#hint it is in the last paragraph | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kannady · 1 month ago

Text

rendezvous

summary: sylus has realised he's real, but everything around him isn't. but what happens when he decides to kidnap you from the real world?

a/n: ok! so contrary to my expectation, this week wasnt bad at all, just super tiring. i had no time to read anything let alone write. but i have a couple days off so hopefully ill finish this one. also this lovely idea from @tofufairy was just too good to only write as a oneshot. ill write it in two long ass parts. lemme know your thoughts!

word count: 6k

genre: sylus, love and deepspace, sexual tensions. slight stalking.

read part two here!

Sylus wiped grease from his knuckles with a ragged cloth, squinting at the bike’s engine like it had personally offended him. The bike wasn’t even broken, he just needed something to do with his hands, something to keep the silence at bay. The garage was quiet except for the occasional plink of a loose bolt hitting concrete and the distant hum of traffic. Then, footsteps. Light, almost skipping.

He didn’t look up until she was right beside him, her shadow stretching across his toolbox.

“Hey!” she said, voice bright enough to make his teeth ache. “Nice bike. Vintage, right?”

Sylus clenched his jaw. Don’t engage. She’ll leave if you don’t engage. He grunted, flicking a speck of rust off the carburetor.

She didn’t take the hint. Leaning in, she tapped the fuel tank like they were old friends. “My neighbour used to have one just like this. Well, almost like this. His was blue, and the seat had this weird tear-”

“Mhm.” Sylus reached for a wrench, deliberately turning his back.

“-oh, you’re so right, it’s totally going to rain later-”

Sylus stared.

Her voice twisted, warped. The words melted together like a shrill. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once. He knew this feeling. The one that came after the anger, when the fire burned out and left nothing but ashes.

Alone.

Even when she was here, screaming at nothing, he was alone.

She kept talking. About the weather. About some café down the street. About nothing, really. He tuned it out, focusing on tightening a bolt until his fingers hurt.

Finally, he stood, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. He didn’t bother with a goodbye, just walked toward the garage door, her voice still bouncing off the concrete walls behind him.

Then it hit him. The talking hadn’t stopped.

He glanced back.

She was still there, grinning at the empty space where he’d been standing, gesturing animatedly to no one. Her laughter echoed, high and bright, as if he’d never left.

Sylus exhaled through his nose. Not real. Again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Somewhere behind him, she was still laughing. Somewhere inside him, the silence was worse. (a/n: cue play last of us intro)

***

The clock glared at you from the corner of the screen. 11:47 PM.

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes.

Your fingers hammered the keyboard like it had personally wronged you. The essay was done, mostly, but the last paragraph was a wreck of half-formed thoughts and caffeine-induced word vomit. You backspaced violently, teeth sinking into your lower lip. “Come on, come on.”

Your roommate’s cat, a judgmental ball of fur called Binx, hopped onto the desk and sat on your notes.

“Not now,” you hissed, nudging him away. Binx flicked his tail in your face and settled just out of arm’s reach, watching you suffer with unblinking yellow eyes.

11:53.

You skimmed the essay one last time, your vision blurring from screen fatigue. Was that a typo? Did you mix up “affect” and “effect” again? The words swam on the screen, morphing into meaningless shapes.

Good enough. With a shaky breath, you hit Submit.

The page loaded with agonizing slowness.

11:58.

Your knee bounced under the desk. The cursor spun. Spin, spin, spin.

Submitted successfully!

The clock ticked over to 11:59.

You made a sound between a sob and a laugh, slumping back in your chair. The tension drained from your shoulders all at once, leaving you boneless. For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your heartbeat finally slowing. The desk lamp cast long shadows, the room suddenly too bright, too quiet.

Binx meowed, unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, but there was no heat in it. The relief was too sweet.

You got out of the chair, your muscles protesting like you’d run a marathon instead of typing. The shower beckoned you. Hot, steamy, glorious. You turned the water up until it nearly scalded, letting it pound the stress from your back. The shampoo smelled like coconuts, the steam fogging up the mirror until your reflection vanished. For the first time in weeks, you could finally breathe.

After, you slipped into your favorite slip dress. The oversized lavender one that pooled around your thighs. Your skin still hummed with the warmth of the shower, hair dripping lazily onto your shoulders.

Then, the real reward.

You snatched your phone off the charger, thumb hovering over the app you hadn’t opened in weeks. Love & Deepspace, the game you’d been too buried in assignments to touch. Just the icon made your pulse skip. The opening theme swelled as it loaded, the familiar melody wrapping around you.

“Please don’t crash. Please don’t-”

The home screen loaded, vibrant and welcoming. A rush of warmth flooded your chest. God, you’d missed this. Missed the pixel-perfect smiles of your favorite characters, the cheesy dialogues, the way your stomach fluttered during the romance scenes. It was stupid. It was perfect.

You curled onto your bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin. Binx settled beside you, purring.

For the first time in forever, you grinned.

“Alright, boys,” she whispered to the screen. “Let’s fall in love.”

You blinked at the screen, waiting.

The Destiny Café’s afternoon glow bathed everything in honeyed light. Cozy, inviting, but wrong. Because he wasn’t there.

Sylus should have been front and center, seated on the couch with that infuriating smirk, his silver-white hair catching the light like frost under the sun. His crimson eyes like blood spilled over fresh snow, should have been locked onto the screen, onto you, with that knowing glint that always made your stomach flip.

But the space where he usually stood was empty. Just an untouched coffee cup and the faint imprint of where his hip would have rested on the couch.

Your finger hovered over the screen.

What the hell?

You switched to Rafayel. He appeared instantly, greeting you with a soft smile. Then Zayne, Xavier, Caleb. All were present. Exactly as they should’ve been. But Sylus?

Gone.

You reloaded. Same empty café. Same hollow silence where his voice should have been.

A weird, creeping unease settled in your chest. This wasn’t right. Sylus wasn’t some side character. He was Sylus, the one who always greeted you, made you laugh but did, the one whose rare, genuine smile felt like a secret just for you.

You clicked the “Date” option. His name was still there. But his icon was grayed out, as if you’d never unlocked him. But you had. You knew you had. You remembered the grind, the late nights, the way your heart jumped when his story finally unfolded. You remembered the exact shade of his eyes. His sly remarks.

And now?

Now it was just… nothing.

The game hummed on, oblivious. The other characters chatted, flirted, existed like nothing was wrong.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was.

Where the hell was Sylus?

You switched characters again, as if he'd magically appear this time. But no. His spot remained empty. No silver-white hair catching the light, no crimson eyes glinting with amusement. Just emptiness.

Frustration settled under your skin. You exited the game, force-closed it, reopened it. Same empty café. Same missing man.

“Okay, maybe it’s just a bug.”

You hopped onto Reddit, scrolling through forums, searching for anything about Sylus missing. But there was nothing. No posts, no complaints, no panicked "Where's Sylus??" threads. Just the usual chatter. Fan theories, event guides, thirst edits about the other guys.

Your stomach twisted.

Why was no one else talking about this?

You checked the official website. No mention of him being removed. No maintenance notices. It was like the universe had decided to gaslight you.

What was the point of playing if he wasn't here?

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 2:43 AM. You were too tired for this. Maybe it was just a weird glitch. Maybe tomorrow, when you logged back in, he'd be there like nothing had happened.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone onto the nightstand, flicked off the light, and yanked the covers over your head.

***

You were jolted awake by a sudden, unnatural sensation. Not by any sound or dream, but by the distinct feeling of movement while lying completely still. Your eyes flew open to complete darkness, but this wasn't the familiar comforting dark of your bedroom. The air felt charged.

You rubbed your eyes and felt yourself lifting, floating, as if gravity had momentarily forgotten you existed. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you were actually hovering, weightless. Before panic could fully take hold, you sensed a presence beside you, touching you. The heat from his body searing through his clothes, enveloping you. Did someone kidnap you?

Slowly, almost afraid of what you might see, you turned your head.

And there, carrying you bridal style, was Sylus. Not as pixels on a screen, but as a living, breathing being. His silver-white hair seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting off fresh snow. Those crimson eyes, the ones you'd have known anywhere, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart pound violently against your chest.

"You noticed," he murmured, his voice deeper and richer than you'd ever imagined, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The scent of winter air and something faintly metallic, like cold steel, surrounded him. Every rational thought screamed that this couldn't be real, that you had to be dreaming, but the warmth of his breath against your skin felt terrifyingly real.

He smirked, that same infuriatingly perfect smirk you'd seen a hundred times on your phone screen, but now it was directed at you in a way that made your stomach flip. In this impossible moment, only one thought rang clear in your overwhelmed mind. He was real, he was here, and nothing would ever be the same again.

How the hell was he here and not in the game? But he wasn’t actually here, right? You were probably just dreaming. A dream that felt dangerously real. That had your heartbeat accelerating, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright, your palms clammy, and your thoughts all mushed up.

In that moment, you could think of nothing else but to do the only sane thing. The one thing any normal person would do. You screamed. Maybe Sylus wasn’t expecting that. He stopped in his tracks and just for a faint second, you noticed his eyes widen. Your scream tore through the night air. Before the second shriek could escape, Sylus' gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

The leather smelled faintly of gun oil and winter mint, an unsettlingly human detail for someone who shouldn't exist.

"Easy there, little kitten," he murmured, crimson eyes glinting with amusement under the moonlight. "We're in the N109 Zone. Do you really want an audience here?"

His thumb brushed your cheekbone almost tenderly as he said it, lingering for just a moment longer, making your pulse stutter.

The scream died in your throat as his words registered. N109 Zone. You'd seen it in the game before. You remembered what almost happened to the MC when she first came here. Your wide eyes darted past Sylus' shoulder, finally taking in your surroundings properly.

Moonlight bled through the trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The air hummed with something electric, raising goosebumps along your arms. You looked ahead to where Sylus was walking, still holding you swiftly like you weighed nothing. It was a glorious mansion adorned with intricate details, sculptures, gardens punctuated with red roses.

Sylus followed your gaze. "Ah. You've noticed our destination." His hand slid from your mouth and he stopped just for a moment to let you down. "Walk with me. Questions can wait until I’ve safely escorted you inside."

Every survival instinct screamed to wrench away, but the rational part of your brain knew escape would be futile. This was Sylus, after all. Dream or not.

You found yourself matching his strides as he led you toward the glowing mansion, your bare feet sinking into unnaturally warm moss with each step.

The night was still young. Your slip dress that had once been perfectly comfortable in your bedroom, now felt flimsy as a tissue paper.

"You're shaking," Sylus observed without breaking stride. His thumb stroked your pulse point, where your heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird. "Don't tell me you only like me from behind a screen."

“I do like you. But you’re not even real.” You managed to speak without stuttering, although you knew he sensed the nervousness in your voice anyway.

“Or am I, sweetie?”

"I like fictional characters who stay fictional," you snapped, then immediately regretted it when his fingers tightened fractionally.

Sylus laughed, a rich, unsettling sound that didn't quite reach those blood-bright eyes. "Oh, darling. If only you knew how fictional your world seems from here."

The mansion loomed closer, its glowing arches humming. Something in that sound made your teeth ache. Sylus' grip shifted to your elbow as you approached the massive doors, his breath warm against your ear. "Deep breaths now. I wouldn’t want my guest to panic. What kind of host would that make me?"

You locked eyes with him. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite discern. This dreaming was driving you crazy.

As the doors swung open silently, revealing a cavernous hall pulsing with strange light, you realized with dawning horror that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just some bizarre dream. The game had never shown this place. Never warned about any of this.

And the man beside you, the one whose smirk had once made your stomach flutter, now felt about as safe as a live wire in a thunderstorm.

Your breath caught as you took in the grand hall, its vaulted ceilings stretching endlessly. The air hummed with a faint warmth, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something richer, like smoldering embers and black tea. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, their swirling patterns shifting subtly under the glow of floating orbs of light that drifted lazily through the space.

This place shouldn't have existed.

You'd spent hours in Love & Deepspace, memorizing every pixel of Sylus' world, or so you'd thought. But this? This had never been in the game.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus chuckled low beside you. "The game only showed the places I wanted it to."

You tore your gaze from the opulent decor to glance at him, but he was already looking away, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the faintest curve of his lips, smug, satisfied. Like he was enjoying your bewilderment.

Before you could retort, he stepped forward, extending a gloved hand toward you. "Come." It wasn't a request.

You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides. Every rational instinct screamed that you shouldn't take it, that you should demand answers, find a way back, run. But curiosity was a traitorous thing.

You placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm, and suddenly, you were moving.

He guided you through the mansion with quiet precision, his grip on your hand unyielding as you moved through rooms that felt too expansive, too real to belong to any game. The air smelled of polished wood and gun oil. The walls were lined with sleek display cases, holding meticulously maintained firearms. Some modern, some antique.

A long hallway opened into what looked like an armory, racks of rifles and handguns. You recognized some from the game. The sleek, futuristic designs that had always appeared when you fought alongside Sylus. But others were unfamiliar, their edges worn from use. You paused beside a case holding a silver revolver. “This wasn’t in the game,” you murmured.

Sylus hummed, stepping closer. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached past you to tap the glass. “No. Some things are just for me.” His voice was low, intimate.

The next chamber was a training area. mats covering the floor, a shooting range tucked behind soundproof glass. A half-dismantled rifle lay on a workbench, its parts spread out.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Yes, Sylus was your most favourite fictional man. He was just your type. You’d spent hours reading his fanfictions, replaying his memories. Watching his fanarts. But this? This was incomprehensible. You were torn between the thoughts whether this was dangerous or exciting, whether you were dead or dreaming?

You turned to him, your pulse quickening. “Is this real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or am I inside the game?”

Sylus studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached out and caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, you felt the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

“Does it matter?” he murmured.

Your fingers curled slightly against him, warmth seeping through the material. It was too real, the heat of his skin, the faint scent of leather and something darker, like black coffee. The game never felt this real. It felt, well, just like a game.

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with that same infuriating smirk. “You wanted answers,” he said. “But you haven’t asked the right question yet.”

You swallowed. “Then what’s the right question?”

Sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. “Not where you are,” he said. “But why you’re here.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he straightened and tugged you forward again. “Come. I want to show you something.”

And despite the unease coiling in your stomach, you followed.

The heavy oak door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a library so vast it made your breath hitch. Towering mahogany shelves stretched toward the ceiling, their upper levels vanishing into darkness. Rolling ladders stood along the walls. The scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapped around you, rich and comforting.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers already itching to touch the spines. "This is..." Words failed you as your gaze traveled up, up, up the endless shelves.

"Excessive?" Sylus offered, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned against the doorframe, watching your reaction with those piercing crimson eyes. "Or perhaps just adequate."

You turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Adequate for what? Collecting every book ever printed?"

His lips quirked in that infuriating half-smile. "For you."

"For... me?" Your hand froze halfway to pulling out a volume of what appeared to be 18th century botanical illustrations.

"You like books." He pushed off the doorframe and strode toward you, his boots silent on the thick rug. "I noticed. When you wouldn’t log in to finish a book you’d just bought. When you'd pause the game just to squint at some background text."

Heat crept up your neck. You hadn't realized he'd been paying that much attention. How could you? Until now you didn’t know he was real. Although you still weren’t entirely sure. "So you... what? Built me a library?"

"Some of these don't exist in your world. First editions of books that were never published. Manuscripts that were lost to war or censorship." His gloved fingers brushed a bookspine. "Thought you might appreciate holding what others never got to read."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. This wasn't just some game logic, this was thoughtful in a way that unsettled you. "But why go to all this trouble?"

Sylus tilted his head, considering you. "Why does a hunter maintain his weapons? Why does a scholar preserve his texts?" He reached past you to pull out a slender volume bound in deep blue leather. "We care for the things that matter."

That matter? Did you matter to him? So much to have him build you an entire library.

The book pressed into your hands felt strangely warm. You opened it carefully to find handwritten pages in a language you didn't recognize.

When you looked up, Sylus was watching you with an expression you couldn't decipher. "This is impossible," you whispered.

"Yet here you are."

Sylus watched you trail your fingers along the book spines, his gaze darkening as you bit your lip in concentration. When you pulled out a volume, his shadow fell over you, close enough that his breath stirred your hair.

“Find something interesting?” he murmured.

You turned too fast and suddenly you were chest-to-chest with him. The heat of his body seeped through your clothes. His eyes dropped to your parted lips.

“I-uh.” Your voice cracked. His smirk deepened. Ugh! How is he sexier in person?

He reached past you to rplace back the book, his arm caging you in, the scent of leather, gunpowder and black coffee wrapping around you. “Take your time, sweetie. I’ll always be right here.”

You had no idea how much time you spent immersed in the books, how long Sylus kept looking at you. As you put back a leather-bound book onto the shelf, you heard a soft ruffle a fabric as he stepped closer. “Not interesting?”

“Overwhelming?”

“Do you want to see your room, sweetie?”

“My room?”

He lead you through many different halls and up a long flight of stairs. The door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a bedroom that stole the breath from your lungs. Soft blush-pink walls glowed in the golden light of crystal sconces. White curtains fluttering gently in the breeze from the open doors that led to a private balcony.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers brushing against the plush velvet pillows in shades of ballet slipper pink and creamy ivory. Each one was embroidered with tiny floral details. On the nightstand sat a collection of porcelain trinket boxes, one shaped like a kitten, another like a miniature treasure chest. Exactly like the ones you'd been eyeing online but could never bring yourself to buy.

"I..." Your voice caught as you noticed the vanity table, arranged with crystal perfume bottles and a jewelry box with a tiny ballerina dancing inside. The mirror was framed with tiny LED lights, just like the one in your wishlist. "How did you...?"

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Even in setting, he looked effortlessly beautiful. The sharp features of his face contrasting with the softness surrounding him. "I know you have a particular fondness for pink," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your cheeks warmed as you turned in a slow circle, taking in more details. A bookshelf held familiar titles, all your favorite novels in first edition hardcovers. The sitting area by the balcony had a plush reading chair with a crocheted blanket draped over one arm, the exact shade of cotton candy pink you'd once tweeted was your favorite.

On the dresser sat something that made your breath hitch. A limited edition snow globe from that anime you'd mentioned in passing months ago. Only 500 had been made worldwide. You reached out with trembling fingers to lift it, watching as glitter swirled around the tiny figures inside.

"You remembered this?" you whispered, unable to hide the wonder in your voice.

Sylus pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, his boots silent on the plush cream carpet. "I remember everything," he murmured, so close now you could see the flecks of darker red in his irises. His gloved hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, the leather cool against your flushed skin.

"The way your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite things. The exact shade of pink that makes you smile."

Your heart hammered against your chest as his fingers trailed down to tilt your chin up. The air between you was fused with tension, his gaze dropping to your lips. His right hand slid slowly up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he leaned in.

But your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Sylus blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, stepping back. "Dinner is at eight," he said, adjusting his gloves with that familiar precision. "The closet should have everything you need." He gestured to a door you hadn't noticed before. "Though I suspect you'll find the contents... predictable."

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood frozen for a moment, still clutching the snow globe. Then, with shaky legs, you moved to investigate the closet. When you opened the door, a soft gasp escaped you. Racks of halter tops, micro skirts, mini shorts, bell-bottom jeans. Dresses with delicate lace trim, cozy sweaters with pearl buttons, even pajamas with little cartoon characters, all in your exact size.

A sound from outside drew you to the balcony doors. You stepped into the cool evening air just as the first notes of a piano floated up from the garden below. Leaning over the railing, you could see Sylus seated at a grand piano beneath a tree, his silver hair glowing in the twilight as his hands moved effortlessly across the keys.

The song was unfamiliar but beautiful, a melancholy melody that seemed to echo the strange ache in your chest. You wrapped your arms around yourself, watching as petals drifted down around him, caught in the breeze.

This man had recreated your dream bedroom down to the smallest detail. He knew your tastes better than anyone in your real life. And yet, as you watched him play with such quiet intensity, you realized with a pang that you didn't know the first real thing about him.

You slipped into a chiffon dress from the closet, one that hugged your curves in all the right places and a neckline that dipped just low enough to feel daring. After smoothing your hands down the fabric, you took a deep breath and headed downstairs, following the scent of roasted herbs and something rich and buttery.

The dining room took your breath away. A long, polished table stretched beneath a glittering chandelier, set with fine china and crystal glasses that caught the candlelight. Platters of food covered every inch. Seared scallops drizzled in lemon butter, rosemary-crusted lamb, truffle-infused mashed potatoes, and a dozen other dishes you couldn’t name but made your mouth water.

Sylus stood at the head of the table, his back to you as he poured wine into two glasses. He’d changed into a tailored black suit, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders before tapering at his waist. When he turned, his crimson eyes flickered over you, lingering for a heartbeat too long on the dip of your neckline before meeting your gaze.

"You look exquisite," he said, his voice low.

Your pulse fluttered. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

His lips curved. "I wanted to."

He pulled out your chair, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as you sat, sending a shiver down your spine. The meal began in quiet elegance, the clink of silverware the only sound between you, at first.

But then you stole a glance.

His hands were unfairly elegant. Long fingers, swift movements as he speared a piece of lamb with his fork, the way his thumb pressed against the edge of the fork before bringing it to his lips. You watched, as he chewed slowly, the muscles in his jaw flexing before his throat worked with a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

God! Why does he have to be so sexy?

At that point, you were torn between two dilemmas, as if two angels were fighting over what was right or wrong. He was hot and now you were imagining not so decent things. Why? Well, of course because he was Sylus. You loved him. But you hardly knew him. Technically, you knew him. But who knew if he was the same person? Did his looks make you forget one crucial thing? What the hell were you doing here!? What kind of dream was this? Maybe he knew…

You always knew he was dangerously attractive, but now you’d been too mesmerised with the newfound surroundings to notice. But now that you did…

Heat pooled in your stomach.

You looked away, taking a sip of wine to distract yourself, but it didn’t help. Every time he lifted his glass, you caught the way his fingers curled around the stem, the way his lips parted just slightly before the red liquid touched them.

A traitorous wetness settled between your thighs. Without thinking, you clenched them together, biting your lip. Sylus’ fork stilled.

"Careful now, kitten," he murmured, his voice a dark caress.

Your breath hitched.

He set his utensils down with deliberate slowness, his gaze locking onto yours. The candlelight flickered in his crimson eyes, turning them molten. "You keep looking at me like that," he said, "and I’ll start thinking you want something."

enjoy this cute gif. think of it as the room sylus prepared for you.

lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist for the next part!!

1K notes · View notes

txjis · 2 months ago

Text

cw: puppyboy , hybrids , sub!gojo

a/n: i don’t have a word count this was supposed to be 3 paragraphs tops idk what happened i went into a coma or something. if this flops i may cry real tears.

hybrid!puppyboy satoru who you told to behave while you had to leave the house. you warned him.

you only said you’d be gone for a few hours.

just a few. that’s what you told him, hand brushing over his snow-white ears as he pouted dramatically on the couch. but a few hours to a puppy like gojo? that’s basically a lifetime. and you, his favorite person in the entire world, just left him.

the moment the door clicked shut, the performance began.

first came the flopping—full dramatic belly-flop onto the floor, limbs splayed like his soul had left his body. He whined once. then again, louder, just in case you were hiding in the hallway ready to rush back in and comfort him. when no one came, he dragged himself to the door like some war hero.

“cruel,” he mumbled to no one, tail giving a feeble twitch. “absolutely heartless…” how were you going to nag at him to behave then just leave.

gojo satoru, your sweet but utterly shameless puppy hybrid, doesn’t do well with being left alone. not when your scent is all over the apartment. not when he’d just barely woken up, messy-haired, shirt slipping off one shoulder, his tail wagging lazily as you kissed the corner of his mouth and told him to be good was the last memory he had of you.

he sat by the door for a while, praying to whatever god would listen to bring you back to him. every noise from outside the small apartment made his ears perk up only to lay back down when the doorknob didn’t turn. gojo made his way back to the couch with a shuffle, only to huff and make his was towards your shared room instead.

flopping face first into the mattress seemed like a good idea at the time, he was upset, dramatics were his go to even when no one else was around. your scent clung to the sheets— soothing, yes, but also maddening.

“you’re evil,” he groaned, burying his face in your pillow. “pure evil.” he rolled onto his stomach, grinding into the mattress with frustrated little whimpers and whines.

time dragged. every noise made his ears twitch—hoping it was you, back early, ready to give him the attention he deserved. but no, just silence. just him and his thoughts and the low, pulsing need that refused to go away.

by the time you finally opened the door, gojo was shirtless, flushed, and so ready to make you pay for abandoning him. he practically tackled you the second you stepped inside, lips finding your neck, tail wagging wildly behind him.

“you have some nerve,” he growled, though his voice trembled with anticipation. “leaving your poor, needy pup alone—…” you dropped your keys, startled and breathless as he pulled you towards the bed, you landed in front of him with a soft ‘oof’ sound. his eyes glinted with something dark and hungry, pupils blown wide, his fluffy ears twitching.

“i waited,” he said, lips brushing your jaw. “i was good. but now…” his kiss is messy—needy in a way that borders on desperate, like he’s trying to make up for every second you were gone.

your fingers threaded into his soft, snowy hair, and he melts under your touch instantly. his tail thumps behind him, frantic and clumsy, betraying just how worked up he is. you pull back slightly to look at him, and his lips chase yours like he can’t stand even the smallest distance.

“missed you,” he breathes, cheeks flushed, voice soft and whimpery. “missed you so much, it hurt.” your eyes rake over him— bare chest, pink across his nose, pupils blown wide and full of longing. the waistband of his sweatpants is riding low on his hips, the barest hint of a tremble in his thighs as he presses closer.

“were you good for me, ‘toru?” you drag a slow hand down his chest, feeling the way his breath hitches. he nods quickly—too quickly.

“y-yeah. tried. i tried, i did— didn’t touch myself, even though i wanted to. i needed to.”

“needed? you raise an eyebrow at your poor worked up puppy.

he bites his lip, ears flicking back bashfully. “you left me and i got all worked up… all hard and aching. couldn’t stop thinking about your hands, your voice, the way you—” his words cut off in a soft gasp as you cup his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

you lean in, close enough that your lips just barely graze his. “you know you’re not allowed to cum without me, right?” he whimpers— an actual whimper. his body tensing in anticipation as he nods again. “please… please, i’ll be so good. i’ll do anything. Just—don’t leave me like this please.”

you smirk, pushing him gently backward until his back hits the headboard. he sits, wide-eyed and eager, tail wagging in short, nervous bursts.

“you’re mine,” you murmur, straddling him. “and when I get home, i expect my pup ready, aching, and begging—just like this.” he looks up at you like you hung the moon, his fingers twitching at his sides, unsure if he’s allowed to touch yet. “can i—can i touch you now?”

“only when i say so..” you lean in close to his ear, your breath hot against his skin.

his breath stutters as you settle fully in his lap, your weight grounding him in the most delicious way. he’s already trembling beneath you, trying so hard not to touch— even though every fiber of him is screaming for it. his tail is wagging slow now, low and anxious, his ears drooping just a little in that telltale way that means he’s overwhelmed—in the best way.

you tilt his chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet your eyes. “look at you,” you murmur. “all squirmy and obedient. you like being teased like this, don’t you?”

he swallows hard. “i— i like being yours.” the words spill from him like a confession, soft and unguarded. his pupils are blown, lips slightly parted, and there’s a vulnerable pink flush crawling all the way to his chest. you stroke a thumb along his cheekbone, slow and deliberate, watching the way he leans into your hand like he needs it to survive.

“i waited,” he says again, barely more than a whisper. “didn’t even take my pants off. just… laid there thinking about you. about your hands, your voice—what you’d do to me if you caught me being bad.” your smirk is slow, predatory.

“and were you bad, puppy?”

he shakes his head quickly. “no, no— i wanted to be, but i didn’t. i was good, i swear. please i need you to touch me. i’m losing my mind.” he’s panting now, hips subtly rocking under you, barely restrained. his fingers twitch like they want to hold you, grip you, worship you—but he’s still waiting, still obeying, just like you told him.

so you reward him. your hands trail down his chest, slow and purposeful, nails scratching gently over his skin. he moans— head dropping back against the headboard, throat exposed, tail thumping under his weight and yours weakly.

you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat, feeling the vibrations of his needy little noises against your lips. “you’re such a good boy for me, ‘toru,” you whisper. “you waited so well. think you’ve earned a reward?”

“yes,” he gasps. “please— i need you so bad. just want to feel you. want to fall apart for you.” and when you finally press your lips to his—deep and slow and claiming. he lets out the softest, most broken sound, like he’s unraveling from the inside out. his hands hover near your hips, barely touching, trembling with restraint. you break the kiss, just enough to murmur against his lips.

“then be good and fall apart for me, baby. i’ll take care of everything.” and he nods, breathless and wrecked and beautifully yours, ready to give in completely.

do i make a pt.2 to this omg…

#❥ ~ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ #cw: hybrids #cw: puppyboy #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader

573 notes · View notes

ask-the-rag-dolly · 26 days ago

Text

ragatha is NOT abstracting* and i will bury myself six foot under that hill

* well , i don't think she'll FULLY abstract . _____

i know this may be shocking coming from Me , the ragatha angst enjoyer , who made an entire au where she's having a bad day 24/7 . i truly , do not believe that ragatha's going to get killed off . just . hear me out . sit down on this chair .

it's not even that she's my favorite character and i don't want her to die . the opposite , actually , i eat ragatha abstraction fanfics up . my problems are more ... well , it lies more on the writing .

first of all , let's remember what tadc is for a second ; it's a tonally hopeful show with messages about community and not being truly alone . even in episode 5 , where ragatha Goes Through It , it has a glimmer of hope through jax — where he finds a friend in pomni .

it's why i truly believe she'll have some form of positive development , because if Jax , the character that gooseworx said who's Most deserved to be stuck in the circus , can be happy ... then why couldn't ragatha ?

also . i Love assholes with repressed trauma as much as the next guy , but it'll be weird to make the guy who's been antagonistic to most of the cast thus far find more happiness than ..... the clearly-traumatized woman ...........

when you write a story with mentally ill characters and a hopeful message ... what does it say when you kill off one of them ? what does it say to the audience that relates to that character ? here's a hint — stuff that i would find IFFY to put in your show .

obviously , you can do literally anything as a writer , but picture this ; imagine setting up a character like ragatha . someone who has gone through abuse and a lot of trauma . desperate for a community to the point she grasps for any scraps of validation she gets . you put her in a show where every character find some form of hope in the situation they're in . she has shown herself to harbor some form of self-loathing .

by that point , you should see my problem with killing her off . once more : if she dies , what does it say to the audience who relates to that character ?

and now for my next question — what would it add to the show ? what message does it send and how does it add to the theme ? because ... any of the answers to those questions i can think of are NOT good answers considering the last paragraphs .

" it'll show that people truly cares even when you're gone " we'll have episode 2 again , but this time at the cost of a character we've gotten to know for the last five episodes . it'll make ragatha's time in the show a Total Waste . like cool , all she's been set up for the last five episodes is to Die ...

i sure do hope we don't have another dead character who tells the same message of people caring about you when you're gone and also had an entire funeral scene which will make all of this build-up so redundant — oh wait his name is kaufmo .

at that point you could just remove her and put kaufmo in her place , because it's just the Same Message being told . it'll be impactful to see a main character dying ... if that character isn't going to essentially make all of their scenes redundant in hindsight .

" it'll give the cast character development " but not ragatha ?? i will be real with you i will be so Mad if ragatha gets killed off as a catalyst for jax to have an epiphany or character development . like genuinely that would make me instantly drop the show , do Not get me started .

even then , the thing that's going on with ragatha thus far is her thinking nobody cares for her despite that it's the Opposite . by giving the other characters development instead of her in Her Own Arc is Terrible Writing and i'm not going to budge on that .

" it'll mark a tonal shift " an answer i'm slightly okay with , but let's take the above paragraphs again — it'll be iffy nonetheless . do i Love the idea of an unsatisfying character arc where it suddenly ends , therefore breaking the formula that's been set since the beginning ? yes ! would i love it in this specific case considering the context of the show and its themes ? very much Not !

i know these arguments are more of an opinionated , ' think of how that'll work into the story ' rather than actual proof , but when it comes to making predictions , the tadc fandom doesn't really stop and think about how it adds to a character or story beyond It'll Be Shocking . for this theory specifically , i can't see a Good narrative reason to kill off ragatha without stepping on at least one land mine . as someone familiar with writing stories with mentally ill characters — it'll get Weird quick !

do i accept that there could be a Tiny possibility that ragatha Does abstract ? absolutely . i do trust gooseworx's ability as a writer enough to Maybe make this sting less when it actually does happen , but i'll very much criticize it .

so ! i don't think she Wouldn't abstract 100% though . because by this point it's inevitable that she'll sink into the darkness in some way . keep in mind that Barely Anything goes right for this girl . i don't think she'll die , but a very public mental breakdown is inevitable . at most , i see a fake-out abstraction . you know . one where she gets pulled out of it at the last second . just to scare the fans .

personally , do you know what would be more impactful than a death ? a character that fully believes she'll die alone and unloved being proven Wrong . episode 5 has shown how the other characters Care for her . imagine her spiraling and thinking that nobody cares if she abstracts , only to realize that there are people by her side . shit that would actually make me cry , i'm not gonna lie .

she will get a BIG group hug and she'll cry and i would also cry and we crew and we crode and i don't know maybe i'll be wrong Shrugs let's see this post age like milk LOL

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc ragatha #[ ooc ]#[ ESSAY WARNING ]#tadc spoilers

662 notes · View notes

heesmiles · 19 days ago

Text

WORLD STOP ; p.js

SYNOPSIS ──── you can't get enough of your mafia boyfriend. ( warnings ) ──── ㅤノㅤ𓈒 mafia boss ! park jongseong x fem ! reader 2.3k word count. 彡 not proof read, smut mdni, bath sex, soft and fluffy smut, soft jay, mentions of injury, mentions of death and blood, mafia buisness. for my bbg @myjjongie.

The clock ticks like a nervous whisper in the dark. You sit curled on the velvet arm of the sofa, legs tucked beneath you, the spine of your book resting open against your palm. The words blur as your eyes skim the same paragraph for the third time, your attention snagged on the way silence folds over the house like a heavy blanket. It's nearly midnight. Later than usual. Later than he said. The lamplight flickers golden across the page, across the silk of your robe and the bare skin of your collarbone. You press your thumb into the edge of the paper, as if grounding yourself with fiction, but your mind is elsewhere, trailing through alleyways and whispers, worried in that quiet, useless way you never let him see. Then —

The door opens. The sound startles you, a clean click of the lock sliding, followed by the low creak of the front door swinging in. You jolt upright, heart stuttering, the book falling shut like a gasp. You already know it’s him. No one else has a key. No one else dares. And there he is. Jay steps inside with the grace of a man who owns every room he enters; slim and composed, a dark silhouette in a midnight-blue suit and tie. His black square glasses catch the lamplight, gleaming like polished obsidian. He looks immaculate. Untouched. Almost. Except —

There. Tiny specks of blood dapple the lens of his glasses, like a careless splash of red paint. His gloves, smooth, black leather, shine faintly in the low light. He shuts the door behind him without a sound and leans against it for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room until they find you. And then he smiles. That soft, secret smile. The one that makes you forget how sharp his teeth really are. The one only meant for you and you alone.

"You're still up?" he asks, voice warm like velvet dipped in something darker.

"I was waiting for you," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. You rise from the sofa slowly, your book forgotten on the cushion. "You’re later than usual." He doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you as he unbuttons his suit jacket with slow, precise fingers, like unwrapping something sacred. Then he walks toward you, his shoes silent against the polished floor, his presence swallowing space like smoke.

"A late meeting," he says finally, tugging the gloves off one finger at a time. He slips them into his coat pocket without breaking eye contact. "Business went long." You glance at the blood on his glasses but say nothing. You’ve learned not to ask for details when he doesn’t offer them. You’ve learned to translate the shadows behind his smile. He steps close enough for you to smell the faint scent of smoke and rain clinging to his clothes.

Then, softer: “You’re tired.”

“A little.”

Jay lifts a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with such reverence it makes your breath hitch. “Come take a bath with me.” Your gaze flickers to his eyes; dark and unreadable behind the red-splashed lenses.

There’s blood on his glasses, but his voice is gentle. There’s quiet danger in his world, but in this moment, he is only looking at you, only offering warmth. “Okay,” you whisper, and he takes your hand.

The bathroom fills with steam and silence. Jay stands behind you at the sink, undoing the last buttons of his dress shirt, his movements unhurried, deliberate. You catch glimpses of him in the fogged mirror — the way his collar slides off his shoulder, the hint of a scar along his ribs, the way his glasses remain, blood-speckled and strange in the warm light. You don’t ask him to take them off. You never do. You found them endearing, sexy even.

You slip out of your robe and step into the bath, the water hot and lavender-scented, petals drifting lazy circles across the surface like forgotten lullabies. You lower yourself in slowly, sighing as the heat kisses your skin. When you look up, he’s watching you. He doesn’t speak right away, just pulls off his tie, then his glasses. He cleans the lenses gently with a cloth before setting them aside, then joins you in the water. The tub is wide, deep, a luxury carved into marble. He sits behind you, and the space between your bodies vanishes.

Jay draws you against his chest, your back meeting the smooth, wet heat of him. His arms slip around your waist with such natural ease, you wonder how many lifetimes you’ve lived like this. Just like this. He presses his cheek to your temple and murmurs, “Tell me about your day.”

You smile faintly, settling into him, fingers tracing idle circles on his forearm. “Nothing too exciting. I tried to make that lemon cake again. It’s… denser than intended. I think I overmixed it.”

“I’ll still eat it.”

“You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s always true.” His lips graze the edge of your jaw, lazy and warm. “What else?”

You tilt your head slightly, letting him press small kisses behind your ear as you speak. “Read a bit. Took a nap. Watered the plants on the balcony. I think the violets are finally coming back. The lavender’s still struggling, though.”

“I’ll have the gardener look at it tomorrow.”

“I like doing it myself,” you murmur. “Makes me feel like I’m growing something. Something that’s only mine.”

He’s quiet for a moment, arms tightening just slightly around you, as if trying to anchor you in the heat and softness of now. As if the world outside the bath, his world, might reach for you and take you away. Then, softly, like it’s only for you: “You are growing something. This place. Us.” The water ripples gently as he shifts. You twist to look up at him, and your eyes catch his, bare now without the frames, a little softer, a little more human. The light casts shadows across the sharp lines of his face, but his expression is warm, gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“You’re everything good I’ve ever touched,” he says, voice low and quiet like the hush before rain. “The only thing I want to come home to.” Your heart stutters. The bath is silent but for the soft lapping of water and the breath that hitches in your throat as you rise slightly, one hand reaching for his face. Your fingertips graze his cheek, wet and warm, and he leans into the touch as if starved for it. Then you kiss him.

And the kiss is heat; unexpected, hungry, full of the ache that grows in absence. It begins soft, tentative, but deepens quickly as if he’s been waiting all night, all week, all forever to feel you like this. His hand finds your jaw, his other arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you fully into him until the bathwater sloshes over the sides, forgotten. His mouth moves against yours with reverence, then need. Steam clings to your skin. Your breath tangles in his. The world could fall apart around you, and you wouldn’t notice. The world could stop. In this moment, there is only his mouth on yours. Only the sanctuary of the bath. Only the unspoken promise in the way he touches you, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel clean.

Your lips part, and Jay drinks in the breath that escapes you. The bathwater is sloshing now, careless and warm around your bodies, but neither of you cares. Not when his hand slides beneath the water to your thigh, fingers pressing lightly into your skin, possessive even in their gentleness. His mouth is still on yours, moving like he knows every shape you make when you melt, and he does. He knows all the places that make you sigh, make you shiver, make you fall apart. “Oh god.” Your head tips back, your eyes shut.

His kiss deepens, hungry now, and you gasp into it, nails curling against the slick muscle of his shoulder. There’s a quiet growl in the back of his throat when you press yourself closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as if the world outside this porcelain haven doesn’t exist — as if there’s only heat, only lips, only him. Jay pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair is damp, falling slightly into his eyes. His chest heaves, breath shallow, and his gaze is molten; dark, unwavering, like he’s seeing something sacred in you. Like he wants to memorize you in this moment, before the night steals him again.

It was all heat, and love and sin. Wrapped into this tight ball of desire — of want and need. “You’ve got no idea,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent, “how much I think about this. About you. When I’m out there.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then lower, to your neck, just beneath your jaw. He breathes in deeply, as if grounding himself in the scent of your skin. “Every time I touch blood,” he whispers against you, “I wish it were you I was touching instead.”

Your fingers tangle in the wet strands at the nape of his neck, and you arch into him without thinking. The edge of the tub presses into your back, grounding and unrelenting, but the rest of you is fluid, fire in water, silk pulled taut. “Jay…” you breathe, but the rest is lost in the way his mouth finds yours again, harder now, more demanding. His hands roam beneath the water, sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip away. You sit up, lifting your hips enough to hover over his.

“I want you.” You whine, breathless. All consumed by the man you love, the man you desire most in this world. You don’t wait for his word, you already know you have it. You sink down onto him, his cock reaching unbelievably deep places inside of you. You shiver, a gasp falling from your lips like a broken prayer to whatever god decided to give you Jay.

The kiss turns dizzying, messy. The water spills over the lip of the tub with every shift, but still he pulls you closer. Your hips rise and fall with an unkempt tempo, your mouth not leaving his for even a second. The water splashed around you — what seems like buckets, falling onto the floor with a splash. But neither of you cared, too consumed in the pleasure coursing through your veins.

The steam curls around your bodies like breath, like silk, like the hush of something sacred unraveling. Your hips continue their movements, you're breathing falling like curls from your lips. Jay tilts his head back, his eyes screwed shut. His hands, strong and sure, roam your skin beneath the water, dragging warmth wherever they touch. There’s reverence in his grip, like you’re precious. There’s hunger, too, a quiet ache he no longer bothers to hide. “My sweet girl….” He mumbles now lifting his head to watch you through heavy lidded eyelids.

His head tilts back slightly to look up at you, and you take him in like that, hair damp, lips red from kissing, his chest rising and falling with restrained breath. “You drive me insane,” he says, voice wrecked, eyes roaming you like you’re some impossible miracle. “Do you know what it does to me, coming home to this? To you?”

You’re growing tired but that does nothing to quench your thirst, too drunk on his cock to bother slowing down. His words serve as a reward, a reminder. You lean forward and kiss him before you can answer, a soft press of lips that deepens with each breath, each heartbeat. He groans low in his throat when your hips shift forward, just slightly, but it lights something beneath the surface. He holds you tighter. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s grounding himself.

“Fuck.” You hiss. “Fuck fuck fuck.” The tension winds tight between your bodies like thread, pulling, drawing, until all that’s left is heat, is want, is the raw, breathless poetry of skin against skin and the unspoken promise that this; you, him, here, is the only peace either of you has ever known.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groans, deep and guttural in his throat. A sign that he was close. “I’m gonna cum sweetheart, can you take it?”

“I can take it.” You’re crying now, tears falling onto the apples of your cheeks in a cascade. “I can take it!” You repeat. And when the moment breaks over you; full, quiet, overwhelming, he holds you through it, his arms wrapped firm around your back, face buried in the hollow of your shoulder as if he’s afraid to let go.

His breathing is hard, his mouth against your shoulder. You’re eyes flutter shut, savoring the moment. Afterward, the world comes back in pieces. The soft sound of water. The slow steadying of breath. The hum of your heart against his chest. Jay kisses your temple, then your jaw, then the center of your chest where your heartbeat lives. And he stays like that for a long moment, quiet, still, his arms locked around you in a hold that feels more like devotion than desire. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs finally, brushing your damp hair behind your ear.

You nod, spent and breathless, your body warm and humming with him. Wrapped in towels, wrapped in each other, you walk into the dark of the bedroom hand in hand, not lovers in hiding, not sinners seeking salvation, just two people trying to find light in a world that so often forgets how to be kind. And that night, when he falls asleep beside you, one arm draped across your waist, you let yourself believe that maybe this kind of love is enough to keep the dark at bay. At least until morning.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke

#enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jay enhypen smut #jay enhypen #jay enhypen imagines #park jay enhypen #park jay smut #park jongseong #k pop imagines #kpop smut

466 notes · View notes

anantaru · 1 year ago

Text

— you ask him "can i sit on your lap?"

including heizou, lyney, wriothesley, alhaitham x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, established relationship, a tiny bit suggestive towards the end (wriothesley's part, basically the last paragraph hints at something suggestive)

— heizou

the door to heizou's office was closed behind you two, leaving the rest of the world outside as you laid on a couch while he was practically glued to his office-desk— his countenance focused, absorbed in the current case he was working on.

to some, it might appear as boring when you both spend time like that, but to you it was the exact opposite— not only were you able to work on your own stuff in his office, in fact, you're not getting distracted by anything there, but heizou will always spend the night at your place after he was done with work.

although sometimes, you catch yourself become bored once you've finished up everything you had to do yourself, and immediately decide to walk towards his desk, your eyes holding a secret glow only he was able to understand.

"how far are you?" you ask, "already cracked the case?" tilting your head to the sight before lazily leaning against his desk.

heizou smirks before brushing one hand through his tousled hair, "almost done, heh, i'm almost there,"

you know— you know, you shouldn't bother him while he was busy with solving this case, but watching him actually do it was very much attractive. it's constant in his behavior, your boyfriend was just effortlessly handsome when he skimmed over a case, never seeing the glass as half full— he see it brimming to the top, filled with all his brilliance.

to add on to that, the both of you couldn't be apart from each other for a long time anyways, it was like watching two magnets, pushing and pulling until they finally clicked back into place.

"can i sit on your lap?" you say in a whispered utterance that was setting his heart ablaze, "i want to watch you solve it," and the way you spoke to him in that sound, heizou's facial features instantly turn softly into kindness, a carefree laugh attached to him.

"you don't have to ask, come here."

heizou instantly makes space for you before guiding you towards his lap, and an immediate rush of warm air rises when he wraps his arms around you, the tension roiling and manifesting into heart-shaped clouds.

now, as a result of being so close to your boyfriend, his slightly sweet fragrance overruns your senses when you rest your head against his shoulder, sighing out through your mouth.

"you wanna help me solve this case, hm?" the man snickers as his palm smoothes along your thigh, "i will do whatever you want if you solve it before me,"

"i can try," you claim confidently and shift on his lap.

a gleeful light falls into his deep, black pupils when you agree, his lips curved up into a smile, "but don't get mad if i beat you!"

— lyney

"see? that's how you hide a card and make it appear again,"

lyney moves his fingers around the pack of cards with such frightening precision that you could evidently witness with fierce clarity that, well, you cannot possibly memorize this magic trick with the confused blur in your eyes— despite the fact that he has shown you the exact same trick three times in a row now.

you sigh out in defeat, your eyes skimming over his hands as you're both sitting on the couch next to each other, "I still don't get it," your words were breathless but liquid with embarrassment, even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about— because you see, lyney would never reveal a trick to anybody, not even to his significant other.

after all, it's a magicians greatest strength to keep their cunning mischiefs hidden away.

in fact, he only offered to show you because he really liked that befuddled look on your face, he finds it so cute, pretty and sweet.

a somewhat devious, but calm smile hovers on his face as he watches you in awe, one hand now lingering on your arm, a silent plea for you to stay.

"hm, you know what? let me look at it from a different view," you grin before tenderly kissing his cheek, "it's difficult watching from the side like that, you know?" then place a small peck on his jaw before working yourself towards his soft lips at last.

"can i sit on your lap?" you say and lyney almost whines at your request, a pretty sparkle on your eyes worsening his condition, your voice barely above a whisper.

on a surface level, you were dating lyney for quite a while now and were utterly aware that he was probably trying to confuse you with his magic tricks, and although you do not welcome it, you also did not mind because letting him confuse you wasn't necessarily a bad thing— since lyney would always become so confident and loving, not to mention excited to show and tell you more about his passion.

he blushes a little, an emotion such as this one was probably one of the only ones a magician of his caliber was unable to disguise.

"of course," lyney takes a deep breath before straightening his posture out, parting his arms so you could easily settle on his lap.

once you're on his lap, he kisses your shoulder before resting his head in the nook of your neck, "i'll start over now, you ready?"

"i am!" you retort back, "i will get it this time," as a lazy smirk spreads across your face before you begin to melt into his embrace.

— wriothesley

for you to be able to see each other as often as possible, you tend to visit wriothesley at work every now and then— sometimes you feel quite lonely since your boyfriend was always occupied with his job, so when you open the door to his office at last, he holds a benevolent presence on his demeanor, mirth possessing his eyes at the pure look of you walking into the room.

and to make this situation even sweeter, wriothesley shows you a tight-lipped, tender smile on his attractive face, delving into the soothing energy you always brought forth in him.

time seemed to stand still as your eyes met, and wriothesley immediately rises from his seat, cheeks flushing brightly, "you're finally here," his voice jovial-alike, so jovial that it set your entire tone for the day, "i was waiting for you, love,"

his walk was quick as he could barely wait to hug you— in fact, you honestly applaud him for how impossibly fast he has reached you as two muscular arms wrap around your body in no time, a silent language of shared passion being spoken.

"i'm sorry that i have kept you waiting, i'm a bit late, aren't i?" with a meaningful smile, you cup his cheeks before stroking the skin with your thumb.

lost in your eyes, wriothesley watches you through a soft look of through his thick lashes, "—oh, yeah? you did? i couldn't tell."

"but now that you're mentioning it, hm, how brave of you to keep me waiting like that," wriothesley utters in a fooling timbre, "—knowing that I've missed you all day," he continues to tease you before guiding you towards his desk by your hand.

on a normal day, the duke would offer you to sit on his office chair just because he finds it cute and somewhat hilarious— in fact, your cuteness in general was off the charts, it practically had its own gravitational pull.

you do not sit down and instead wrap your arms around his neck, "looks like someone's not quite perfect after all," wriothesley jokes in a tone that was warm and inviting, eliciting an immediate laugh from you.

you pout at him, "hey! if that's the case i'm taking my apology back right now,"

half jokingly, you avert your gaze as to tease him for once, although his overconfidence was like a blazing torch, nothing was capable to rush through it.

wriothesley keeps a prolonged eye contact with you so he could intensify the triumph over this situation, watching how you're crumbling first and losing the game, a playful wink adding a touch of humor to his jest.

"ouch, my love, you heart my heart crack right now?" the duke knits his eyebrows together as he kisses your forehead, his voice light with a hint of playfulness.

you roll your eyes, "hmpf, that's what you get."

the air was charged with a gentle, bubbly energy as wriothesley slightly pushes his office chair towards your direction to make you sit down— he believed you must be tired from today, in fact, the night was slowly approaching and he could tell by how often you'd yawn out.

you look at the chair before searching for your boyfriends eyes again, "is it okay if i sit on your lap instead?" you ask shyly, "i want to watch you work," certainly, that look on your face told him all he needed to know,

"—and cuddle," especially with that twinkle in your eyes.

"you sure? i might be unable to sit still," he grins, leaning closer to your ear before pulling you on to his lap, "make sure to keep your eyes wide open for me, no sleeping," wriothesley kisses your cheek, his voice a soft murmur that boiled the blood in your veins.

"working with me can be quite the handful, you know," he claims confidently, yet you weren't new to your boyfriend's manner of speaking— because you see, in secret he was hinting at something way different than you simply sitting on his lap.

— alhaitham

eyes fluttering shut, you lean against alhaitham's shoulder while your knee would nudge against his own ever so often, swaying from left to right.

it's this particular hour of the day again, where your boyfriend would read to you in the park, it's a simple date yet the both of you preferred it above everything else— it's the vibrancy of various petals decorating the nature that was boldly unique to you, surrounding your bodies so delicately and pure that you couldn't help yourself but feel weary due to the dainty scenery.

for some reason, you cannot keep your eyes open this time but proceeded to give your utmost best to keep your fatigue hidden from the scribe's eyes— granting the fact that he had figured it out the second he saw you.

it was utterly unfair, that's what it was, because there was nothing you cherished more then spending time with your boyfriend like that, in midst the sounds of cooing pigeons in the garden as sun washes the garden with a golden glow.

alhaitham liked it to, especially reading his favorite books to you was something he thought was beneficial to the both of you. most importantly, he noticed how he was igniting an inner smile in your soul, that kind that burns warm and long, he loves that smile, he couldn't possibly become satiated by it ever.

in a fleeting moment, he places his warm palm against your knee, "hey, you're falling asleep," he claims, a little stoic, "we should head home so you can rest,"

no, please no, you yell inwardly before rubbing your eyes— every ounce of your remaining strength was dedicated to maintaining your eyes open and stay within this scenery a little longer.

"it's okay, i am fine, i promise," you panic, then yawn, yikes, what a way for your body to go behind your back.

hand in hand with your weary state of mind, you move your body before standing up to reclaim your energy, "you can keep reading to me, please, it was getting interesting,"

you're attempting to salvage just an ounce of this date, your eyebrows knitting together in displeasure as you yawn out again.

"i love listening to you."

"there's no point in that if you're falling asleep,"

alhaitham takes your hand, delicately pulling your body towards his own as to inspect your fatigued expression, "we can postpone this, the book isn't running anywhere and neither am i," he smiles gently, silently running his thumb along your knuckles so you'd calm yourself down a little, his homely trace sending a shiver down your spine.

without dissembling anything, it wasn't the book you feared to miss out on— in fact, it was about alhaitham himself. as the scribe of the akademiya he had always been busy and it could become very difficult to plan dates in advance.

to note that even after he might finish up his duties for the day a little earlier, he preferred to stay within the warm confines of his home which you did not mind either.

"alhaitham?" you heave out, something unspoken yet profound being exchanged as your body tests the waters by moving forward, "can i sit on your lap? that way i will surely stay awake, i promise."

alhaitham cocks a curious brow at you, "oh, you will?" he inquires as you nod your head, "in that case, please be my guest,"

the scribe shuffles in his seat as he spreads his legs a little, waiting for you to sit on his lap as one of his hands guide you down while the other held on to the beige-colored book.

the scribe looks at you through thick eyelashes, his face wholly relaxed as you loop one arm around his shoulders to steady yourself, your lips contorting into a deep, happy smile.

"are you comfortable enough?" he asks as you shift your weight from one leg to another, "very much, thank you."

alhaitham holds you by your waist, strong enough that you could leisurely lean back without fearing of actually dropping on the ground. after figuring out a comfortable setting for the both of you, he flips his book open with one hand as your body subconsciously heats up at his tender palm rubbing circles on your waist.

a cool breeze swirls around you both when he resumes to the book like nothing has changed at all, his choice in tone dignified and unwavering as he reads the first paragraph to you, smiling at your sweet face when he notices how you were drifting into a much deeper sleep.

3K notes · View notes

acid-ixx · 1 year ago

Note

You know what would be a good add for you yan bat fam fic? We refer to our father as Bruce! We don’t call him dad or wtv we call him by his name sense we don’t see him as a dad!

I can just imagine the heartbreak look on Wayne’s face!! Ooo even better if we call him by his last name!

a/n: this !! it's already hinted at during chapter one that you literally despise writing bruce wayne as your father in legal documents and even hated him to the point of changing your last name back to your mother's after your eighteenth birthday. the angst potential was stated in this drabble so it's something i had already expanded on but i love talking about my plans for the story so yk. this is basically the reader disowning their own father LMAO. p.s. one of the paragraphs here would be used for the next chapter !!

bruce knows that you have every right to not even refer to him as your father— he is way beyond unworthy to be called "dad" or "father" or any parental name you had in mind. but he wishes you have a sliver of love to even refer to him as "bruce" like your other siblings would call him.

but no, the world always has something else in mind.

"sorry, mr. wayne. but i am not your child, and will never see myself as one. and you? you will never be my dad."

your heartless tone, the way you look at him like he wasn't your father, but a mere stranger. maybe in your mind, he was just a sperm donor for your mother, and he knows he would only amount to that, seeing as how he wasn't even there for when you were born; not acknowledging your existence for five years and simply taking you in when your mother had left you, then forgetting about you again—

it's now that it isn't batman who has gone too far but bruce wayne. your supposed father, the man who should've been there for you, to nourish your growth, watching you as you accomplish all the great things in the world.

he was supposed to be the man who should've kissed your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

it reminds him of all the times he was left brooding alone, in the manor as he forces himself to remember the scene of his parents dying all over and over again.

yet it was you, his precious baby, that he had lost. not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

he doesn't want to lose hope at any instance for redemption but fuck, he doesn't want to delude himself into thinking you would easily forgive and forget.

but damn it all, because he would have nothing to lose to show you just how much he loves you. and he will, he will spoil you rotten to the core, he'll give you the entire world if that meant he would hear you would call him your "dad" just for once.

#🍨... yael's talking #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere x male reader #platonic yandere #this is me warming up to write for the next chapter hehe

2K notes · View notes

lvrclerc · 3 months ago

Text

✶ UNTIL SUNSET

summary: you wake up in charles' bed, your ex... or whatever you are after last night. now that it's very clear neither of you has moved on, it's time to face the consequences of your actions, what they meant and the scariest thing of all ─ the past.

F1 MASTERLIST | CL16 MASTERLIST | PT1: UNTIL SUNRISE

pairing: charles leclerc x ex!f!reader

wc: 6k

cw: mentioned sexual content (part one), suggestive but no smut, miscommunication, relationship issues, break-up, fights, avoidance, angst, second chance, happy ending, english is not my first language.

note: your honor they're so i love you i'm sorry by gracie abrams, wanted to write a full fluffy epilogue paragraph but also i think the way i ended this fits the reader and charles perfectly 🫶

THE FIRST RAYS of sunlight threaded carefully through the blinds, softly brushing against your closed eyelids as if not to wake you too abruptly. The distant chirping of the birds stirred you first, and you rolled over, the silk sheets smoothly sliding against your bare legs, the warmth of Monaco’s summer mornings washing over your body like a wave onto the shore. The smell hit you second, sultry and familiar, hints of amber, cedarwood, and salt ─ it wrapped you in its arms, languidly whispering memories against your skin, coaxing you back into that drowsy haze. You would have spent a lifetime there, in the embrace of ignorance.

But the cold, empty space beside you pulled you out of sleep.

This wasn’t home anymore, no matter how long it had been before, or how it may have felt yesterday night. Your eyes fluttered open.

The space where Charles had been only hours ago was empty, freezing in his absence and you found yourself grazing the space where his arms had wrapped around you. His imprint on your skin, on the sheets, had already begun to fade. For a moment you stared at it, pulse thrumming against your ribcage.

Were you as foolish as to expect anything different?

A lump formed in your throat, and you exhaled trying to stabilize yourself, and your feelings, pushing yourself up on your elbows. The room, now lit up by the rising daylight, was exactly as you remembered it ─ clean, organized, his ─ except for you. Your clothes were still scattered all around the room, his nowhere to be found, and you picked them up with shaky hands and blurry eyes. It always ended like that, with you and Charles, except this time there wasn’t a relationship to hold onto when the night faded.

The food had gone cold. You hadn’t touched your glass of wine in over twenty minutes. You’d texted him twice and there was no answer.

Around you, the restaurant buzzed softly with the clinking of silverware, the warmth of low candlelight, and the sound of presence. Of other people being fully and properly loved. You looked down at the small gift box still sitting unopened by your plate. Wrapped in gold, with the bow made just the way he liked.

You waited another fifteen minutes before you called the waiter and asked him to pack it all up.

By the time you made it home, the straps of your dress dug uncomfortably in your shoulders, you had your heels in hand and your heart was entirely numb. It still broke when you crossed the threshold, wiping the mascara off your cheeks, and Charles was in the kitchen. As if nothing had happened, as if it was another evening ─ he had a towel wrapped around his waist, his phone in hand and probably not opened on your conversation, hair still damp from his shower.

He looked up and smiled casually. “Hey, you’re home early, I thought your job would have kept you an hour longer.”

You stared at him, and barely concealed anger and disappointment slithered their way in your words. “They would have, but they gave me the night off for our anniversary.”

His smile dropped.

Charles took in your outfit, the expensive shoes at the front door, the small package in your hand. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, caught somewhere between disbelief and the dawning realization of what he’d forgotten.

“Shit, mon amour, I─”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice as hollow as you. “Don’t give me any excuses. Just… say it. Say you forgot.”

He stepped closer, but closing the space between you wouldn’t let you breathe, so you stepped back to keep the distance. “I waited two hours. I booked the restaurant, Charles. I left work early, wore the dress you liked so much you bought it for me, I even brought your goddamn gift, and you─” A bitter laugh escaped you, and you threw the golden wrapper on the couch. “You didn’t even text.”

Charles was crumbling in front of you. “I lost track of time,” he muttered. “I was on sim, and then the meeting with Fred went longer than I expected and─”

You put the takeout bag you asked for at the restaurant on the counter in a deafening noise, your voice finally cracking. “You weren’t busy. You just didn’t remember.”

The silence came back like a slap.

Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. “I said I’m sorry. I─ I can’t do anything else right now, if you’d let me just make it up to you I─”

“I want you to care.” You were tearing up this time. “I want you to stop treating something like this as something that just… happened. Like it’s not a pattern.”

He stared at you and, wordlessly, brought you to his chest, encasing you in his arms. You knew this dance, and the steps of it, so you fell into it with practiced ease. When his eyes searched yours, wiping the tears on your cheeks with his thumbs, he kissed you.

It was desperate. Quiet. And he was trying to silence the fight with his mouth, too scared of what else he might say or do that could mess it up further. You gave in so easily, just because you needed to feel loved by him, and he needed to show you did.

This was always what happened. You’d cry, or scream, and Charles would say sorry with his hands, his fingers, his tongue, his stomach pressing against the curve of your spine, with kisses against your throat instead of a conversation. And you’d pretend it was enough.

That night, you let him make love to you like a peace offering. But it wasn’t peace ─ it was postponement. Again. The eye of a never-ending storm.

The memory was such that you almost missed it when you opened the door of his bedroom, too caught up in your emotions and the need for escape. But there it was: from down the hall came the quiet clatter of pans, the subtle shuffle of movement from the kitchen.

You entered the space in confusion. The unmistakable scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, warm and grounding, utensils were lying around the counter along with a silver bowl dripping with batter, the window was cracked open and the sound of the radio echoed against the wall in the quiet of the room.

And Charles was in the middle of it all.

His broad, bare back was facing you, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The muscles in his shoulders flexed with every movement as he busied himself with whatever he was preparing. Warm threads of sunlight caressed his skin and the nape of his neck, and you swallowed, heart lodging itself somewhere between relief and dubiety. For a moment, you just stood there, unsure what to do with the fact he hadn’t left.

He chose to turn around at that moment, dropping a crêpe onto the plate sitting on the counter along with two mugs. One for him, one for you. Looking up, his green eyes set on you, the sunshine hitting them just right to get your heart stuttering. “Oh, t’es debout ?” Then, he shook his head, as if to remember to speak English even in his half-asleep haze. “I didn’t expect you to be awake so early. I made breakfast.”

You silently sat down on one of the stools as Charles slid a mug toward you, and the movement was enough to set you back into a natural rhythm: Charles cooking, the crêpes a tinge of brown instead of beige, you humming to whatever song was playing, even if you didn’t know the melody. And it was nauseating: he still made the coffee the way you liked ─ milk and half a sugar, mug not too full because otherwise, your stomach would hurt, even though he took a larger, less diluted one. Memories of last night blinked in your mind, a sore reminder.

“How did you sleep?” Charles asked casually, sitting in front of you with a tired smile. He looked at you as if you were a mirage, unreal.

You took a sip of the cup in your hands, the warm liquid sending shivers in your body. This, too, was painfully familiar ─ ignoring the issue, acting as if nothing happened, as if last night was just a memory. You knew how this went. You could pretend, play along, act surprised when it all came crashing down for the hundredth time, disregarding the quiet glances and the unspoken words. Treating this as just another morning.

You could, but you wouldn’t. Not this time. The weight in your chest was too heavy, the mix of feelings swirling in your stomach too confusing. Too much time had passed.

And for once, you were tired of pretending that didn’t matter.

You set your mug down on the table. “We always do this, Charles,” you said in a whisper. “And I don’t want to anymore. We need to talk.”

His eyes left you, instead sitting with shame on the marble of the counter instead. “I know I─ I just wanted to wait for the right moment.”

“And when would the right moment be?” You asked, bitterness slipping in your voice like belladonna. “When I’ll end up in your bed again? And then we’ll postpone this conversation again?”

Charles’ flinch is subtle, but you catch it. You always do. The pattern of him is something you would never allow yourself to forget, even in the acerbity of the past.

His fingers flex against the counter, knuckles tightening to a throat bobbing as he swallows ─ like he’s trying to force down an answer before it escapes him. “You know it’s not fair. You know I’m just trying to- to fix it. Everything.”

“It’s not enough. It never was.”

Charles’ gaze flashed to you. This time, there was something dangerous about it, the same light shining in his pupils during a race. “Really? You were the first to run away when things got hard. You never let me make it up to you, reassure you, or love you correctly. How is that enough? For me?”

The curtains were drawn tight against the city lights. The time was nearing two in the morning, but the adrenaline in Charles’ veins hadn’t worn off yet. He was talking─ about the race, the heat, how the strategy almost didn’t work. You were curled up against the pillows, eyes on him, assessing him like a storm in a bottle.

He looked radiant, alive. He always did after a good race weekend. He never did after a weekend with you, you thought.

“I wish you could’ve seen it from the garage,” he grinned, collapsing on the bed beside you, still in his Ferrari tee. “The energy was─ insane. I missed you down here.”

Did he really? Doubts infiltrated your every thought. You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I watched from the paddock lounge.”

“Still,” he said, turning to face you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, “not the same.”

You hummed, noncommittal. His hand stayed on your face a second too long. You didn’t lean into it. “You okay?” Charles asked.

Hesitancy. Then─ “Do you ever… get tired of this?” Your voice is small when you speak up against the dead of the night.

He frowned. “Of what?”

“Of always leaving.”

His hand dropped from your cheek, the loss of contact so sudden you thought he might have taken it the wrong way. Nothing in his expression or behavior could indicate so, but the nagging voice in the back of your head taunted you with the feeling. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just.. I feel like your life is always…,” I feel like it’s going somewhere I don’t belong. You’re always running, and I’m always waiting for you to look back. Waiting for the version of you that remembers where home is. Yet, you didn’t say it. You couldn’t. So you just applied half-smile on your lips like you’d do with a gloss. “I don’t know, just curious I guess. Don’t mind me, I’m just tired.”

Charles paused. Searched your face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You should take a shower before you fall asleep.” You sat up, pulling the covers tight around you as armor. He didn’t move. Just kept watching you, because he knew something was wrong but didn't know where to look for it. He wanted to say something. Wanted to stay. But he didn't. And you didn’t comment on it either, too caught up in your own head.

“You should really go,” you said, pushing him further away.

You stayed staring in the empty of the room long after the shower turned on. Long after the water stopped. Long after his arms found their way around your waist when he crawled into bed and whispered I love you against your shoulder.

You didn’t answer. You just pretended to be asleep.

The words flew like bullets in the softest parts of your flesh, and the brutal force of them could have made you double over. You knew he didn’t mean them ─ right now, he saw you as he would another driver on track, an enemy to take over, so he would do whatever it took, even if that meant hitting where it hurts.

But there, exactly right there, was the source of all issues.

You were a statistic in his life. Numbers iterated by his race engineer in his ear during a narrow turn. You weren’t his lover, his ex, his maybes and what-ifs. And it was always the problem, what haunted you during most of the nights he was away and most of the nights he was there. And that’s what broke the dam.

A sharp, hollow laugh escaped you. There was no sarcasm or anger behind it, just… emptiness. “You know what’s actually not fair, Charles?” Your fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around the mug, and you could feel the coffee starting to cool down. “Being second place.”

Your eyes rose to meet his. He was angry, lost, all those things he used to hide so carefully. This conversation was a long-time coming ─ it was what you always carefully set aside, put on a shelf to consider for a split second before walking away, leaving it to rot like a museum antiquity. You would take a look at it later, you’d tell yourself as you’d whisk yourself away with false promises of comfort. You never did ─ but right now, there was nothing else standing between the vomit of your words apart from the ridiculous hope of a maybe.

“You never like coming in P2,” you said, and your voice wavered. “It makes you feel worthless. So tell me, why should I like it? Get accustomed to it? I was always second, Charles. Always the one waiting for you to make time, waiting for you to even remember I exist in between races and media obligations and whatever else fills your life. You said you loved me. You said it, and I remember it clear as day, but I─”

Your breath hitches, your hands shake, your vision blurs. “You’re always searching for more, and more, and more and I have never felt like I was enough for you.”

The silence in the room feels deafening. The radio quieted down, the birds stopped chirping, and the warmth of the early morning had been replaced by the gradual cold of the settling day.

Charles was staring at you, and you couldn’t tell if the light was playing tricks on you or if the green of his eyes was brimmed with tears. He exhales through his nose, pressing his palms against the counter like he needs something to keep him steady. “That’s not true,” he says, but there’s no fight behind it.

You shake your head with a sad, half-smile. “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. You don’t know if you want him to.

“You don’t even realize you do it. I know racing will always come first, I signed up for that when we started dating, and I never asked you to change that. But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t break me when you forget I’m there. When I’ve been here since the beginning. How afraid I am.”

There it was. You loved Charles, you couldn’t pinpoint if it halted at some point in time, but you were so irrevocably scared that it held you back ─ scared of not being sufficient, scared of loving someone whose world never stops moving. It was a terrifying concept, and yet you were rooted in it. His lips part, but you’re not done. Not yet.

“I loved you. But sometimes, it’s exhausting. Loving you feels like running after something I’ll never catch. That’s why I left.”

The clock read 1:12 AM.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket Charles got you from a layover in Tokyo. It smelled like him. Like home. And it made your chest hurt.

His flight was supposed to land yesterday. He hadn’t answered your text all day. The key turned into the door just as the silence was starting to crush you ─ you didn’t even flinch when the door opened. Your arms were around your knees, eyes burning into the floor. Charles barely had time to drop his bag at the entrance, pulling off his cap and making eye contact with you, before your voice sliced through the air.

“You were supposed to be back home yesterday,” the tension in your voice was barely contained. “Technically, two days. We’re past midnight.”

He blinked. “I know but things ran late- there was a last minute sponsor thing, I’m sure you saw and-”

“You said you’d be home.” The harsh flatness of your voice shut him up instantly, teetering between fury and heartbreak. Suddenly the air was thicker, and the room was too small for the both of you. “Two more days than what you told me. You didn’t even text me, didn’t even call me back.”

He stepped forward, approaching you like a wild animal, only fueling the feelings roaring in your stomach. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, but it was just one more─”

“It’s never just one more thing, Charles!” You snapped, voice louder. “It’s always something. A meeting. A delay. An interview. Someone else.”

Charles inhaled, jaw tight. “You’re making this into something it doesn’t have to be.”

That was the wrong thing to say. You got up, cover falling from your shoulder and discarded onto the ground. “I waited on that couch for six hours. I lit a candle, I made dinner, for fuck’s sake!”

“Because I was working!” His voice rose as well. “I was busy! It’s my job─”

“And you think I’m not?! I bend my entire life around your schedule. Around races and flights and simulator sessions. I shrink myself to keep up with you but god forbid I ask for time and consideration!”

“I never asked you to do all of that! I never asked you to wait for me if that’s how you feel. Do you really think I’m doing this for fun? That I want to be away from you all the time?”

“No, I think you want a relationship that fits into your calendar like a PR obligation,” you spat. “And it feels like you’re prioritizing everything over it because it isn’t! Every time you miss a date, every time you forget to call me back, every time I cry alone because you don’t have time for a relationship you claim to care about─ you’re choosing everything else over me!”

Charles’ expression darkened, that’s when you knew you struck a nerve. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so damn scared all the time─”

Silence. The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. “What?” You whispered.

Charles breathed out hard, like he already regretted it. But you weren’t letting him off the hook now. “Say it.”

“You push me away before I even get the chance to show up for you,” he snapped. “You act like I don’t care when you won’t even let me try. You’d rather assume the worst than risk trusting me─ like you’re just waiting for me to fuck it all up!”

“Because you always do!”

Now you were both yelling at each other, screams bouncing off the walls. “Then why are you still there?!”

“I don’t fucking know!” You shouted back. “Maybe because I love you, and I keep hoping that maybe one day it’ll be enough for you to love me back!”

His chest rose and fell in sharp movements, eyes glassy mirroring yours. But he didn’t move. Neither of you did.

“I do love you,” he whispered.

A bitter laugh escaped you, overflowing with heartbreak and exhaustion. “Yeah, well. Not enough, apparently.”

Silence fell onto the room again and this time, it carried the sound of finality. Like the stillness before a storm breaks a city─ and you refused to be collateral damage.

So you grabbed your coat, yanking it off the back of the kitchen’s stool in a swift move, and already heading for the door. “Don’t,” Charles interrupted, getting in your path. “Don’t do this now, we’re just tired, it’s─ it’s just too much emotion. We’ll talk in the morning and─”

“No.” You sidestepped him. “I have no mornings left in me, Charles. There is no morning. I’m tired of waiting.”

You turned your back to him. His voice cracked as he said your name. Just your name. You paused, just a second. “I don’t want this to be the end,” he said, voice hollow.

You looked at him ─ the man you’d build a whole life around, the man you loved ─ and something inside you cracked. A second wasn’t enough to make someone stay for a lifetime.

“It already is.”

You walked out, slammed the door so hard the walls trembled. Left him in the wreckage of what was once yours.

Charles’ breathing is uneven, like absorbing every word like a punch to the stomach. His hands curled into a fist, squeezing tight, and you couldn’t tell if he was fighting the urge to reach for you or if he was frustrated with the situation. When Charles felt something harshly, it usually washed over everything. “Loved?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know, Charles. But I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing.”

“No, no I─” He ran a hair through his curls, completely disheveled. His voice was low, rough, overflowing with emotions you couldn’t name. “Fuck, Y/N, do you think I don’t hate myself for that? That I don’t see what I do to you? I know, mon amour. I know. It kills me.”

The pet name choked you a little, the context vastly different from last night and still it felt more intimate than skin slapping against skin. His gaze was too intense, his words too sharp. Your eyes stung as you looked away. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” Charles admits, and his voice breaks in the middle. “I don’t know how to be with you without screwing it up. I tell myself I’ll do better, that I’ll balance everything and I’ll give you everything you really deserve, but then the next race comes, the next event, and suddenly I─” He stops himself, pressing his lips together. You can see his shoulders, still bare, shaking a little. His next words are broken.

“Suddenly you’re not the first thing on my mind anymore. And I hate that. I hate that you ever feel like you have to compete with this life when you’re the only thing that ever mattered outside of it.”

Your breath catches, your heart twists. Because Charles looks at you like he wants to cradle your world and bring all of its splits and cracks back together. Because you believe him, you always have, and that’s an issue.

As your arms wrapped around yourself, a desperate attempt to hold yourself together, you said: “Then what now, Charles?” Your voice is small and tired. It comes from the deepest part of yourself, and you can barely recognize it. “Because I can’t live like this again. I won’t.”

The silence after your words stretched uncomfortably and so far you almost felt it swallow you. Charles moved, just slightly, shifting his weight off the counter. “Then tell me how to fix it.”

“I already did. I just─ I don’t know if you can.”

“But I want to,” the look he gave you was bare, and for once he didn’t try to hide how scared he was. No facade, no pretending. “I want to try again. I want to fight for this. For you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You say that now, but when things get hard again? When the season takes over, and you forget what day it is because you’re too focused on fixing something on track? I’ll become the.. thing you come back to only when you remember. I’ll be the thing you squeeze in between free practice and press.”

“That’s not what I want, Y/N. And I need you to understand that’s not- that’s never how I wanted you to feel. You’re more than this, so much more and─”

Your brows pulled together. If you said something, you knew you’d choke on it. His fingers sat next to yours and, similarly to last night, innocently brushed your palm.

“I love you,” Charles said.

The words landed like a quiet implosion. He’d said it before, of course. But now… they came like a confession, a plea.

Love was still there, even after a year apart, even after all of the ugly and broken shards lodging in open wounds, but it just wasn’t enough.

Love by itself cannot hold two people together if everything else is keeping them apart. Love is not time, it doesn’t fill the empty spaces where presence should be, it’s not a pause button stopping life from going forward, love is not enough─ not when the nights stretch long and lonely, when “I’ll do better” starts to sound like a well-rehearsed lie, when the ache of missing someone that is technically still yours is worse than losing them completely. Love alone cannot bridge the gap between being wanted and being prioritized, of having to beg for a space that should have already been yours.

“I love you,” Charles repeated, softer now. “And I know I’ve done a shit job showing it. I messed us up. But I’ve been in love with you through it all. We can fix it. I can do it. I just need you to let me.”

And the most tragic part? Sometimes, love still lingers long after everything else has fallen apart.

You swallowed hard, an ache dangerously crawling up your throat. “I─ I don’t─” The hesitation in your voice broke his face a little more, as if your pain carved something in him.

You stepped off the stool, eyes searching for the bag you dropped next to the door as you were planning your escape earlier. It was still there, next to your heels. You hadn’t planned on staying, and everything for you was too suffocating to think rationally. Charles’ eyes followed the trajectory of yours in silent understanding. He knew you wouldn’t say it back, not yet─ it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

After a pause, you spoke up. “I need time.”

He nodded slowly, acknowledging your decision. And he wasn’t begging, he wasn’t stopping you, and he simply watched you as you took up the hoodie draped over the couch to look more presentable when you went outside, and helped you find the pair of sneakers you left at his place. He helped you leave, and it made you a little breathless.

But then, right as you reached for the door, he finally said something.

“This weekend. Monaco.” His voice was rough, so much he swallowed, and the hand he had on the door handle curled. Still, his eyes were steady. “If you want to try… If you think we’re worth the risk─ come to the Grand Prix.”

The light coming through the windows caught on his hair, on the curve of his cheekbone. He looked too much like a ghost, a memory─ but he was real. Painfully so.

“And if I don’t?”

He exhaled and when he answered, it was quieter than before. “Then I’ll finally have a reason to let you go.”

You didn’t say anything.

The door closed gently behind you.

The crowd was thunder.

The heat shimmered against the pavement, sweat clung to the back of your neck and the Paddock Pass around it, weighing on you awkwardly. It’s been a long while since you had to wear one, and you had to acclimate to the renewed feeling of the accessory. The ecstatic ambiance was now almost foreign, and new staff members were waltzing around who didn’t recognize you. Things changed around the Ferrari Monaco paddock, it didn’t feel as welcoming to you as it had once been.

But you still came. That had to count for something.

You made your way to the back of the garage, your feet sure of their way even with the numerous changes in your environment. It felt louder, shinier, but beneath the gloss of the year spent apart, it was still the same─ the familiar scent of oil, burnt rubber and adrenaline. Some things just couldn’t be forgotten and your entire presence there was proof of it.

Your hands were shaking, gathered in front of you as your eyes darted from left to right, seeking the flash of crimson and the name stitched across it. You hadn't realized you were holding your breath until you spotted it.

Leclerc.

You saw him before he saw you.

His hair messy due to the balaclava in his hand, half-zipped race suit sitting on his hips, head bent as he adjusted his gloves. Everything about him was focused. Composed. Untouchable.

Except you had touched him─ seen the dark places, known him better than anyone. Standing there now felt like trespassing inside a version of your life you weren’t sure you still had the right to claim. Your heart threatened to burst out of your ribcage, and you couldn’t calm your breathing even if you tried. The need to run away, swallow the heartache, and never look back took a hold of your guts. It would be easier.

But it’s not what you wanted. This time, you were taking the risk.

And slowly, like he could feel your gaze on him, Charles looked up. His green eyes set upon you like a moth to a flame.

The buzz of the staff working around you faded away and you just stared at each other, unsure of what to do until he started walking toward you. Charles was scanning you, taking you in as if he was afraid you’d vanish at any gust of wind. An illusion, the strain of an hourglass ─ you self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

He looked beautiful, like he had aged in the five days separating your last conversation. You think you did, too ─ the many conversations you had with Bridget and Jaime around cups of coffee or something stronger, the late nights spent wondering to yourself, the early mornings spent on Bridget's balcony asking the setting sun if it was worth it. Everything. All of the emotions you went through in such a short time might have transformed the person you were ─ or maybe it was the 365 days spent searching for it.

“You came,” Charles said, breathless.

A small, unbelieving smile tugged at his lips, yet so loud you couldn’t help but give him one back. “I was wondering if you still knew how to race.” It came out lighter than you expected.

The laugh he let out was half choked, half relieved, like he was trying to process the fact you were really there. The shine in his eyes was unmistakable ─ glassy, unspoken. Hope, guilt and everything. “And I was wondering if you were going to show up.” His voice dropped a little. “I wouldn’t let myself believe it until I saw you.”

The red lanyard around your neck brushed against your chest like a second heartbeat. “I didn’t know I was coming until I woke up this morning,” you admitted. Then, you glanced back up. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeated.

It was so simple, but somehow it shattered something in you ─ the gentleness of it, how hopeful it was. Just a simple truth: you were both there, sitting in the openness that only comes with the possibility of a new beginning. The crowd cheering behind you felt like it was cheering for you.

Your hands twitched in front of you and for one aching second, you were there, still in it. The pain, the wanting, the past clawing at your backs but the tiniest thread of the future right there between your fingers. Because it wasn’t too late.

Because this time, you both wouldn’t let it slip through your fingers.

Noticing the restlessness of your fingers, Charles held out his, a silent question, sweeping them against yours. You didn’t hesitate when you let him hold them ever so gently.

“Now what?” You asked. The bitterness when you spoke those exact words five days ago was nowhere to be found.

“Now,” he breathed out. “I’m winning this race. Even if I don’t, I’ll finish it. I’ll come back to get you and we’ll go for coffee─ the place you like so much near the beach, with the stupid chairs that hurt your back but you always go there anyway because the croissants are that good.” You laughed a little at that, and he basked into it. “And we’ll talk. A lot. About what it means, and what we want. I’ll listen, for good this time, to everything. Alright?”

“You think you’ll have the time after the race?” It was a joke, but it came from too far deep to be amused.

Charles’ answer was immediate. “I’ll make it.”

So small, so certain, they curled around your heart and made it sit still. It was so vulnerable─ raw in a way you hadn’t seen from him in a long time. Not from a smokescreen or a podium, just him, the man you fell in love with.

He reached out, brushing the pad of his fingers against your wrist. “I know it won’t be easy, but I’m ready to do anything. If it means sitting in those─ god-awful chairs until the sun sets then so be it. I’ve already lost you once, and I’m not going to do it again.”

The silence that followed felt sacred, the world holding its breath for you even though everything around you was so loud. “So,” Charles started again. “Are you going to be there when I’m done with the race?”

The unspoken question was obvious. Are you going to leave again? Are you scared? Are you letting me in?

You spoke your answer as surely as he did. “I’ll be there. Because I love you too.” You finally said it back.

He nodded once at your words, just barely, like he couldn’t really believe you uttered them, or even meant it. You did. You do. He brought your fingers to his lips, shakily, a good-luck ritual that felt brand new.

And as he left to walk to his car, he shot you a smile, which you gave back teary-eyed, and the rays of sunlight surrounding you made it feel like spring ─ the soft breeze blowing your hair back, carrying hopes and beginnings. Because in three hours you’ll be in that Monaco café, and Charles will be sitting in front of you, and you’ll order a different drink than you usually do, and you’ll talk.

And you’ll start anew.

And this time, it would be enough for both of you.

308 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 3 months ago

Note

Your recent post about your OCs wanting to yandere but [insert something preventing that here] makes me think of an idea 🤔

What if, what if, you have a bsf who's kinda like, into you, and you don't know it. The bsf is sorta yandere, but hides it so they don't freak you out, ykyk? 😏

But then like, you just casually mention one day that it'd be sorta romantic someone would stalk you and kill for you just 'cause "if someone cared for me that much they'd literally murder and stalk me to know everything about me and my tastes I'd be WOOED 😍🥰😫"

And the bsf just casually nods and goes, "well, I already do that for you bbg 😘😘 anything else you want me to do? ☺️"

And you go- "well, there's this annoying coworker-"

"say no more," your bsf says, shushing you with a newfound confidence now that he knows your type.

Does that sound a bit unhinged?

~ 🐇

(glad to hear you're doing well, ozzie!! <33 love yourself!)

Yandere!Best Friend would take his secret to the grave. Oh, he's so ashamed of his rotten self. Would you despise him if you knew about his dirty thoughts, his perversions, his intrusions? He would never dare confess to you, not after everything he's done.

Yandere!Best Friend has always been your biggest supporter and your biggest stalker. Wasn't it all too convenient that he'd readily pick you up within minutes from any location, almost as soon as you uttered the words? Wasn't there an eerie confidence in his voice when he'd reassure you that the poor soul who upset you would never come into your view again? Yet, there was never the faintest tinge of suspicion in your soul. His gentle smile remained as candid as ever.

"You've been stuck to your phone for days now," he jokes, somewhat annoyed by the lack of attention. What, have you found another boyfriend again? He's just gotten rid of the last one, and none of your messages hint that you'd be-

"Sorry, just reading a lot lately. I've really gotten into the yandere trope, you know? Something about an obsessive, creepy guy hits the spot."

You're sadly too preoccupied with your smut paragraphs to notice the borderline psychotic grin of your beloved friend. His heart drums with trepidation, and he places a hand over his heaving chest. God, he can barely contain himself. To hear these words coming out of your precious little mouth...his mind races at a dizzying speed, utterly overwhelmed. It takes a Herculean amount of willpower to refrain himself from pinning you to the ground in that very instant.

You won't be walking straight tomorrow.

#yandere best friend #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons

401 notes · View notes

bolognamayhem117 · 1 year ago

Text

Hot Take: Astarion does NOT hate flowers. You just missed a few subtle hints through Act 1 and early Act 3.

Astarion's negativity is directed toward just about anything remotely pleasant as you move through early act three, starting the moment you leave Wyrm's Rock. First thing after Gortash's coronation he marvels near tears at the colors of the city in daylight. If you ask if he's alright, it pisses him off.

There's other instances I can't quite remember but he's a straight crank throughout early Act 3 and it took me several hours of gameplay to have a lightbulb moment about his newly crappier attitude.

He just spent the last two hundred years seeing everything in the overwhelmingly warm dim tones of indoor lighting via sconces, rushlights, and braziers, or the dingy blue gray of moonlight outside. Daylight colors are something he had more than a lifetime to forget and now that he has a chance to remember that vibrancy in his own home town, he knows he's going to have to forget it all over again either by death or by remaining a vampire spawn forever. The worm isn't going to live rent free in his head forever, and killing Cazador to ascend in his place likely feels like an insurmountable and impossible fight against a literal titan who could stomp him flat without a corm of effort.

He doesn't hate flowers, he hates EVERYTHING right now because it's all going away very soon and if he convinces himself he hates everything then he won't miss it when it's all gone again. He was denied this for two hundred years and he's PISSED at what was stolen from him and PISSED it's all going away again.

He behaved similarly in Act 1 about anyone besides him enjoying physical intimacy. Some of this content was cut, to my best knowledge, but the overwhelming majority of his dialog addressing the PC romancing anyone but him are negative or backhanded. This is for two reasons, I think. A: his Simple Plan just dissolved right before his eyes when you chose someone else which in his mind means he has zero safety net, and EVERYONE gets to enjoy sex (key wording being ENJOY, not simply having) except him... And it pisses him off.

He also gleefully interrupts the bug bear and the ogress, I think for the same reason as the above paragraph, being: If he doesn't get to enjoy intimacy neither do they.

He reacts with anger and disgust at anything he's being unfairly denied. Which... That's fair. His feelings are valid, but his reaction to it is pretty shitty and meanspirited.

The other companions I tend to keep in my party, (that is Lae'zel, Halsin, Karlach, and Wyll) however, are actually appearing to behave pretty patiently with him in Act 3 which I find interesting.

In the instance with the flowers Karlach doesn't bother trying to convince him otherwise of his opinion, she just tells him how they make her feel instead and rather than getting snippy or doubling down he more or less agrees to disagree. I also don't recall anyone disagreeing with Astarion during Gale's last quest tasks when he mentioned that he quit praying to gods who wouldn't hear him a long time ago but to be fair, I think the gods did everybody in this crew dirty and they all know it. It seems like they're consciously giving him the space to be mad about things, is what I'm saying.

Everyone I know including myself who crawled out of a long-term hot garbage situation kinda went wild for a bit with freedom, spoke poorly, behaved strangely, had extreme emotional reactions to things, and made some particularly terrible choices. I think that's just a part of recalibrating yourself, healing and learning how to be okay again.

Point is, I wouldn't conflate too many of the turbo-negative things he says with how he actually feels about anything. We certainly know what he says and what he feels are two very different things.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #trauma #the pale elf #cazador szarr

1K notes · View notes

darlingdaisyfarm · 8 months ago

Text

texting Stan and Ford headcanons

smut version

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.

✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.

✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”

✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”

✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”

✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”

✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.

✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"

types of messages Stan texts:

"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"

“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"

"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."

"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"

"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"

“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”

"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”

"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."

“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.

✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."

✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.

✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."

✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.

✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments

✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”

types of messages Ford texts:

“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."

sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”

“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”

“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."

"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose?

“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"

"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."

"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”

ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL

lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls smut #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #stan pines smut #stan pines x reader #stan pines x oc #stan pines x you #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls headcanons

760 notes · View notes

springtyme · 1 year ago

Note

heyy love, could you do an aaron hotchner x fem bau reader where they dated in secretly for a while but then he broke up with her. the reason he broke up with her is because he is her boss and that always was something that made him feel doubtful about their relationship. it’s up to you if you want to end it with an happy ending.

thank youu

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ♡

Thank you so much for the request, dear anon! Such a lovely one and I was so happy to write for Hotch! mwah <3

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

summary: You suspect that you've been in love with Aaron Hotchner since you first laid eyes on him three years ago. Now you're on your way to Idaho to go on your first case together since he broke your heart two weeks ago.

word count: 4.5k

warnings/tags: Angst and fluff. Boss/employee relationship. Hurt/comfort. Heartbreak. Kissing. Sharing a bed. (first time I write for Hotch, so please bear with me) Haven't proof read yet. I don't know if I really like how it ended up tbh, but maybe it's just because I was really tired while writing it..?

You keep your gaze on the pages of the book, despite the words keep blurring together and after having read the same paragraph four times over, without even having registered what you have read. You’ve given up on actually getting any reading done, but you don’t want anyone talking to you right now and you still have almost four hours left before you land in Idaho. So you keep eyes glued to the book, hoping that the act of pretending to read will deter any unwanted conversation.

You can feel his eyes on you, not all the time, but you feel how his gaze occasionally lingers on you. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you sense his presence nonetheless.

Taking in a deep breath you look up from the book to steal a glance in his direction, catching his eye for a brief moment before he looks away. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, a hint of longing that mirrors your own. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by the stoic mask he wears so well as he continues his conversation with Derek.

The last two weeks have been painful, filled with a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions since Aaron had ended your relationship, before it even had a chance to really begin. It’s been three years since you joined the BAU and from the very beginning you had felt drawn to Aaron Hotchner in a way that defied logic and reason, like there was a connection between you that transcended the professional boundaries of boss and subordinate.

A silly crush is what it had started as, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized that what you felt was far more than just that. It was a deep, undeniable attraction, a connection that went beyond the surface level. And as time passed, that initial spark grew into something more profound, something that stirred your soul and filled your heart with warmth.

Sometimes you had let yourself hope that he felt the same way, that the moments of shared glances and unspoken words between you held a deeper meaning, but you had never dared act on it, or let yourself get your hopes up too high. The reality of Aaron’s position as your boss and the boundaries it imposed had always stood as a barrier. The unspoken rules of professionalism, the fear of risking his or your career and the harmony of the team had kept your feelings hidden, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation.

It was three months ago that things had changed between you. It had been a moment of vulnerability, a shared confession during a late-night conversation with the raw emotions of the aftermath of an exceptionally harrowing case that had laid bare the depths of your emotions, and the longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long had reached a point of no return.

He had kissed you that night and it was sweet and tender, yet charged with unspoken desire and desperation. It was a moment of surrender, a brief glimpse into a world where the barriers between you could be broken down and the feelings you had both been suppressing could be allowed to flourish.

The next couple months had been a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered confessions, each one deepening the bond between you in ways that words could never fully capture. There were secret meetings in secluded corners of the BAU office, stolen kisses in the quiet of the night, and shared glances that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a shadow began to loom over your newfound connection. Aaron had started to act distant and reserved, his once warm and affectionate demeanor now replaced by a noticeable aloofness. And two weeks ago on a night where the both of you had stayed late to finish some reports he had told you that it all had been a mistake, and that the two of you should maintain a strictly professional relationship moving forward.

His words had cut through the air with a sharp finality and landed like a heavy blow, shattering the fragile hope that had still lingered within you. Aaron’s eyes had been averted, unable to meet your gaze as he spoke the words that shattered your heart.

You steal another glance at Aaron, watching as he maintains his composure in conversation with Derek, his mask of professionalism firmly in place.

You turn back to your book, the words still a jumbled mess on the page. You can’t pretend to read anymore, not when your heart is heavy with memories and unspoken words. With a sigh, you close the book, making Emily, who is seated across the aisle, glance up from the case file she is reading with a questioning look.

You offer her a faint smile, attempting to convey a sense of normalcy despite the turmoil swirling within you.

“You okay?” she asks as she sets aside the case file. You appreciate her gesture, knowing that Emily’s intuition often went beyond words.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you. With a small nod, you offer Emily a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind,” you reply softly, the words carrying a weight that belie their simplicity.

Emily nods in understanding, her gaze holding a sense of sympathy. “He’s an idiot, by the way,” she says with a wry smile, and you feel how your heart stops for a second, panicking at the thought of Emily uncovering the truth of what has unfolded between you and Aaron.

“What do you mean?” you stammer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for Emily’s response.

Emily just smiles at you as she picks up her file again. “We’re profilers, it’s not hard to read between the lines,” Emily says with a knowing glint in her eyes, her smile reassuring and understanding. “And you’re not as hard to read as you think, it’s clear that you have been dating someone, you have been looking like a smitten kitten for months, it’s been really cute to see, by the way, but something has changed recently. You’ve been distant, and often lost in thought sulking,” Emily continues, her tone gentle yet perceptive.

It’s not like it really surprises you, given how perceptive Emily is, and how deeply you’ve been feeling the shifts in your relationship with Aaron, but you had still hoped that you could have hidden your feelings from colleagues.

“So, yeah, whoever he is that has you feeling like this is an idiot, you’re clearly a catch,” Emily says with a reassuring smile, her words carrying a sense of warmth and understanding.

You feel relief wash over you, though Emily has sensed that you’ve been heartbroken, she hasn’t figured out that it is your boss that has been the course of it.

“Thanks, Em,” you say, offering the dark haired woman a tired but grateful smile.

Emily returns your smile. “If you ever need to talk or just... not talk, I’m here,” she offers, her voice warm and reassuring.

“I appreciate that,” you say, and you do really mean it, but you know that you’re not ready to talk about any of this yet. “But I think I’ll try to take a nap first, hopefully clear my head a bit before we land.”

“Mm, sounds like a plan,”Emily responds with a soft chuckle.

Grabbing the blanket from the empty seat next to you, you lean back in your seat, engulfing your body in the soft, fluffy material.

Before closing your eyes you cast one last glance at Aaron, his profile etched against the soft glow of the cabin lights. The memories of stolen moments with stolen kisses floods your mind, mingling with the ache of his recent rejection. You feel a pang in your heart, a mix of longing and sorrow, as you turn away, curling up in your seat, closing your eyes to the world outside.

You pull the blanket closer around you, the soft warmth of the blanket envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and security, providing a shield against the turmoil of your heart. The gentle hum of the airplane engines lulls you into a state of relaxation, the rhythmic sound serving as a soothing backdrop to your thoughts and emotions.

As you feel yourself drifting further into the realm of sleep, your senses start to weaken, the sounds of the airplane cabin fading into a distant murmur and you barely register the tears gently sliding down your cheeks before you drift off.

· · · · ·

You’re softly pulled out of sleep by the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. As you slowly flutter your eyes open, the soft glow of the cabin lights illuminates the figure beside you.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re about to land,” Derek’s voice is warm and filled with a hint of amusement as he gently rouses you from your slumber.

You blink a few times, the remnants of sleep still lingering in your mind as you adjust to the reality of the present moment. With a small smile, you offer Derek a nod of gratitude. Slowly, you sit up in your seat, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you get ready for touchdown.

As the plane begins its descent, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - longing, sorrow, and a hint of resignation. The turbulence of your heart echoes the turbulence in the jet cabin as you start dissenting onto a lower altitude.

As the cabin lights dim in preparation for landing, you look up to find Aaron’s eyes looking in your direction, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he looks away, a shadow covering his features in the soft glow. This would all be so much easier if he would stop looking at you all the time.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions as the plane continues its descent. The mix of longing and sorrow in your heart feels almost suffocating, but you push it aside. You have to focus, have to keep your head clear for the sake of the case, you are a professional and you are not going to let your emotions cloud your mind. As the wheels touch the runway with a slight jolt, signaling your arrival in Idaho, you

And as the team disembarks from the plane and makes their way to the awaiting SUVs, you feel a sense of resolve settling within you, happy to no longer be confined to the limited room of the jet cabin and as you step out into the crisp evening air, you release a sigh of relief.

You watch Aaron walk ahead of you, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable as he walks to one of the cars and you beeline for the other. You keep your gaze fixed outside the window for most of the car ride, watching the landscape pass by in a blur as the car speeds towards its destination, a little sleepy town about an hour away.

As you and the team arrive at the local police station, you can feel the tension between you and Aaron simmering just beneath the surface. The case at hand requires your full attention, and you push aside the turbulent thoughts and emotions that threaten to consume you as you focus on the task at hand.

Throughout the evening and early night, you work alongside the team, profiling the unsub and piecing together clues to hopefully catch the unsub before they strike again. The familiarity of the work, the rhythm of profiling and investigating grounding you in the present moment, making you go into a state of laser focused professionalism. You find a sense of purpose in the work you do, a reminder that you are more than the turmoil of your emotions.

But as the night wears on, the team regroups at the hotel to get a few hours of sleep before continuing the investigation in the morning. You find yourself standing outside the small hotel, looking up at the dark, star lit sky and as you turn to head inside and join the rest of the team, you feel your heart do a little jump in your chest as you see Aaron standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you, his usual stoic expression faltered, his brown eyes softening as they meet yours.

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet night, and suddenly, you know that the decision you have made to the hard choice you’ve struggled with for the past two weeks is the right one.

Without saying a word, you walk towards him, a mix of uncertainty and determination coursing through you. As you come to a stop in front of him, he opens his mouth to speak, but you raise a hand to silence him. “Not here,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, and you gently take his hand, leading him towards a secluded corner of the hotel grounds.

As you come to a stop, you turn to face him, the dim light of the night casting shadows across his face. With a heavy sigh, you search his eyes for any sign of the man you once knew, the man who had kissed you with such tenderness and held you with such care, the man you think might’ve even loved you. You had loved him, had long before he kissed you, and you still love him.

“Aaron, I…” you begin, trailing off as you feel all the words in your head leave you as you look into his eyes, remembering that night he had kissed you for the first time. It had been a late night just like this one, it had been the first time you had ever called him by his first name.

“Let’s sit,” he says, his voice gentle yet strained, as he guides you to a nearby bench. You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for leading you on, for... for everything.” His words are filled with regret, and you can see the pain in his eyes, a pain that mirrors your own.

He reaches out his hand, hesitating before resting it on yours. His touch is soft and hesitant but filled with unspoken longing and you feel how your heart skips a beat, how you have missed the feeling of him touching you, even if it’s just the slightest of touches.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, his voice now barely above a whisper.

‘But it did hurt, it hurt so, so much’, is what you want to say. But as you look into Aaron’s eyes, filled with regret and vulnerability, you find yourself unable to form the words, the intensity in the warm, chocolate brown depths of his gaze rendering you speechless. You see the conflict within him, the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface, and you feel the need to avert your gaze.

You look down at his hand on yours, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine in the balm night air. For a moment, you allow yourself to savor the familiar sensation, the connection that still linger between you despite the circumstances.

Aaron’s hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent plea for understanding. “You deserve so much better than that,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

You take a deep breath, the words forming in your mind before you speak them out loud. “Maybe I don’t want you to decide for me what I do and don’t deserve,” you say, looking up at him again, your voice steady despite the feelings swirling within you. Aaron’s eyes widen slightly at your words, a mix of emotions crossing his features.

Now it’s his turn to be lost for words, which for some reason seems to give you a bit more courage. You fill your lungs with another deep breath before opening your mouth.

“I’m quitting,” you declare, your voice firm and resolute. You’ve been struggling with making the decision, but as you look at Aaron now, face lit up by the soft moon light you know that it is the only decision for you, you are never gonna be able to let him go if you keep working for the BAU. “I’m turning in my resignation letter when we get back from this case.”

Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on your hand tightening even more as he processes your words. The weight of your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, the unspoken implications of what this means for both of you settling in. You can see how a myriad of emotions flicker across his face – surprise, concern, and perhaps a glimmer of something else that you can’t quite place.

“You can’t do that,” Aaron’s voice is firm but filled with a mix of concern and resignation, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt

You can’t help but feel a pang of hurt at his words, it’s not like you had expected him to be happy about your decision, but a little, and probably naive, part of you had hoped that he would acknowledge that it would be the solution to how the two of you could be together, hoped that he still wanted that. But you’re not leaving the BAU for the slim chance that you can be with Aaron. You’re quitting because it’s become clear to you that it is the only solution. If the only time you can push aside the pain of being around him is when you’re actively investigating a violent crime case, you have to let him go, and you can only do that by leaving the BAU.

“Yes, I can… I have to, I think,” you say firmly, yet you feel your heart breaking a little by the thought of leaving. “I need to do this for myself. For my own well-being,” you continue, your gaze unwavering as you look into his eyes. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”

Aaron remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. Finally, he sighs, a hint of resignation in his voice. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret.

“I know,” you reply softly, a tinge of sorrow coloring your words. “But we both knew the risks when we started this.”

“I should never have put you in this position,” Aaron says, his gaze dropping to the ground as he speaks. “I should never have kissed you that night. Ilet my own feelings cloud my judgment, and I hurt you in the process. I’m your boss, and I took advantage, and I-I hurt you, and…”

“No, look at me, please.” You reach out and gently cub his cheek in your hand, making him meet your gaze. “Aaron, it wasn’t just you. I wanted it too, I wanted to be with you,” you confess, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “I wanted to take the risk because I thought it was worth it. And maybe it was, for a while. But we can’t keep going like this, Aaron. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Aaron’s eyes search yours, a mix of emotions swirling within their depths. “What are you saying?” he asks softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

“I’m saying that I need to let you go,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to let go of this hope that maybe someday we could find a way to be together. I can’t keep holding on to something that’s only causing us both pain.” Tears gather in the corners of your eyes as you speak, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. But despite the pain, you feel a sense of clarity wash over you, a sense of liberation in finally speaking the truth.

Aaron’s eyes soften, his hand coming up to gently grasp yours that’s still cupping his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. You offer him a sad smile, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

“Me too, Aaron,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of love and heartbreak. As you stand up from the bench, you turn to walk away, the weight of your decision settling in your heart. But before you can take a step, you feel a hand grasp yours, stopping you in your tracks. You turn back to see Aaron standing before you, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of something you can’t quite place.

“I...I can’t let you leave without saying this,” Aaron begins, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and in the process, I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let you go without telling you that I love you. ”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the depth of his confession washing over you like a wave. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you, a spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for the two of you. “But what does that mean, Aaron?” you ask softly, your voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation. “What are you saying?”

Aaron takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he speaks. “I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to live with the regret of letting you slip away. I want to fight for a future where you are a part of my life. I know it won’t be easy, I know there are risks and complications, but I can’t let you go without at least trying cause I love you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you look into Aaron’s eyes, the sincerity and love shining within them filling your heart with warmth and longing. Taking a step closer to Aaron, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with determination.

“I love you, too. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”

Aaron’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across his features. Without another word, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss filled with passion and longing. The world falls away as you melt into each other, lost in the moment of shared love and desire as the man you love kisses you under the moonlight.

The kiss deepens, becoming a promise of the future you both want to fight for, a pledge to overcome the obstacles that stand in your way, a balm for the weeks of heartbreak. And as you break apart, breathless and filled with emotion, you feel how your entire body shivers, already missing the feeling of Aaron’s warm lips against yours.

“You’re freezing,” Aaron frowns, quickly shredding himself of his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders before wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod, your heart swelling with hope and love as he takes your hand in his, leading you back to the hotel. Hotel might be a little generous; it’s more of a bed and breakfast, with so few rooms that the team had to pair up and share, but it was the only accommodation in town and it is not like you and the team aren’t used to having to share rooms from time to time.

It turns out the rest of the team has already paired up and hit the hay, leaving only one room since you’re the last two to arrive. “Looks like you and I’ll have to share a room,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, an hour ago you would be horrified by it, but now you’re absolutely thrilled about it.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he says with a soft smile on his face as you get your keys before taking your hand in his again and leading you to your shared room.

As you step inside, the warmth of the room envelops you, melding with the warmth of Aaron’s touch as he pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours once more in a sweet, tender embrace. In the dim light of the hotel room, with the moon casting a soft glow through the curtains, the emotions swirling within you are no longer suffocating, but freeing, as you surrender to the love that has bound the two of you together.

As you finally break apart and look around it turns out that the room is a twin room, with two beds divided by a bedside table. It makes sense that your coworkers didn’t leave you to share a room with a shared bed.

You share a knowing look with him before the both of you start to quickly get ready for bed, it’s late and you’re both exhausted and there is only a few hours till you’ll need to get up again.

You share one last kiss before moving to your respective beds, but as you lay there, the distance between you feels unbearable. The man you have been pining over for three years has just a little while ago told you that he loves you after weeks of heartbreak and he lies so close yet you can’t even touch him? That’s ridiculous!

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice filled with longing as you look at Aaron.

“I know,” he replies, his voice just as filled with yearning as he pulls his covers to the side letting you slip into the bed with him.

You settle into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and you feel as if you’re finally coming home. The walls that had been built between you are crumbling down, allowing you to embrace the love that has always been between you.

As you snuggle closer to Aaron, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. The turmoil of the past weeks fades away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment and love.

“I’m never letting you go again,” Aaron whispers, his breath warm against your ear, and you know that he means it. And you know that you never want to let him go either.

With a smile on your face, and your heart full of love and hope, you drift off to sleep in the arms of the man you love, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together.

2K notes · View notes