as you ran your fingers over the buttons of his shirt, “You are still fully dressed.”

“Hm, let me enjoy it for now,” he smiled, pulling you against him, his hands immediately finding their way to the soft flesh of your ass, “I want to pay attention to all of this,” he squeezed your ass, “before I get distracted by your touch.”

His words turned you on more than you wanted to admit and so instead, you only squirmed in his grasp.

“Straddle me,” he instructed, relaxing against the couch as you followed his order, “Keep the heels on.”

The feeling of your bare skin against the fabric of his suit was surprisingly erotic and your pussy clenched at the proximity to him. He was warm and strong beneath you, letting you rest your weight on his thighs and the couch.

“I want you to feel how hard I am,” he explained, pushing your hips down on him and your eyes flew open at the bulge you felt pressing against your core. He felt … big. “And then I want you to tell me how you want to come tonight.”

You swallowed heavily, gathering the courage to reciprocate the honesty he was giving you. “On your cock, alpha,” the words felt strange on your tongue, never having been one for dirty talk, but the flint in his eyes made it worth it, “I want to come on your cock.”

He chuckled. “I'm afraid that’s not an option, omega. We are in public after all,” he winked, his hand wandering down your cheek and body until his fingers brushed against your folds. You were already soaking wet and you closed your eyes, grinding your hips against him, “You can have my fingers or my mouth.”

His middle finger ran through your wetness before his fingers twitched and he pushed one inside you to the first knuckle. You breathed in sharply, his touch causing everything in your body to stir.

“This okay?” he asked you, his voice rough like sandpaper, “Does my finger in your pretty cunt feel good?”

“Yes,” you nodded eagerly, gasping when his mouth closed over your nipple again, “It feels really good, alpha.”

“Good,” he rumbled, finger moving carefully deeper inside you before pulling out again. With his other hand still kneading your ass, he grinned, “Would you like me to add another finger?”

A whine escaped you at his slow pace. He really wanted to make you work for it.

“That is not an answer,” he mocked, looking up at you. You kissed him again, enjoying the way his stubble rubbed over your jaw and his tongue playing with yours, “Do you want my fingers in your pussy? Yes or no?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “Please, alpha, let me come on your cock.”

“Fuck, you're filthy,” he cursed, his hand landing on your ass in a slap, “Who knew my pretty omega could talk this dirty?”

His praise made your cheeks heat up but it did not keep you from moving your hips again. This time, you could feel the tip of him catching against your clit and a thousand nerve endings tingled. Your eyes fluttered with desire and you did it again.

And again.

Until Boba made you stop with a strong hand against your back.

“Lean against me,” he ordered, “Go on, your chest against mine.”

Following his instructions, you fully rested against him and used the position to your advantage by plating your mouth on his scent gland. It was the first time you properly tasted him – all pinewood and smoked – and it clouded your mind instantly. All you could and wanted to do was follow whatever Boba said.

“Spread your legs,” you did, “Wider, omega.”

You whimpered against him but still spread your legs as wide as they would go. It opened you up to him but instead of slipping his hand between your bodies, his fingers brushed down your back to your ass, until –

“Relax,” he murmured, his fingers only barely brushing over the crack of your ass, “I am not here for that now. Soon, though.”

You could feel his finger slowly pushing inside you, its way eased by the wetness coating your thighs and walls. Your eyes widened, completely locked in by his gaze as you felt him slowly thrust his finger in and out of your pussy.

“Want you grinding against my cock while I finger you,” he explained, voice rough, “You deserve to come, pretty omega.”

He pushed his finger, so much thicker than yours, back in again and you could feel your walls flutter. By the way Boba’s eyes darkened, he had felt it too. Soon, he added a second one, thoroughly stretching you until you were helplessly humping against him.

The sight of you must have been filthy. This older, completely dressed man with an undressed omega on top of him grinding herself against his cock and panting against his scent gland. It turned you on even more and when you licked a stripe up his neck, he groaned too, his hips rocking up against yours and paired with his fingers inside you, you were already so close to coming.

But it was not what you wanted.

“I want your cock,” you pouted, rocking against him. He was heavy and hot and your pussy was throbbing for him, “Don’t make me wait, Boba, please.”

The hand on your ass travelled to your jaw, tilting your head until he could kiss you. “You beg so prettily for me,” he murmured, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip, “You almost have me reconsidering.”

Spurred on by his words, you pushed your hips back against his fingers, having them go deeper. Trying to keep from gasping, you bit your lip until it hurt.

“Please, alpha,” you breathed, doing your best to put on your most seductive voice, “Please alpha, I want to feel your cock so badly, I – I just know it is going to feel so good, p-please. I need it. I need it so bad.”

He did not reply for a while, simply adding a third finger that had your walls flexing around him. That should have been the sign of your victory but you were too busy grinding your clit against his covered shaft to really register it.

“I am nothing if not generous,” he teased you, his mouth pressing hot kisses to your scent gland, “But I will not knot you. I will only let you sit on my cock and fill you with my come. But I will not knot you. Not yet.“

You could live with that.

He spread you out on the couch before resting over you and it was that moment that you remembered that all that was separating you from hundreds of people were the thick velvet curtains. He seemed to know that too.

“Stay quiet, little one,” he warned you but the devious smile on his lips made you feel like he wouldn’t mind at all if everyone knew what was about to happen. And that just made you feel even hotter.

The sight of him undoing his belt alone was enough to cause another rush of wetness down your thighs and you spread your legs of your own accord, wanting to give him the view he was giving you. Because seeing his cock, big and heavy, had your pussy clenching. There was a bead of precome on the tip that you desperately wanted to taste and when his hands wrapped around his shaft, giving himself a few strokes, it was all you could do not to beg.

But Boba had plans. “One foot on the floor,” he ordered you and you did as you were told. He pushed your opposite leg on the backrest of the couch, effectively spreading you even further and felt a little ashamed, being so exposed to him.

His strong hand continued to pump his cock while he looked at your pussy like he wanted to devour you.

“Alpha,” you whined, growing restless, “Please …”

“We got to be quick, little omega,” he warned you, “We have a show to catch, after all.”

Despite his warning, he pushed inside you slowly, letting you get used to his size. You had known it would be a tight fit from just seeing him but the feeling of the tip alone breaching your walls had your breath catching in your throat. Boba noticed, of course, and his thrust remained shallow until you could finally relax.

“Good girl,” he praised you, “Can feel you opening up for me. You’re all quiet now, hm? All you wanted was that big fat cock fully in your pussy, hm?”

You nodded eagerly, his words making your cheeks flush. His body, still dressed, moved above yours expertly while you hardly knew what to do with yourself. You felt full and pleasured and he wasn’t even fully inside you yet. All you could do was run your hands over his body, grabbing his shoulders, brushing your fingertips over his scent gland and then to the back of his head, pulling him down for a kiss.

Boba, meanwhile … Boba was a rock. He was confident, calm and in control. All the C-words, really. Cocky too, judging by the smirk on his face as he bent down to kiss you again.

“Tell me,” he encouraged you, “How are you feeling with my cock inside you, princess?”

“Full,” you breathed, “So full, alpha. It’s – are you –“

He looked down, his finger circling your clit, making your clench around his firth. “Not even halfway, little one,” he stated and you took a deep breath, “I’m gonna fit in this tight little pussy, no worries.” He continued to circle your clit and you hummed, feeling your walls stretch around him.

“There we go,” he encouraged you, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “There’s my good girl. So gorgeous for me, feel so good around my cock. Tell me, does it feel good for you too?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded eagerly, trying to shift your hips to get closer but Boba pinned you down with his body weight, shoving the rest of him inside you in the process. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the moan that wanted to break free. His weight on top of you was comforting. You wanted him to have this control over you, having to worry about nothing but enjoying yourself.

“I am the one who moves around here,” he chastised you, fully thrusting inside you again and brushing a spot that made you shiver, “Trust me, omega. Let me take care of you. You just lie here and take it.”

And take it you did.

“Faster, please,” you whispered, “Just a little – oh!”

He adjusted his pace perfectly like he knew exactly what you needed. The size of him inside you made you see stars and you felt dizzy with pleasure. When he angled his hips just so, his cock met that spot again and again until your eyes fell back and your mouth fell open. Thick fingers wrapped around your neck, just under your jaw and you could feel his breath on your skin.

Your toes started tingling and soon the sensation ran through all your muscles until you were spasming around him in the strongest orgasm you had ever felt. Everything felt heightened and with how you were clenching around him, he felt even bigger than he already was.

“Fuck,” Boba cursed into your neck, his hips stuttering, “You are so fucking pretty, omega. Can’t wait to fill you up like you deserve, full of my cock and my come. Gonna do this every day, princess, so you remember who you belong to, hm?”

Gasping for breath, your heart still racing in your chest, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “Alpha, I –“

“I know, princess,” he groaned quietly, his hips stilling, “I know.”

His cock was so deep inside you, you never wanted him to leave. You wanted to remain like this forever. He came inside you and you could feel it, the strange sensation of him filling you up with what felt like a lot of come, a guaranteed mess between your thighs.

Still, you had never felt as connected with anyone as with Boba at this moment, his clothed body pressing against yours, his breath slowing against your neck.

“Stars,” you whispered, blinking the sudden tears away.

Boba kissed you softly, his rough hands running over every inch of bare skin. His weight on you was comforting and the way he caged you in made you feel oddly small and safe. He pulled out of you, slowly, and you winced when his come trickled down your tights as soon as he left you.

You watched as he reached for some tissues, gently cleaning you up. He remained silent but gentle, his fingertips brushed carefully over your inner thighs and your already swollen folds.

“How do you feel?”

“Fucked,” you breathed out. Both of you chuckled but the sight of him pocketing your panties had you grow quiet. “Don’t mind if I keep these,” he rumbled, his hands helping you stand before smoothing your dress down your legs, “Want to keep a souvenir of when I filled you up the first time.”

You were completely breathless again and it did not help that you could still feel him inside you. “Thank you,”

“For what, omega?”

You stepped closer to him, planting your hands on his chest. His heart was beating just as hard as yours and you could not wait to later peel the shirt off him and feel his body heat against yours. For now, though, you just pressed a kiss to his neck. “For taking care of me,” you explained, “For making me come,” you kissed his jaw, “For fucking me so good,” you whispered before kissing him softly, “For coming inside me.”

His hands went to your waist, holding you closer and allowing him to prolong the kiss. He was growling when you pulled away and it was easy to admit that he already had a hold on your heart and pussy. But it was your turn to tease now.

“C’mon,” you grinned, “Didn’t you say we had a show to catch?”

Boba grinned, eyes twinkling as he pulled back the curtains for you. “You're gonna be the death of me, little one.”

Fortunately, you were not the death of him, though he did like to continue the joke weeks (if not months) into your relationship.

Being with Boba was like stepping out into the daylight after the movies. It was strange at first, getting used to the fact that he was so openly in love with you. That he was not afraid to embrace you being an omega. It led to a few misunderstandings and more than a few serious talks in which you came to the realization that your dating history had impacted you more than just a little.

But Boba was not about to leave you because you were an omega and he was not about about to leave you because you were too high-maintenance.

It took a bit of time and a few in-depth conversations with your friends but soon enough you learnt that you were lovable, omega and all. And Boba was the exact right person to love you.

Your first heat together was better than anything you had ever imagined. He had noticed it before even you had, showing up at your door with takeaway food from Paz’s place, flowers and a bag of his worn shirts. That and his “I took the next few days off, princess, let’s get your nest ready” came just a few hours before you noticed the cramping in your belly.

By the time your heat properly hit, you were already buried in the softness of your nest, cuddled against your alpha’s chest as you watched your favourite movies. You spent three days holed up with him in your apartment, taken care of in every single way from him scenting you to arranging the nicest fruit platter to sitting you on his knot until you cried, whispered the sweetest nothings in your ear.

It was the happiest you had ever been and for the first time in a long time, you were confident that this happiness would remain because Boba gave you every indication that it would remain.

Like when he suggested one winter evening that your flowers would bloom nicely in his garden come springtime or when he took you to the hardware store, getting all the tools to hang your pictures in his – your – home. Or how careful he was to help you pack up all your stuff, making sure everything stayed secure and safe as you made the move from your small apartment into his house that became yours.

Or that time he surprised you with the Merino wool throw blanket for your nest when you complained one December evening that the only thing that could keep you warm was him.

The one moment where it all came full circle though, was when he decided to host his team for another summer BBQ. You already had a ring on that finger (a ring he had put there after an especially romantic evening at Paz’s restaurant) and his house now truly reflected the both of you living there, but the prospect of seeing the man who had triggered it all still made you a little bit nervous.

It was hard to believe that only a year ago, you had tried to avoid Boba and the feelings he caused in you at all costs. And now you were engaged to him and could not imagine your life any other way.

A few guests were already mingling in the garden when you put out the last of the cutlery. Boba followed close behind, carrying the cooler out of the garage.

“Ready?” you asked, smoothing your hands over your yellow sundress. The hem was hitting mid-calf and you loved the little twirl it did. What you loved even more was the way your alpha had buried his head under that dress only a few hours ago.

“Ready,” he confirmed with mirth in his eyes. It would not surprise you if he knew exactly where your mind had been.

A wave of new guests arrived in the garden and you stiffened when you recognized one familiar face. And he recognized you.

“Hey,” Josh greeted you, his voice just as grating as you remembered, “I didn’t know you would be here.”

He did not try to hug you for which you were grateful but he also did not leave. You really wanted him to leave.

“Hi,” you forced yourself to smile, highly aware of Boba standing right next to you. His hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting as you faced the man who once called himself your perfect match.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, but, uh,” Josh looked to Boba, questioningly, “Why are you here, exactly?”

You wanted to scoff, you really did. But your body was tight with nerves and you did not like the eyes of the other guests on you. But you should have known that Boba would take care of you. He always did.

“C’mere, omega,” your alpha mumbled with a soft smile and your heart skipped a beat as his fingers gripped your chin and pulled you to him. And then he kissed you in front of everyone. Just a slow peck, nothing more, but you could not help but sigh against him, your hand landing on his warm chest.

He hummed, his scent surrounding you even in the open air and when he pulled away, you were both smiling. Pinewood and smoke were your favourite scents in the world.

Everybody was smiling, really, except for one.

“Do you wanna explain yourself?” Josh demanded, for the first time sounding displeased.

“I don’t think there is anything to explain,” you replied coolly, your hand still on Boba’s chest, smiling at the man in front of you. The diamond on your ring caught the sunlight but it was nothing against the blinding smile on Boba’s face.

Boba, who paid just as little attention to Josh as you, his eyes never leaving yours as he raised his hand to your face. “What can I say,” he grinned, his thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek, “She found her perfect match.”

#maybege writes #boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #smut

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