#i have a very um i suppose vivid imagination so i really see them like this in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cno-inbminor · 3 years ago

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iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings: DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him. It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,” he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #childe #tartaglia #childe angst #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #this fic maybe took two years off my life

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years ago

Text

Stitched Back Together

AO3

first Owl Fight attack, woo! The prompt for this one was “Luz and Raine hanging out”

Summary: Free of Kikimora's control, with scars carved into their skin, Raine is taken back to the Owl House. Awake in the middle of the night, unable to sleep after their whole ordeal, they officially meet Luz. Talking to one of Eda's kids really shouldn't be as intimidating as it feels.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Raine first saw the kids, truly and consciously, there were thorns retreating from their eyes and scars etched onto their skin as Eda held them tightly.

Eda’s sclera had turned black, hands hooked into talons with wings arched over their heads, and was at least two feet taller than when they had last seen her. And there had been a lot to ask about there, and possibly some gawking, but this isn’t about that.

Because as soon as Raine could stand, Eda holding their hands tightly and almost brought to tears at how relieved she was to see them alright, to know there would be no more harm done to them, Raine noticed the two figures far across from them, holding back the few guards trying to intervene.

They recognized them quickly, from the photo that had twisted a hole into their chest, because Eda had kids and she had spoken of them with such desperation and love--

The girl had turned, and Raine knew then they hadn’t been imagining the round ears when they first saw the photo. She had the young demon they recognized earlier clinging to her back, and they both looked at Raine with confusion. The demon’s had been accusatory, but the humans, she had to be a human, looked nothing but curious.

It had all passed by in a blur, the escape from the guards and Eda bundling them into the Owl House, frantic as she continued to check them over, never slowing in her talking as the wings and sharp edges retreated back into her body, which Raine may have quietly mourned the loss of. They suited her.

The human and demon had watched from the background, occasionally offering assistance towards or around the two, but more or less giving them space as Eda fretted and explained all she could to Raine, clinging like she was afraid if she didn’t, Raine would vanish again.

They heard of what Kikimora had done to them, of what Belos had done to them, of what they had done. Of Eda’s acceptance of the curse, of the rest of the BATs being in the Conformatorium (something they both agreed on fixing as soon as they could), of everything that Eda could think to catch them up on.

There would be time to unpack all of that, to formulate plans, to talk about everything beyond what Raine had missed out on. But that could wait until another day, could wait until Raine had gotten rest, and a moment to reorient themselves.

And yet, they still found themself in Eda’s kitchen, nearing midnight, with a cup of tea that looked suspiciously like the one Lilith had liked in their hands.

They knew they should be asleep, it was late, and knowing Eda, there would be far more to fret about in the morning. Eda had offered her nest, but Raine had taken the couch, not exactly willing to voice their opinion on how Eda’s nest did not look comfortable.

They were thankful for it later, too, when they awoke after barely an hour of sleep with the feeling of vines wrapped around their throat and muffled, begging cries as their hands moved of their own accord.

They sighed and slumped against the counter, setting down the cup for a moment to rub at their wrist, where scars from the reaching thorns still lay. They faded the further the scars stretched up their body, but they figured the ones along their wrist and arm would last for the rest of their life.

It wasn’t too bad, a scar was really the best thing they could’ve asked for. They stared down at their tea, thoughts swirling and not even bothering to try and sort any of them out. Later, when their wrist didn’t have a phantom ache.

“Oh, hey.”

Raine startled, almost knocking their cup over as they whirled their head around.

The human stood in the doorway, looking a bit surprised at Raine’s reaction. She had clearly just woken up, hair a frizzy mess and eyes still blinking with sleep.

“Oh, um, hello.” Raine said, forcing themself to relax. “Sorry, is there something you need?” They asked, wrapping a hand around their tea.

“I just came here for a snack,” The human shrugged, breezing right by the counter and towards the cabinets.

Raine nodded, mostly just to themself, and went back to staring into space, trying to pretend the awkward tension hadn’t suddenly arisen.

They realized after a moment that the girl had paused in what she was doing, hand still in the cabinet door, but taking nothing out. They looked up for a moment, and caught the girl watching them with a contemplative look on her face until she realized she had been staring and jerked back to shuffling through the cabinets.

“So,” Raine said, in some attempt to break the tension, leaning their arms across the counter. “You’re Eda’s kid?” They said, grimacing slightly at how off that had come off sounding.

“Er, yeah,” The human said, frowning at the cabinet before shutting it again and opening a different one. “And you’re...Raine.”

“You’ve heard of me, then?” Raine guessed, taking a sip of their tea.

“Vaguely,” The human admitted, opening another cabinet door. “I know you’re--er, were, the head of the Bard Coven. I know Eda mentioned some group called the BATs you lead. I know that...Eda knows you.” She said, voice becoming more mumbly as she spoke.

“Ah, Eda didn’t speak of me much, then?” Raine inquired, telling themself that they shouldn't really be surprised.

“Not until you, uh, had the whole...thing happening.” The girl nodded. “Then Eda got really worried and me and King asked why she was so worked up, and then she told us you were an old friend, which I maybe halfway trust, and that you had this group with the BATs...and I still don’t think I understand it completely.” She admitted with a sheepish look.

“Sounds like Eda.” Raine chuckled, shaking their head slightly as they smiled down at their tea. “Wait, halfway trust?” They added right after, back straightening.

“I mean, I trust you mean a lot to Eda,” The human said, her raiding of the cabinets forgotten. “And I trust Eda means a lot to you,” Raine did not flush at that, thank you. “But pretty much everyone Eda knows she has a very complicated relationship with, and I’d be surprised if you were the one exception.”

“Ah,” Raine said, rubbing the back of their neck. Is this what it felt like to be interrogated by a kid? “You got me there. We haven’t...seen each other in a while.” They admitted.

“How long?” The human asked, interest sparking in her eyes as she leaned next to the cabinets.

“Erm, two...maybe two and half decades?” Raine said, lifting a hand and tilting it. “Titan, it sounds much longer than it feels when I say it out loud.” They murmured.

“Oooh, another piece of the mysterious backstory!” The human grinned, perking up, all the hesitation from earlier melting away at a probably concerning speed. “Why’d ya stop talking?”

“Ah, well, you know,” Raine said, flushing again as their ears pressed back. “Just...a split, really. Seeing other people. Eda had some things she still needed to work out, and I suppose I had to reflect a bit, too.” They mumbled.

“Wait,” The girl narrowed her eyes, and when Raine focused on where she was again, they pulled back when they realized Luz was on the other side of the counter. “Are you one of her exes?” She gasped, eyes wide.

“Oh dear,” Raine sighed, face falling in their hands.

“You are!” The girl exclaimed, and they sincerely hoped it didn’t wake anyone else up. “Man, and I thought all her exes hated her from how she talked about some of them.” She whistled. “Explains a bit, though.”

“Is that so?” Raine mumbled, knowing that they were blushing up to their ears.

“Yeah, I mean, explains why she seemed so freaked out. She's gotta know you pretty well.” The human said casually. “She goes all out when she gets attached, as I’m sure you know.” She added with a light tease.

“Oh, I know.” Raine sighed, memories of holding back a feral Eda back in Hexside from mauling Odalia still vivid in their mind. “And, since we’re talking, I apologize, but,” They said, raising their head from their hands when they were sure they didn’t look like they’d had a nasty sunburn across their face. “I don’t believe I...caught your name.”

“Eda didn’t mention it?” The human blinked, graciously taking the change in conversation.

“She might’ve, but I’ll be honest, I caught maybe two of every five words she said.” Raine admitted, flicking an ear. “I’m sorry, but I figure I should ask now before it turns into something where I ask at a much worse moment.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” The human waved her hand. “You went through a lot. My name’s Luz.” She said cheerfully, offering a hand. “The other little guy is King.”

Raine blinked at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it, giving a single shake until Luz pulled back. She was practically rocking on her heels from how excited she seemed, and Raine may have allowed a small half-smile in return.

“Have you lived with Eda long?” Raine asked, because they could still remember Eda’s pained explanation that the kids weren’t hers hers, and found themself wondering where in the world she had picked up a human.

“Few months,” Luz said. “Four, maybe? I dunno, the calendars here are different from the human realm.”

“Four months?” Raine blinked, surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d known her longer.”

“Nah, I’m just a recent addition.” Luz shrugged, looking away with a hint of nervousness. “King’s been here for years, though.”

“Huh, odd.” Raine said with a shrug as they went back to drinking their tea. “You act a lot like her, I would’ve thought you’d have picked up those habits from her.”

“I do?” Luz repeated, straightening.

“Yes?” Raine lowered their cup. “When she was younger, at least. Very curious, couldn’t leave any questions unanswered. And stubborn. And maybe a little too attentive for her own good.” They added with a lighthearted tone.

“Oh, yeah, that-that sounds familiar.” Luz coughed into her fist, and Raine smiled at her embarrassment. “You knew her when you were younger, then?” She asked, and Raine chose not to comment on the slight diversion in conversation.

“Since Hexside,” Raine nodded. “I want to say we were eleven or so? Maybe twelve. Never had a moment of peace since.”

“Aw, Eda’s backstory just keeps getting more and more convoluted. At least yours isn’t as crazy as Lilith or her moms. Even after the whole mind-control thing.” Luz said with a fiery curiosity in her eyes, and Raine was impressed at their lack of visible reaction to how casually Luz brought up the mind-control. Another thing like Eda, Raine thought. No amount of answers would be satisfactory, and treated every odd thing like it was just another day.

“Well, I’m glad I got her daughter's approval. Wouldn’t want to fight my way in now, would I?” Raine chuckled, tilting their cup back and finishing the last of it.

When they lowered their cup again, Luz was staring at them like a spooked rabbit, hands gripping the counter. They blinked slowly, brow raised in confusion.

“I-I’m not,” Luz stuttered, coughing to clear her throat and forcibly releasing the counter. “I’m not her daughter, you thought I was her daughter?”

“You aren’t?” Raine frowned, ears perking up. “But you said you were her kid.”

“That’s--I thought you meant--like when Eda just casually calls me and and King kids, or when I’m out with my friends and she’s watching us we’re just ‘her kids,�� you know?” Luz said, looking a little frantic as she did so, wildly waving her hands around. “Not--no I’m not, related to her or anything--”

“Oh, I knew that.” Raine brushed it off. “But Eda told me you and King were her kids?”

“I--when did that happen?” Luz asked, near sounding like a demand.

Raine hesitated, for a brief moment. They doubted someone like Eda would so casually tell a teenager and young demon about that time she, you know, almost died, and it really wasn’t their place to tell them as such if she hadn’t.

“The last time we spoke.” They settled on. “Before the...thing.” They said, mimicking Luz’s words from earlier. “I learned she had kids, and I told her that if she had something to lose, she had to get back to them.”

“I...oh.” Luz said quietly, slowly relaxing and turning her head down to stare at the counter.

“I’m…” Raine hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject--”

“No, no! It’s not, you’re fine.” Luz waved them off. “I just...didn’t know Eda had said it like that.”

Raine would’ve thought something along the lines of ‘Eda didn’t tell you she thought of you as her kid?’ if they didn’t know that Eda was the same person who hadn’t even truly thought of them as dating until Raine had introduced her as their girlfriend with earshot. She’d been so touched over the whole ordeal that Raine had to remind her, repeatedly, that they had been dating for over a month. Apparently knowing, and having a title for it, were two very different things.

They wouldn’t be surprised if this kid was the same.

“She cares about you, you know that, right?” Raine asked softly, and Luz looked up to meet their eyes.

“Yeah,” She said, cracking a small smile. “I know.”

Raine nodded in satisfaction, stepping around the counter to set their cup in the sink. It was late, they could wash it in the morning. How Eda could've ever thought about leaving a kid like her, they don't think they'd want to know.

“She cares about you, too.”

Raine paused, going still as one hand lightly gripped the edge of the sink.

“I know,” They said, almost surprised that they believed it so easily, inhaling as they set their shoulders back. “It’s almost scary how little that seems to have changed.” They mumbled.

“For the both of you, huh?” Luz teased.

Raine whirled around, ears pressed back as their face lit up again, being greeted with the girl's smug face that she had to have picked up from Eda, it was almost uncanny.

“I--you--she just--there was--shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?” Raine managed to strangle out, getting a gleeful giggle out of Luz as they did so.

“I got hungry,” Luz shrugged simply, her smug expression never falling.

“Then grab a snack and go to bed.” Raine huffed, crossing their arms, as if that would hide the embarrassment as they stepped aside.

“I will, once I find where Eda put the cookies. She keeps hiding them from King and doesn’t tell me where she put them.” Luz muttered, stepping up to the cabinets again and opening a new one.

“I think that means she’s hiding them from both of you.” Raine raised a brow.

“She should find better hiding spots, then.” Luz said, retracting a hand from the cabinet with a container full of cookies in her hand, shaking them. “Cover for me if she asks why some went missing?” She asked, a pleading look on her face.

“I’ll cover you if one goes missing.” Raine bargained, and Luz gave them a disgruntled look before sighing and taking a single cookie from the container.

“Can’t believe you.” Luz huffed good-naturedly, putting the cookies away.

“Just because you're Eda’s kid doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with everything, Titan knows how Eda would’ve ended up if that happened.” They muttered, shaking their head. “I fear the day you and Amber meet.”

“Who?” Luz tilted her head, taking a large bite of her cookie.

“One of my crew, she’s about your age.” Raine said simply. “I think you’ll get along. Now go, shoo, I’m willing to bet tomorrow will be quite hectic, and you need your sleep.” They said, herding Luz out of the kitchen.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Luz said, smiling as she lightly batted at Raine’s hands, darting out of the kitchen. “Remember, you saw nothing.” She warned, walking backwards as she narrowed her eyes on Raine.

“Lips are sealed, I was fast asleep the whole night.” Raine said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Though I figure she’ll find out, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got backup now.” Luz said, shoving the last half of the cookie in her mouth before slipping away through the doorway that led to the staircase.

Raine chuckled, shaking their head as they pushed themself off of the doorway. They should probably hit the couch again, too. Eda would only fret more if they were falling asleep all day tomorrow.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Luz said, head suddenly poking through the doorway and causing Raine to pause. “Welcome to the Owl House,” She said cheerily. “Since I take it you’ll be staying a while.”

Raine’s ears flicked back and they mumbled under their breath as Luz’s smile only widened, and Raine couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Night!” She chirped, vanishing around the corner yet again.

Raine watched the place where she’d vanished again, rubbing their wrist and noting it didn’t ache as much as before.

“Goodnight,” They said to the empty air.

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inknopewetrust · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Chaos

Summary: A thief finds herself at the center of the kidnapping of two girls and has the attention one very attractive detective.

Pairing: Detective Loki x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Criminal activity, flirting, sexual references, brief choking, probably 16+ based on content but no explicit smut. A mention of pedophilia but nowhere near in detail.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written something like this and can I just say that I really loved it!? So, I really hope you all do too! Requests are currently CLOSED but I hope to open them soon again and with new characters to add to my list. Check out my Masterlist for all other works. Thanks so much for requesting this @mrs-blooooom! I just loved the idea so much and thanks for being so kind about all the delays!

One - pick the lock

Two - lift up the screen and frame as quietly as possible but make absolutely no rough work of it.

Three - slip on the shoe covers and assess the gloves before entering through the window.

Four - get to work.

That was always the structure, no questions asked. Though, you noticed the news beginning to trace your patterns. You had made a hit in another neighborhood two weeks ago and because the news began reporting the patters, you were sure the police weren’t far behind.

And perhaps on that particular Thanksgiving, you shouldn’t have done another–or picked that house, rather.

Detective David Loki had a million different things running through his mind on a daily basis. When a case such as the Dover-Birch one stuck itself in the middle of an already pending investigation of burglaries in the Conyer’s area, he had a hunch of who he would investigate first. But he couldn’t get to that immediately because Keller Dover convinced him and his superiors that the RV belonging to Alex Jones was the first and only way to go.

But even after interrogating the man who had a child-like innocence to him, David Loki was convinced there was something more to the story. There had to have been a connection to who burglarized the Dover’s that same night and where the girls could be... he was certain, but then he wasn’t because he wasn’t sure you were the kind of person who would kidnap two innocent girls.

On a particularly slow Tuesday, no new leads had come in and the investigation had stalled because Alex Jones had now gone missing without a trace. Although he was doing everything he could, Loki was far from finding a solution and decided to take the initiative into his own hands and dive into the file he had been working on for nearly five months–the one into you and your less-than-stellar activities. The post-it note sticking out of the side of the manilla folder contained an address to an apartment in the center of town. He plucked it out, tucked it into his pocket and walked straight out of the station.

You weren’t worried about being considered a suspect in the kidnapping of two girls. You had no connection to the Dover’s, Birches’, or the Jones’, as well as no connection to the scene of the crime. You were always careful, and the Dover’s had no security cameras. So, when your comm buzzed in the middle of the day, you weren’t expecting it to be the police.

“Hello?”

“Ms. L/n? This is Detective Loki with the Conyer’s Police Department. I have a few questions I would like to ask you.” The voice was cackled with the circuited communication buzzer but you heard the man loud and clear. You also knew exactly who that was.

Detective David Loki was an infamous creature of Conyers. One day he just seemed to sprout out of nowhere and into the public sphere, but you had known him for a while. You were never friends, and you were sure until now he didn’t even know your name, but he was the star pupil of the town. And the spotlight he was in, he absolutely hated it. Every time his picture appeared in the paper or when he had to speak on the television relayed that message and you laughed in pity. The poor man just wanted to do his job and that was one part he didn’t sign up for.

“Can I ask what this is regarding?”

“The investigation into Joy Birch and Anna Dover. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask you if you would step-”

“I’ll buzz you up.” You pressed the button and unlocked the door, opening it just enough for you to rest on the frame with one arm on the door and the other on your hip.

Another thing you knew about Detective David Loki was that he was one of the most attractive people you had ever laid eyes on. The man was a walking dream but unfortunately, on the other side of the law which was far from promising when it came to your vivid imagination.

“How nice of you to not barge into my home, Detective.” You called out to him as he appeared on the steps landing just down the hall from your door. Loki gave no smile but shoved an orange post-it into his jacket as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“This surely won’t take long.”

With a nod you moved away from the door, shutting it closed behind you. With the sudden and unexpected presence of this man who was a fine line between formal detective and loose cop, there was an urge to be exactly the opposite of what he wanted you to be. He had been trailing you for just enough time to learn patterns in your life, the people you associate with, the fact that you had a degree and a decent job. You had an apartment to call your own, a car that wasn’t stolen and yet you continued to break into people's homes and steal curious objects for what? Consignment sales? He wasn’t sure. But you weren’t going to give him the answers he was looking for. You enjoyed the life you built for yourself...even if you had to steal and sell things to arrive at ends meet to pay for everything in your life.

“So... what can I do for you?”

“Can you recall where and what you were going on the night of Thursday, November 28th?”

“Thanksgiving?” You asked with a raised brow and he nodded. Loki pulled out no notebook to take notes, rather he watched every movement. He was trying to identify guilt, but you were a casual sleuth. It wasn’t a game he was used to because all of his suspects eventually gave in.

“I got up around 8:30, maybe 9 and ate some breakfast, um I-” You took a seat on the arm of your couch, running a hand over your mouth trying to “remember” what exactly you were doing a few days ago.

“-took a shower and then got started on my dish to pass at my parents dinner. I made sweet potatoes and stuffing-or dressing... I don’t know what you call it.” Loki was far from amused that you were making this appear less than serious. He couldn’t let himself believe that you were stupid enough to believe he wasn’t there on behalf of the story that captured the attention of the entire nation, so he didn’t believe a word you said.

“When that was done I got ready, did my makeup, and headed out to my parents where my sister and her family were meeting us to have dinner. Then I left their house around 7-ish and came home.”

“After dinner you went straight home?”

“Yes.”

You looked at him with an unfazed gaze which he met but didn’t buy. It was a game. A cat and mouse game that he wasn’t willing to bite into but it was too late, you already had him on a string. Loki would be lying if he didn’t find you attractive, even in the slightest. You were a beautiful woman, and it was because of how you looked that you’ve never been caught. You always covered every inch of your body and you looked unassuming. You had a perfectly pristine house, looked like someone who didn’t need to steal to live but then again, most of the time, all the people who do steal never look like they would because that is what people are taught not to look for.

“I made some phone calls late last week and someone in your family spilled that you weren’t there. In fact, you haven’t been to a family holiday since you graduated college nearly ten years ago. Bad relationship?”

“I can assure you–whoever you talked to, they weren’t there. I was there. I can tell you what I wore, what I ate, what was on the T.V. and what color shoe my nephew was wearing that day.”

“Those could just be good guesses?” Loki let his eyes wander around the small living space. He looked at the picture frames, the vases, the bins, the T.V. stand, everything that could have screamed “out of place” to him but nothing did.

“You didn’t happen to pass two little girls on your drive home, did you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Two girls. I’m sure you’ve seen their picture on the news.” Loki pointed to the T.V. at first but then dug into his pocket and pulled out a single picture of two girls photographed on a playground. They were smiling widely and happily at the person behind the camera. You had never seen the girls so you shook your head no and crossed your arms.

“No. I’ve never seen them before. Am I supposed to?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“What are you implying, detective?”

“Do you know the house you broke into on Thursday, November 28th was the home of Anna Dover. Anna and her friend Joy went missing that same night after returning to the Dover residence to find a whistle. You were inside the home at the time we believe the girls went missing. So, tell me–do you know where the girls are?” Loki was zoned in accusation. The man was unwavering in his tone or his assumption and you would say it was scary if you didn’t find it attractive. Why, God WHY, did the detective working on this case have to be everything you looked for in a man? It would be so much easier if he were old and wrinkled but he was far far from it.

“Detective, if I would have known you would come into my home and accuse me of kidnapping two innocent girls, I wouldn’t have answered the ring.”

“Where are the two girls? Do you know where they are?”

“No. I told you I didn’t take the girls.”

“But you were in the house? Did you see the girls?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“What if I told you that you were a sloppy thief?”

“Excuse me?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. You were certain that you were not. There was never a time where you left as much as a trace of hair in a location that you hit.

“The bin.” Loki walked over to the T.V. stand that had three white bins tucked into slots. The bins were generally filled with junk except for one thing that the Dover’s told him went missing yesterday afternoon. A medium size blue decorative pot with yellow flowers on its sides. It was meant for shallow flowers as a table center piece that was gifted to Keller and Grace on their wedding day. Grace was distraught over it and it was sitting the left-most bin under the television. Loki pulled open the drawer and carefully took out the pot and you looked at it with a shrug.

“Where did you get this?”

“My mother.”

“I thought I told you that they told me you haven’t spoken to them in a decade?”

“Well I obviously spoke to them before that.”

“I am going to ask you again and I want an honest answer. Where did you get this pot?”

What were you supposed to do? The man literally cracked the code. If only you hadn’t chosen that house. Oh! How much easier your life would be.

“I plead the fifth.” Oh, fuck.

Loki set the pot carefully down and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. It would have been hot if you weren’t terrified of what came next. Then you made an ill-timed joke.

“You’re not pulling those out for another reason are you?” You didn’t even laugh yourself because he simply ignored it and motioned for you to stand and turn around.

“I am going to take you to the station and we will talk more there. Stand up, turn around, and give me your hands.”

“I already told you I don’t know where the girls are.” Ignored again but the feeling of him pushing your shoulder with his hand and taking your wrist was something you wished you would stop replaying in your mind.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything-”

The Conyer’s Police Station was wimpy compared to other cities. It was a small, single story brick building with three holding rooms and one interrogation room. You weren’t sure how long you sat in the holding cell, but it was nighttime by the time you were taken out of the room by another officer and into a brightly lit, slightly yellowed room with a mirrored window and a small desk with two chairs. There was a pencil and a pad of paper at the center of it but you were sure if it was going to be Detective Loki interrogating you, he wouldn’t need it.

The officer uncuffed you with no words spoken and pointed at the chair facing the window. You rubbed your wrists from the friction the metal left before taking a seat and staring into the glass where your reflection met your own. You had nothing to do with the two missing girls so you had nothing to give them, or rather, nothing to give Loki to further his investigation.

The man of the hour waltzed into the room a mere five minutes after you were sat down. He had a half-drank cup of coffee in one hand and a small grouping of papers in the other. Loki sat down, settling himself before looking up at you and beginning the interrogation.

“Please state your name, age, and address.”

You recited the information as told.

“How many homes a year do you burglarize?" Loki opened a file that was tucked under some papers with a series of pictures printed on a piece of computer paper. It was amalgamation of missing objects from families around Conyers. You were fucked, but you couldn't let him think that, or at least believe that you were guilty in anyway. Your stealing wasn't going to find those girls because you had no idea where in the world they were. You had never seen them before their faces were plastered on every hour of the news.

"Shouldn't my lawyer be here if you are going to accuse me of something?"

"Do you need a lawyer?"

"Do I, Detective?"

It was the attitude that angered him the most. A woman like you didn't need to steal. Based on your records, he had no reason to truly believe you would. Clean record. No screaming signs of intent or distrust popped out but he knew you were guilty. There was not a doubt. But there was something in that attitude that made him squirm. An attractive quality that he did not want to admit.

"If you answer the questions I ask truthfully, then no, you won't need a lawyer."

"Ask away." You leaned back in the chair with arms crossed and a determined narrowness to your eyes. It was a challenge. Try me, Detective. Do it, I dare you.

"When did you first start stealing?"

"When I was seven. My sister always had better stuff, so I took it."

"And that escalated to...what?" Instead of leaning back on his own chair, Loki leaned forward. His shoulders were hunched in an aggressive, intense tactic to scare you into admitting something that you didn't have any part of. He just wanted to find those girls and you happen to be a speed bump in the way.

"Minor petty theft. I never take anything over $500."

"How do you know what something is worth?"

"I'm sure you can find that in my file, Detective. Everything is there I am sure of it. You all know just how to frame the people you want. But I had nothing to do with those girls."

Loki's line of aggravation was growing thin. Sooner or later, attitude wasn't going to cut it and he was going to have to use the tactics he used on Alex Jones and other potential perpetrators on you. He never liked to get outright violent with women, but he couldn't let this go without trying to get something. The days were wearing thin and he needed to find Joy and Anna.

"You were in the Dover's house the night of the abduction. Where are the girls?"

"I told you I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Didn't or don't."

"Doesn't matter. I did not see them. I do not know where they are. Ruining children's lives isn't my MO, Detective-"

"But you do and you did! YOU were in that house. YOU were at the scene of the crime at the time they went missing. YOU are the one who knows what happened to those girls!" His voice was no longer steady and calm as he had been taught during his training. His string had snapped when in response, you laughed.

Loki flew out of his chair, rounded the table as the sound of his chair skidded across the floor and to the wall behind him. If you weren't so focused on him, you probably could have heard the surprised yells of the Detectives and Officers behind the mirror. The angered Detective roughly arrived at his destination–you, and grabbed the back of your hair, pulling your head back to look at him as he stood over you.

"Where the fuck are the girls?" It came out like a hiss. His eyes enraged with pain for the families and his own reputation if the case goes wrong and he doesn't find them in enough time. You weren't scared of him or his tactics. Rather, it was quite the opposite. If he wasn't attractive, you would have been disgusted but the man was the epitome of perfection and this scene would be one to get you off for years to come.

"I told you, I don't know where the girls are." He gripped your hair harder and you felt the chair waver underneath you. Still not scared.

"You're a liar, a fucking thief, and I don't believe you. Where are the girls? Do you like that sort of thing, huh? Do-"

"You sick fuck. I'm a thief not a fucking pedophile. I didn't take the girls!" You were slightly taken aback by his suggestion, but it was all a tactic. You had seen it on millions of police shows before. He just wanted answers, but he wasn't going to find them with you. Whatever in the sentence you had just spoken to him, Loki was worse off for it. He practically lifted you by the hair and charged you into the wall roughly. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. He wasn't playing around but neither were you.

Loki's hand let go of your hair and one found itself on the wall next to your head as he closed in on you. You could feel his breathe on your face and his eyes pierced your goddamned soul. The other, well the other found itself right on your neck, holding you in place against the wall with a slight squeeze. Holy fuck.

"Keep this up Detective and I would have the means to believe this might lead to something else." The smile, your smile crept up on your face at your own assumption. You wouldn't complain if it did escalate to that.

"TELL ME WHERE THE GIRLS ARE? WHERE IS ANNA? WHERE IS JOY?"

"I told you I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE GIRLS ARE!"

There was something in your own anger that made him want to believe you didn't take the girls or had any clue where they were. He would hate to see a woman like you throw your life away for a career of crime. The proximity between the two of you was next to none. A knife wouldn't have been able to break the tension and the way he held you, unintentionally violent with a hand just a little too suggestively on your neck was a mistake but not one that he was readily going to admit. If this was any other situation, he might have let himself be willing to feel something more. But this was an interrogation, so he kept the face and squeezed just a little harder.

"Where are they? Tell me where they are?"

"Starting to sound like a broken record there. I would tell you again but I'm sure you have my admission of NOT KNOWING WHERE THEY ARE ON TAPE!"

Loki had enough and let your neck go with a jolt. His hands went to his belt where his cuffs were sitting and he pulled them out and turned you around. Your body was flush against the wall and one of his large, tattooed hands held your wrists together as he went to cuff them. This was another thing that would forever be engrained in your "sexy when it shouldn't be" file in your brain.

"Fine. You won't tell me where they are? Maybe a night in lock up will make you think." His voice was low, just at the base of your ear and his hot breath lingered on your neck as you could hear nothing but your heart beating out of your chest and the sound of cuffs closing.

But the man didn't get much further than that because the door to the room opened and like two deer in headlights, you both turned your heads to the sound of the intruder. It was another officer who looked both scared and amused and slightly embarrassed in regard to what he walked in on. He approached Loki as the latter man pulled you off the wall and forward, in front of him to walk toward the door.

"It was the hospital. Joy Birch was just admitted."

The look on Loki's face was priceless. You literally scoffed out loud and turned your face to his.

"I told you I had no fucking idea where they were."

Loki simply passed you over to the other officer and headed to the door, frustrated and confused about his own work and internal feelings about what had just happened–both the realization that you had no idea where they were and that he had been aggressive to the point where it kind of turned him on.

"Detective!" He was halfway out the door when you called out to him and if he had a mind, he would have ignored you and continued on, but he was so flustered that he did.

"If you ever want to use those cuffs sometime, you know where to find me."

Loki didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered. From your face to your body to the floor and back up. It was an unashamed look that made the officer uncomfortable, but you couldn't help but let a small, sly smile grace your face at his look. This man would be the end of your criminal career if he managed to find the time to reunite with you again.

And he did. Two days after Keller Dover was found in a hole and on a holiday he knew you were not going to spend with your family.

#Detective Loki x Reader #Detective Loki x Female Reader #Prisoners #Prisoners 2013 #Jake Gyllenhaal x oc #Jake Gyllenhaal x Reader #David Loki x reader #David Loki x Female Reader #Detective Loki x fem reader #Detective Loki #fanfic #writer #x reader #x female reader #i imagine after the christmas trist reader does in fact serve time for theft. but we ignore that for now.

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sylverstorms · 3 years ago

Text

Miss Fortune x Reader ----Salt-Crusted Heart

For an easier read, head to Ao3.

Another day. Another hunt for a fetter.

Feels like this is your life now, your present and your future. It feels like this war against the ever-spreading mist and Viego will never end. Your days as a trainee Sentinel, where the tough schedule of the Academy was your only problem, seem so far away now it’s like they belong in a dream. Like that was a different you.

And it was, wasn’t it.

That ‘you’ hadn’t ever slashed at anything other than a training dummy. Now you’re out here –with a very dysfunctional crew of lunatics— fighting mist monsters.

Said dysfunctional crew is, once again, arguing amongst themselves on which way you’re supposed to be headed next. Everyone’s got their own opinion and somehow it never matches with anyone else’s. You don’t even know how they manage that.

It takes a few light years for the majority to agree you’re heading to Bilgewater.

By the time you Wayfinder them there, you’re not surprised that all you see is darkness and sickly green mist. Half the world has gone to shit already and you’ve come to terms with that. More or less. Probably less.

“Wow.” you say as you take in the ghostly-looking town ahead of you and the armada of ships at the port below, blocking this side of the island off completely. Not that there’s a lot to block because the place is a ravaged hellhole anyway.

The environment has this wrecked, haunted vibe that would be super interesting to see in a movie with an apocalypse theme. Perhaps not so much on an actualapocalypse, though.

“Likin’ the view?” Graves asks, the corner of his lips sealed over his cigar.

“No, it was more of a ‘this is so much worse than I could have imagined’ type of wow.” you explain.

“It really is.” Riven agrees.

“Funny thing; the mist ain’t changed it all that much.” Graves laughs.

“Hey. Focus.” Lucian chastises. This guy, you’re convinced, is allergic to lightening the mood. He’s also not someone you dare say this to. “See that?” he points at the sea, to the massive ship there, towering over the rest.

You’re so focused on its fine craftsmanship and the little details you keep finding the longer your eye remains on it, you miss his point entirely, at first. Then you blink and look closer –at the thin, telltale trail of green-black smoke floating upwards from its deck.

There’s no mistaking it; a fetter is on that vessel.

“Now, listen up, everybody. Big Ol’ Graves is a legend around these parts, so my name will get us on that beauty. But. People here can be a bit… unfriendly towards new faces.” he begins. “Let’s not walk up there like an attack force and end up riddled with holes, ye?”

“Good idea.” you nod.

“Rookie, Graves, you’re heading up first.” Lucian motions with his chin.

“Bad idea.” you comment, but his skewering glare has you agreeing with the plan the same second.

“Signal if you need help.” Senna adds.

Graves only laughs heartily and grabs your uniform with his large hands, pulling you along. You know you won’t like what you hear when he leans down and whispers to you:

“We won’t have time to signal if they decide we’re not worth listening to but let’s not tell them that, Rook.”

“That’s… just what I needed to hear.” you grimace.

“Ha! Which means you’re goin’ up first. Chances are they won’t instantly shoot your pretty face off.”

“Wait… what about that ‘my name will get us up there, no trouble’?” you ask.

“Hah! That was just to impress Vayne, kiddo. My name is far more likely to get us killed in these parts.” he laughs but you don’t. “Did she look impressed?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, she didn’t, mate.” Nothing has ever moved Vayne other than when she kills monsters in a particularly violent way.

“Ah, shit. Maybe next time.”

Yeah, if there is a next time.

Your chances aren’t looking good as soon as you step onto that deck and every weapon imaginable is suddenly shifted to you.

…

Graves tells you to put your ‘social skills’ into good use. You are not aware that was one of your talents, so it’s probably more of his bullshit. Either way, death by a thousand bullets gives you a solid motivation to turn the charm on and talk.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can all come to an agreement here. No need for all that firepower.” you say, totally not sweating at all underneath your white jacket. “You have something that we need and I’m sure we can negotiate a profitable deal for everyone.”

Jackpot. Bounty hunters want money more than anything. And there is not a sweeter sound to their ears than the promise of wealth. Even if you’re just talking nonsense to save your ass.

“If I could just speak to the captain—”

“The captain is listening.” a commanding voice says from up ahead. Some of the crew members part to let her through…

And.

You see a vision in this nightmare.

The woman that walks forward stands out like fire over water, like stark color on Bilgewater’s salt-washed palette. Maybe it’s the vivid red of her flowing hair, stark against the gold-trimmed black of her hat, or the emerald green of her eyes, or the way she holds herself, a queen on this deck. Whatever the reason, you cannot tear your gaze off of her.

Tongue-tied at the moment, you let Graves do the talking. Big mistake.

The goddess’ visage darkens when she sees your company, who she addresses in a less than pleasant tone: “Look what washed in with the tide. Malcolm Goddamn Graves.” You wouldn’t want that glare directed at you, ever.

“Fortune? Ah, hells, naw.” he curses. “What are ya doin’ here? How did ya get a whole damn fleet a’ warships?”

“A lot has changed since we last met. Fools around here decided to challenge me for control over Bilgewater. I locked this place down until we can resolve this inconvenience.” she says, like cutting off half the freaking island is not a big issue.

The sound of her heels on the wooden floor is downright ominous as she approaches. Her eye scans you lightning-quick, then the entirety of her attention is on Graves. The very next second…

A blunderbuss pistol is pointing right to your face, same as his.

“Whoah.” you gasp.

“What’s Gankplank paying you?!” she demands.

“I ain’t workin’ for that bastard! I ain’t even on speakin’ terms with his orange-eatin’ ass! Ya know that!”

“What I know is you came onto my deck with fancy new equipment and a whole team of mercenaries at your back. You know, just in case you thought you were being subtle, in all that silver and white sticking out in Bilgewater like a sore thumb.” She has a point. “That getup isn’t cheap and there’s only one cretin around here with that kind of coin. Now tell me what he’s planning, of you’ll be smoking that cigar through a new hole.”

“Um –ma’am? He’s telling the truth.” You almost regret speaking up when her piercing stare lands on you. “And we’re not mercenaries. We’re Sentinels of Light.” you add.

“You put on a convincing performance, cutie.” she says.

In any other scenario, a goddess like that calling you cute would make you blush. But the gun still very much in your face makes it difficult to really register the word.

“Like you’ve never heard of the ‘Saltwater Scourge’, ‘Reaver King of the High Seas’… ‘Scum-sucking Hagfish Who Takes All You Ever Cared About’…”

Oh, okay. So, she’s got a screw loose as well.Not surprising considering the company you attract, lately.

“Nope. Kiddo’s right, Sarah. They’re Sentinels, alright.” the very familiar voice of your boss, which normally doesn’t make you happy to hear, has the opposite effect now. Lucian walks up behind you to save the day.

“Lucian?” she asks, finally lowering her weapons. “…this is your crew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you kindly refrained from killing them. Need about every gun we can get.” he replies.

“Follow me.” she says. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

…

Captain Fortune does not drive an easy bargain.

From what you hear later, she’s given Lucian a real hard time with negotiations. And even now, she’s the one who holds all the cards.

If you are to defeat Viego and make it clear to Bilgewater it was her who made it possible, she is willing to trade with the fetter and even let you stay on her ship in the meantime. Otherwise, if she gets the feeling it’s him who gains ground and holds the power in this place, you’re basically screwed.

The others are uneasy. They’ve suggested multiple times you steal the fetter from Fortune and dash for your lives after. Thing is, with how close she keeps that relic, that plan is looking impossible.

Which brings you to where you are right now, all the Sentinels and Miss Fortune gathered around the same map, planning your next action.

“Yes, but if I help you get there, what’s in it for me?” she asks.

And really, you don’t have anything to offer her in return. Even Lucian looks to Senna for help. Who, in turn, looks at you.

Why do they keep doing that? What have you done to convince these people you are good at talking? Especially to women like the captain.

“How about the… moral reward of helping save people from these monsters?” you suggest.

Her green eyes –and holy shit are they green— look at you like she wants to both scoff and laugh sardonically. “Tell me that is a joke.”

“It –it really isn’t.” you reply.

She huffs. “Look. I’m sure you’re all nice people. But nice people here get their throats cut.” She motions with her hand. “The cutthroats get the spoils. That’s how it works. I only care about the spoils.” she states. “So, if you want things from me and my crew, you need to make it worth our time.”

Their time sure isn’t cheap.

You know you don’t have anything at Headquarters with the kind of value she’s looking for. Definitely no coin and no gold for her services. But. You’ve heard multiple times during classes that the materials the Sentinel outfits are weaved from are extremely durable and therefore, extremely desirable.

“Would you and your crew be interested in a wardrobe overhaul?” you ask. All eyes are on you, but hers are the most intense. “Every prestigious fleet has to look the part, no? Plus, these clothes…” you say, grabbing the nearest knife and dragging it across your sleeve. The fabric is not so much as scratched. “…are pretty cool.” you tell her.

Miss Fortune leans back in her captain’s chair with a pretty smile painted on her –very attractive— lips.

“Now you’re talking my language, cutie. I’m sure we can work something out.”

…

On one hand, you have Gwen sewing day and night –your fault, you feel bad for it— while the rest of you handle the fighting. On the other, you do have a ship taking you wherever you need and making your job of clearing the darkness ten times faster.

Even Lucian has given you a pat on the back for that one. That was certainly unexpected.

“We need Fortune to take us here.” Senna points on the map. “Rookie, you go tell her.”

You almost choke on your water. “Why me?” you ask.

“Because you’re finally making yourself useful.” Lucian replies. Ouch.

“I’ve been very useful from the start!” you argue. The others look amongst themselves. “Hey!”

“I mean… points for effort.” Diana comments.

“Moral support is useful, I agree.” Riven smirks at you.

‘Asshole’ you mouth, rising from your seat. Her grin only widens.

You send them a narrowed, unimpressed look over your shoulder on your way out. Some of the crew members that see you walking towards the captain’s cabin whistle your way. You’re sure there’s tons of colorful comments behind your back but you have bigger things to worry about.

Like… the way a certain redhead looks leaned back in her plush chair, a queen on her throne, toying with a gold coin that flips over her nimble fingers with effortless ease. Focus on the mission. The mission, I say. Oh, Gods…

“I love how they send you in to ask for extra.” she says. “So. Are you the silver tongue of the group?” There’s something in her little smirk and the way she says ‘tongue’ that gets to you, but that’s probably just your vivid imagination.

That and the months you’ve spent without any outlet for your stress other than fighting, on top of more fighting.

“No, the others are just that terrible at basic social interactions.” It’s the truth.

Fortune gives a small chuckle. “Let’s see how good you are, then, Sentinel.”

You pleadwith your hopeless lesbian brain not to fry on the spot. “We sort of need you to get us further than discussed. While hoping that… the scenic route will be its own reward?”

“Cute.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” you perk up.

“No.”

“I’ll send Lucian here next time so he can bore you to death until you agree.” You never claimed to be above blackmail.

“A bold statement.” she replies. “Tell you what. If you demolish a few of my enemies’ ships during your hunt for the mist things, then deal.”

Sentinels aren’t supposed to do that. And if you tell Lucian, that will be his exact answer. You can already hear his unpleasant voice in your head. However, you’ve already figured out the world doesn’t work by the Sentinel Code, so…

“Accidents do happen on the battlefield.” you say.

Sarah gives you that slow smile that makes a certain part of you feel hot under your outfit. “And don’t bring any of the others in here to negotiate. I’d rather look at your pretty face.”

Uh.

Um.

By the time you exit the cabin, all you can think is, what just happened?

…

Combat is a rush, sometimes. As is knowing you’re getting stronger and faster by the day. You still don’t hold a candle to the rest of your group, but you can finally say you’re helping them out.

Being further up in the enemy’s face, though, is also petrifying. You see a twisted reflection of yourself in every mist wraith’s dead eyes. There are nightmares that come hand-in-hand with the experience… and then there’s physical pain.

You’ve been hurt before. Their talons can slice through even your magic-reinforced outfits. Still, every time feels worse than the last. The laceration you’re currently sporting on your side is burning like the fires of hell.

You’re trying not to scream by the time Riven lowers you onto the deck. Your vision is blurred with sweat and the tears you’re fighting to keep at bay.

“What’s going on here?” you hear Fortune’s voice in your haze.

“Tell me you have a healer on board!” Riven shouts.

“And they can get here fast!” Senna adds.

You’re not sure how much time passes. It feels like light years until someone kneels beside you and starts working on your wound. The healing magic pulls and sears at you. Every muscle in your body is taut with the effort to keep still.

“Isn’t …a healing spell supposed to numb the pain, first?” Diana asks.

“Look, blondie, I’m no professional here, ye? Just picked up a few things from mah old man. If ya wanna criticize, come here and do it yourself.” he answers. And it’s …not the best feeling in the world to hear your healer say that.

“No offense. Just worried for our teammate.” Senna adds. At least one of your bosses cares about your wellbeing.

The other just benches you for the next mission.

…

Out of all the people you expected to come see you while you’re recovering, Sarah Fortune is the last who came to mind. You’re almost shocked mute when the captain comes to sit on the edge of your bed, graceful and fluid as ever. Gorgeous as ever, too, while you’re sure you look pale as a ghost, eyes sunken as a shipwreck.

“Hey, Rookie.” she greets.

“Ah, great. That nickname’s never gonna come off, is it.” you roll your blue eyes.

“How’s the battle scar?”

“I’m not bleeding all over your fancy deck anymore, at least.” you say. “Guess I should be glad for that.” Although you are a bit frustrated that the ‘healer’s’ hand was so shaky there’s a scar left there now, permanently, when it could have been avoided. “And that the dude wasn’t drunk bad enough to stitch my organs to my skin.”

“Yeah, luckily he was only a little drunk.” she nods.

“That makes total sense for a healer. Who, from what I know from four years at the Academy, should always be sober.” you cannot keep it in any longer.

“That’s… a tall order here.” Yes, of course, the place is far too shitty for that.

“I gathered.”

“Come, now. Don’t be upset about the scar.” You’re upset about the pain that could have been avoided if the damn guy just didn’t drink his ass off in the middle of the day. “…Want me to kiss it better?”

You’re so far up your mind –filled with thoughts of being a dead weight on the team on top of your dead classmates because of Viego— you don’t even hear her. Your head is pounding from the pressure the memory causes you, a killer mix with the effect of the painkillers you’ve been on, all evening.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you reply, your voice hoarse and alien to your own ears.

…

You and Fortune talk a bit more on the two days you’re out of commission.

You learn a few things about her, like the fact you have a common interest in psychology. Like the fact you shouldn’t ever ask about her past or her family, unless you want her to close up tighter than a clam, at the speed of lightning. In the meantime, if it feels like she may be throwing more smirks your way than when she talks to anyone else, you blame that on your wishful thinking.

That woman is way out of your league.

It is one in the night and everyone on the ship is either well asleep or completely passed out from booze. You wake up from a nightmare, then fully register the way the ship is swaying from the angry waves. The resulting nausea has you completely losing the desire to fall back into the land of dreams.

You thought you’d be the only one awake when you walked up to the deck, yet you quickly realize that’s not the case when the sound of heels approaches from behind. You already know it’s her. The night breeze does a wonderful job of carrying her perfume straight to your nose. As if she wasn’t already fatally attractive without it.

You keep your eyes on the waves, so dark blue they look black.

“Oh, this is a surprise. Such a romantic soul, admiring the sea in the dead of night.” she says. The slight –sexy as fuck— slur to her words must have something to do with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Yeah, my thoughts are not that deep.” you chuckle. “More like ‘fuck this constant motion under my feet’.”

She gives a small, airy exhale that could pass as a laugh, leaning on the railing next to you. Kind of close, too. “Ah and here I thought Sentinels didn’t swear.” she says. “And that they don’t drink. Unless you care to prove me wrong there, too.”

She takes a swing of the bottle and passes it to you. The smart part of your brain tells you it is a bad, bad idea. The rest of you is seduced by the promise of the buzz and the challenge in her eyes.

Well. Since you’re not really getting anywhere closer to where her lips are in anything other than your very private fantasies, you think may just take the chance for an indirect kiss that’s presented.

The gulp you take from the bottle –you intended a sip but the fucking ship moves so much— burns a trail down your throat and past your insides. You almost cough. How heavy is this thing?

“Ahem. So.” you begin. “What’s keeping you out late?”

“I have great company.” At first you think she means you, then you realize it’s the bottle that’s lucky. Hah, fell right into that one. “And… my cabin is very cold tonight.”

It’s really chilly, yeah, but it’s not that bad, you think. Maybe the two of you are just used to different climates, though. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” you reply.

“Well. Guess I should head in or it will never warm up by itself.” she says.

You nod and bid her goodnight, turning your eyes back to the inky waves. But then you feel her weight softly crash into your back, ample chest pressing against you, one of her hands on your waist and the other on the railing next to yours for support. Her lips are right by your ear, so close you feel them brush against the shell as she says:

“Oops.”

Then she’s gone, taking her extremely sexy perfume with her, while your stomach drops to the sea and sinks right to the very bottom. It takes a few moments to realize you’re still holding the railing so tightly your fingers have gone white.

What the…

You go back to bed trying not to think about whatever that was.

The next day, you have no idea why she’s not speaking to you at all, or why she doesn’t even look at you when she addresses the Sentinels, none-too-pleased with your progress.

…

When one of the crewmates tell you the captain has summoned you, you do a double take and ask if she really means you. Fortune has been in a weird mood towards you since that night, to say the least.

You are mentally braced for the worst when you enter her cabin. You’re already tired from fighting mist wraiths all morning and you don’t think you can handle whatever it is that’s going on with her at the moment.

Scratch that. You’re sure you can’t when she gets up from her seat, walking almost in a circle around you, like a shark. You lean back against the wooden surface of her desk, waiting. Cautious.

“Have I not been clear enough, all these days?” she asks, as if wondering out loud.

“Um…. excuse me?” you question back. Has the mist gotten to her? It has been known to cause strange behavior after prolonged exposure.

She’s at the door now, facing you without really looking at you and it makes you feel trapped. Your one escape is blocked. “You’re not from around here, so I thought it was best not to be… Bilgewater-forward.” she says. “On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve been that subtle?”

“…I’m. I’m not…sure I follow.” you speak, quietly.

“Do you really have no idea or are you just trying to be polite?” She finally looks into your eyes.

You shake your head ‘no’.

She licks her lips. “What, was I supposed to give you a formal letter inviting you to my cabin for sex the other night?” Your jaw, you think, hits the floor and shatters. Your whole body shivers and goes rigid. “If you don’t want to, just say it so I won’t wait around for nothing.”

You… don’t know what words are at the moment. The ground has disappeared and you’re a falling mess. It is the worst case of freezing on the spot you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s not… that’s not… the case.” you manage to say.

“Good to know.” she nods, casually, then strides up to you and grabs the front of your high-collared Sentinel jacket, bringing you lip-to-lip. “Is this clear enough for you?” she breathes against you.

It’s more than clear enough when her plump lips seal over yours, tasting of sweet-flavored lipstick and alcohol and sea-salt. In fact, it is clear like a nuclear bomb going off on the back of your head.

The heat wave burns down your stomach violently and it only gets worse when she pushes her tongue into your mouth, licking over yours, her hips practically straddling you with how tightly fitted you stand. Every movement of her mouth or her body echoes all the way down yours.

It’s beyond anything you could have ever conjured in your head, having her angle your chin however she wants it while her hips slowly rock against you. It’s almost too hard and too fast and too good –and you get too close.

But then—

A knock comes on the door.

“Captain?” someone asks from the outside and it’s both a blessing and a dark curse.

Sarah tries to catch her breath, every exhale tickling your ear. “One moment.” she calls over her shoulder, sounding every bit the captain she is, as if the past minutes where you were literally dry humping each other didn’t happen.

She pulls back from you with a satisfied little smirk at how wrecked you no doubt look, pulling your outfit straight. Her thumb wipes off the smudge of her lipstick on the corner of your mouth, then she goes to a nearby mirror to reapply hers.

When she walks back over to you, your knees shake at just the sight of her. You don’t know how you’ll ever calm down from this. Safe to say she’s ruined every kiss you’ve ever had or will have.

“My bedroom will be open to you tonight. Consider this your formal letter, yes?” her long fingers brush over your jawline, as she stalks back to her seat.

“Come in.” she calls, poker face on, sounding bored.

You make your escape as tactical –and dignified— as possible and don’t look back until you’re practically off the ship.

…

To say you are distracted for the rest of the hours until night completely settles over Bilgewater is an understatement. Your head is in the clouds and you have no idea what’s going on around you. The whole world could catch fire and all you’ll be thinking about is Fortune, Fortune, Fortune…

“What’s got you so quiet tonight, little Sentinel?” Riven asks.

Only the best damn kiss of your entire life. Plus the fact you’re living a dream and you don’t want to wake up. “Maybe I’m just trying to imitate Vayne. From now on you’ll hear my voice only when we kill stuff.”

“Ha, ha.” Vayne comments in typical Vayne style from her seat, hunched over her weapon and making calibrations.

“All I’ll say is, be careful.” the Noxian lowers her voice a bit, the words kept between the two of you.

“Of what?” you play dumb.

“Just in general.”

You don’t know what Riven suspects but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been through a lot these past months. You deserve to feel something good once in a while. Your love life is none of their business unless it interferes with their business, which it won’t because you’re sure this won’t mean anything beyond Fortune’s bedroom.

You wait until everyone on the ship is asleep and take a liquid courage boost to sneak to the captain’s cabin.

…

One knock. That is all your knuckles manage, one contact with the door, until it swings open and a familiar hand grabs at the front of your outfit, pulling you in.

You’re pressed back against it as soon as it shuts, crimson lips hot on yours before you can even think to say anything. Gods, is she always so insistent?You could melt into a wet puddle on the floor from the way she presses into you alone. This woman knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

Somewhere in the back of your head you hear the sound of a lock turning.

“Took you long enough.” she whispers when you break apart.

Once again, whatever you were about to say is cut off by her tugging on the high collar of your jacket. She either has a thing for it or for pulling you around in general, you think. No complains, whatever the case.

“Won’t you give me the tour around, first?” you ask, playing coy only thanks to the drink you’ve had. Otherwise, you’d be your usual self; a mess.

“Oh, sure.” she says as she shoves you into her bedroom, illuminated by a single candle. “Wardrobe, guns, bed.”

Well. It still feels like the best tour you’ve ever had when she walks you back until you’re falling on her very comfortable mattress, with her perched above you like a predator. She gives you a little smirk as she straddles your thigh and sits up, undoing the taut buttons on her shirt, painfully slow.

Oh… It would be very awkward if you died from a heart attack now, yet it feels like you’re on the verge of one.

“Nothing smart to say now, Sentinel?” The confidence comes with her looks, you’re sure. She knows she’s hot as fuck.

You shake your head, speechless, eyes travelling from her toned midriff to her perfect chest, to her hypnotic eyes and the sensual way her hair spills like a red waterfall across her shoulders. This is a dream, it’s not real life, but don’t wake me up ever…

Fortune leans back down, taking your chin in two fingers as she studies your flushed face. You don’t know what she’s looking for, but something in her visage softens a fraction.

“If it’s too much at any point, tell me.”

“If I can talk, I will.” you say, mesmerized by the way her eyes look under the dim light.

Your next liplock is a little less rushed than your previous ones. She takes her time exploring your mouth and you gradually get bolder with where you touch her, fingers grazing up her sides to her stomach, to the underside of her bra.

Her lips leave yours only to burn a trail down the corner of your mouth, across your jawline and to your neck. Deft fingers undo the clasps and pull down the zipper of your white jacket, guiding it past your shoulders without taking it completely off. She definitely has a thing for it. You’d comment on that, too, if you could think about anything other than how good she smells.

Clothes come off while she sucks on your neck, teeth pressing against you just shy of leaving marks. When both of you are down to your underwear and breathing heavy, her fingers caressing dangerously low on your waistline, her lips come near your ear.

“So… I want to make you beg, but I can’t help but feel like I’m already corrupting you a lot.”

Corrupt away. you want to tell her.

“Does that turn you on?” you whisper in her ear and feel her response with how her hips press down harder onto yours.

“Yes.” That breathless admission becomes your undoing.

You get lost in her lips after it and the sensation of her fingers on you –inyou— working you up towards what could be simultaneously your ruin and your salvation. You touch her in turn, filling the room with both your moans and gasps, until that glorious peak of white-hot pleasure where the whole world comes to a stop for a few moments.

There is a time limit to your time together, now and generally, you are aware. But you allow yourselves a few quiet moments together as you lay there with the excuse of catching your breath, even if you already have.

Tough game you’re playing here. The smarter part of your brain says. It’s all too easy to get addicted to having her atop you like this. The better the dream, the more bitter the wakeup.

When Fortune lifts herself off you to slide under her heavy covers, you register the chill of night. You dress almost sluggishly, your body so very exhausted from the activities of the whole day.

Kissing her goodnight is almost an urge you fight under control, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if this was all she wanted out of your dalliance.

“Well, my bunk is calling.” you turn around to tell her, trying not to blush when you see her with her elbow resting on her pillow, cheek cutely pressed on her fist, watching you like a languid cat.

“Hate to watch you leave but I love to watch you go.” she smirks at you.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

…

It is after a long damn day of fighting that you get to finally sit down and enjoy a meal and drinks.

The crew was cold and distrustful towards you at first, but they seem to have opened up more over the course of weeks –especially today, after you secured them a chest filled with gold coins left behind by wealthy people who were running from the wraiths. From the corner of your eye, you subtly watch Sarah Fortune interact with her men, hoping it’s not obvious how badly into her you are.

“So…” Riven begins from the chair next to you and you know that’s not going to be good.

“What?” You face her, playing cool.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say that she’s bad for you… but I will, anyway.” You give Riven a blank stare that absolutely doesn’t fool her. Shit.

“Like how do you even know.” You finally break.

“It wasn’t obvious since day one there was something there?” Yeah, maybe to everyone except you.

“Wait.” Hold on a second. “Does everyone know?”

“I think everyone except Diana has pretty much figured it out.” That certainly explains the looks Lucian has been giving you all day. Double shit.

“What? The thing between Fortune and Rookie, here?” Diana asks from behind you.

Triple—

“Scratch that. Everyone knows.” Riven tells you. “And we all agree. She’s bad for you.” You hate the emphasis on that. “As in the worst.”

“I getit, Riven, thank you.” You shake your hand in her face while the other covers yours.

“I mean I know ruthless, player redheads who can and will absolutely murder you without a second thought are, like, a kink of yours—”

You don’t think your face gets any redder than this. “What—” you nearly choke on air. “That –how do you figure that out? That’s not even true.”

“Dude. When Katarina Du Couteau was brought into our conversation you nearly gasped and fangirled for the next hour.”

“I just heard a lot about one of our biggest Demacian enemies and wanted to know if it was all true!” you defend yourself.

“You asked me if she’s as hot as rumor has it, not about her war achievements.” Riven laughs.

“And you didn’t answer! Well, is she or isn’t she?” you ask. For… scientific purposes.

“I’m not going to answer that!” Riven lifts her hands up.

“She is.” Graves says as he slides into the seat next to you, drink in hand.

“Thank you!” You pat him on the shoulder.

“We should totally have her join the Sentinels.” he adds.

“Hah!” A vein pops at Riven’s temple. “And the answer will be something along the lines of ‘bold of you to assume I give a single fuck about the world’.” comes the imitation.

“Whoa, that’s exactly how she sounds like.” Graves says.

You’re glad the conversation has shifted away from you, at least.

From the opposite side of the room, you feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, yet they’re averted the second you raise yours to meet them.

…

They may know about your one-time thing with Fortune and heavily scrutinize it, but they still send you in now that they need to ask for more from the captain. With that, your teammates lose every right to comment on what you do and don’t do with her.

“We’ll get you the coin from that ship –well, Graves will, since they already hate him—and you help us out here. Deal?” you ask her.

There. You can be a professional and negotiate terms with the most beautiful woman in the world, who you also happened to have had mindblowing sex with, without constantly looking at her lips.

“Deal, but…” she begins. “You’re sitting all the way over there… why?”

So much for keeping your mind out of the gutter. “Um.” You lick your lips, unsure of what to say, while she smirks slow, like the cat that got the canary.

“Come here.” A pat on her desk, right in front of her chair.

Against your better judgement, you walk around the furniture and lean there, really, really close to her, especially when she stands, towering over you in her heels. You can tell she likes it, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, we leave in ten minutes.” you say. It doesn’t even phase her.

Her fingers move to the zipper of your jacket and although you should stop her, you don’t. “Really?” she leans closer, closer still, until her tantalizing mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours.

“…really. Nine, now.” you waver.

“Guess we have to be fast, then.”

She lightly pushes you onto her desk and starts undoing your belt buckles. The thought of what you’re about to do alone could make you come on the spot. It’s not just the thought that’s threatening to do that, when you feel her cool fingers slide right where you need them.

“You’re going to ditch me for your little Sentinel friends, who don’t like me?” she asks in your ear.

Oh, Gods…

“Ah, I like you enough for all of us, Fortune.” your lips move against her jawline as you speak. A little further down and you can feel how quick her pulse is. You wouldn’t have guessed, with how composed she looks fingering you on her desk.

“Sarah.” she holds your chin with two fingers as she says it, like a secret between you. “Call me Sarah when you come.”

You do.

…

It becomes a nightly thing after that, your visits in her bedroom.

She’s insatiable and she makes everything bothering you go away for those precious hours. But. The more you see of her, you cannot help but feel like something’s very wrong with Sarah.

Underneath the visage of the ruthless captain, the queen who can just reach out and take anything she wants, you see… cracks. She doesn’t sleep well. She drinks. You’re pretty sure you’re another distraction –coping mechanism?— although it doesn’t bother you. She’s the same for you, isn’t she?

It’s not like you have feelings for her.

…Right?

No, no that would be terrible. You definitely don’t. You are allowed to love the way her fingers are running lazy circles on your thigh right now without any sort of complicated emotions involved.

“You should quit while you’re ahead.” she tells you, half muffled into her pillow, stark black against the red of her hair.

This or the Sentinel war? You wonder.

“You have little cuts everywhere. They don’t even have time to disappear before new ones open on top of them.” she moves the back of her pointer to the biggest visible line near your knee, then up your arm, until her hand rests on the crook of your neck. “Leave the others to deal with the mist. It’s not your problem.”

“The world’s problem is my problem. Guess where I lived and what region fell to Viego first.”

You refrain from telling her how many people close to you met his blade before that. How many of the classmates you ate and trained with for four years you had to see skewered by him, on his insane quest for his ‘love’. You don’t want to sour your time together with your burdens. Your pain, your nightmares, are your own to deal with.

“If you keep going you’ll fall to him first.” she counters. “You’ll die protecting one of those idiots in your group or some random civilian.”

“Thanks, Miss Fortune-teller.” you say, a tad irked at her blatant disregard for anyone who isn’t herself.

“I don’t have to be one to tell.” she gives you a sad smile. “It’s always the good ones that die. It’s always the monsters that win.”

You can’t help but wonder…

What made you this way?

…

You see now why emotions are considered a distraction on the battlefield. Even as you kill monsters, all you think about is her.

Come to think of it…

You’ve never seen her smile for real. What you’re looking for is a far cry from those smirks she throws around to bring people to their knees, or the sardonic ones she levels Lucian with. Even those she offers you behind closed doors have a shadow underneath them. It makes you wonder about what would make her happy enough to give a genuine smile.

When you happen across a shipwreck filled with valuables, you think this may be it. The Sentinels take what they need and agree to give the rest to Fortune to stay on her good graces.

Her whole ship lights up with the joy of riches. The crew is ecstatic. Laughter and cheers fill the deck.

And yet.

Her glee is pretend, just for the sake of her men. Her eyes are hollow.

When she eventually retreats to her cabin, you follow her and knock on her door. “It’s always open for you~” she calls from the inside, already in the company of a whiskey bottle.

You turn the key behind you, then lean forward with your hands on her desk, staring at her.

“Why this serious, sexy?” she asks. “Need me to help loosen you up a bit?”

“You need to part with the fetter, Sarah.” you state. “It affects you in ways you won’t notice or understand but it always does.”

“Ah, part with it so you and your crew of misfits can steal it from me? Hmm… no.” she chuckles.

“I care more about what it does to you than the fetter itself right now.” you try again. Only to fail again.

“That’s sweet, but I don’t trust you.” Talk about words being sharper than knives, sometimes. “Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a joyful life this must be.” you bite back.

“Coin is joy for me, sweetheart.” she leans back in her plush chair, taking another swing from the bottle.

“You didn’t seem very happy to me, back there.”

She gives you a look and finally sets the whiskey down. “Come here. I’ll tell you a little secret about me.” she says, a tad more serious than before.

Cautiously, you step around the desk until you’re in front of her seat. Her hand shoots up like a bullet, then, taking hold of your jacket and dragging you down until the two of you are eye-level.

“You know what would really make me happy right now?” You feel her leg move up the inside of yours, deliciously slow, as she speaks… until she hooks her calf behind your knee and makes your weight fall onto it. “For you to shut up about fetters and concerns and go down on me.”

Fuck.

Deep down, to a small part of you not ruled by your hormones, you know using sex to avoid any sort of deeper conversation between you is unhealthy. You know an arrangement where there’s no trust is unhealthy.

Then again, the circumstances that brought you together are anything but healthy.

And what sort of pretty flower can burst forth, really, from a corrupted seed?

…

When you return from your mist-slaying, late in the evening, the crew is uneasy.

“Don’t bother the cap’n right now.” One of the men says. “She ain’t havin’ the best o’ days.”

You later find out that they had a run-in with an enemy fleet. That the Reaver King has resurfaced and is looking to claim Bilgewater for himself. Major shit is about to go down, the bounty hunters tell you and you do not want to be outsiders caught in the middle when it finally hits the fan.

You give Sarah her space until the need to check up on her becomes overwhelming.

One knock on the door. “Leave.” she hisses from within the office like a tensed cat. Another knock. “You have ten seconds before I put a bullet through your skull!”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be very attractive then.” you reply.

The door swings open; her eyes are the epitome of a raging storm. You’ve never seen her like this, so hateful and distressed… and it hurts to witness. “My ‘leave’ applies to everyone. You, included.”

“Cool.” you nod at her. Pause. “So… can I come in now?”

Sarah throws her hands up in exasperation, pivoting with an angry, whispered ‘whatever’. She paces across her cabin, an agitated lion one step away from pouncing. Her hands run through her fiery hair as though they cannot keep still.

“You need to leave Bilgewater asap and never come back.” You don’t know if she’s talking to you or thinking out loud. “You need to go. With or without the rest of them, I don’t care, just go!”

“What’s… gotten into you?” you dare ask.

“He’s back. He always comes back, no matter how many times I sink the bastard. It’s like he cannot die. He just won’t die!” her voice is raw with her rage. “You Sentinels fight the darkness but you don’t kill evil. Evil will still be here –rooted here— even if you win.”

You open your mouth but can’t find anything to say.

“I have to win my own war. I will be victorious no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.” Sarah goes on. “But I need to know that you won’t be here. Do you understand?!”

You just look at her, sad and frozen, trying to understand. There’s nothing you can say to ease what’s hurting her and nothing you can do. You’ve seen this wretched thing eat away at her every day since the moment you met. It’s too deeply engraved in her heart for you to hope to change it; and it has little to do with the fetter in her possession.

Sarah crosses the room in two large strides and grabs your biceps. She looks like she’s ready to throw you off her ship herself…

Until.

She pulls you into her arms, instead.

Tight, like she’s afraid you’ll be gone the moment she lets go, she holds you close. Her head is tucked into your shoulder, her nails press hard into your back. You slowly bring your hands up to encircle her waist in return.

“I’ve lost everything. He took everything from me. I won’t give him the chance to take you away, as well.” she says.

Oh. you think. She cares about you, after all.

If only that was a good thing for either of you.

…

You feel it, when the moment comes.

Maybe you’ve always felt it and just didn’t want to admit it.

When Sarah stands in front of Viego offering the lot of you up along with the fetter in exchange for his ruined power, you know the agony you feel, like a blade splitting you down the middle, is your own doing. There is nobody but yourself to blame for it. The others warned you. Your own instinct warned you.

You didn’t listen.

You wanted to trust her. Maybe even to love her.

But her hatred runs deeper than whatever measly thing you were to her.

As the mist shrouds Fortune and turns her red hair luminescent blonde, as it eats away at her colors until they’re all black and sickly green, until the eyes you knew turn cold and unfeeling, you feel something in you crack. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your heart.

There’s a lesson to take from this, you’re sure, despite how your emotions choke you. Right now, though, you focus on avoiding her bullets and having your teammates’ backs in the rain of chaos that follows.

You end up deep in the water, bleeding, defeated. You and the other Sentinels have never been crushed by your losses, but it will take some time to pick up your pieces and continue onward until the end of your war.

You allow yourself one scream muffled in the dark sea.

When you swim to the shore and pull your body out of the mud, you are silent.

“Are you okay? I know that was harder for you than it was for us.” Riven lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’ll let it hurt after we get Viego.”

For now, you can’t afford taking the pain of a broken heart with you on the battlefield.

Sarah. You later think. Now I understand why hurricanes are named after people.

#miss fortune #sarah fortune #miss fortune x oc #miss fortune x reader #sentinels of light spoilers #league of legends #fanfiction #creative writing #riven

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harrypotter-imaginess · 4 years ago

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Commission info for Love Letters from your favorite character here!

- Honestly, your probably meet him through his Dad or all people

- You meet Arthur at the store, you’re probably at a department store or the grocery store

- Maybe you work here, maybe you just come there weekly to run errands

- But you’re probably a personal shopper

- And you’re looking for something in particular, but every time you go to that section, there’s this lanky middle aged man just standing there

- And you really don’t want to get involved

- But your over active imagination gets the best of you

- What’s if he’s a widower? And he’s just not used to shopping because his partner did all of that

- Or what if he’s trying to get a gift for his new love interest and he’s just trying to get back out there

- And well, if he is a widower, and he just needs some help- shouldn’t you help him?

- Isn’t that just the right thing to do?

- So even though you don’t want to get involved, you very hesitantly approach this red haired man

- “Um, excuse me sir- but is there something I can help you with?”

- He lights up when you approach him

- Looks like the poor thing is a widower

- “Would you explain the purpose to me of this item?”

- He’s holding up a bath kit, one that comes with a bath bomb, some bath salts, and bubble bath soap

- “Um well it’s a bath kit sir”

- He looks at the package for several ing moments before pointing to the circular bath bomb

- “Is this a sweet? Is it a treat you eat when you’re in the bath tub?”

- You practically fall over yourself rushing to tell him that no, it is in fact not a treat

- “It’s like a bubble bath type of thing, you drop it into the water and it turns the bath a certain color, this ones a fortune type so after it’s done fizzing out you get a little fortune.”

- “Well isn’t that fascinating, you Muggles are quite remarkable”

- You don’t think it’s that amazing, just some baking soda and aromatics

- Also what’s a muggle? Is that some middle age slang for young people?

- You help him to the register, and you think that’ll be it, you’ll probably never see him

- So imagine your surprise when you see him again next week, this time in front of a completely different section with the same expression

- “Well hello again, can you help me with this?”

- It’s sort of a fast friendship, you learn a little more about him with each visit

- He is in fact, not, a widower

- He has 8, no 7 children

- And he works for the government

- “A glorified paper pusher really” he says, but you get the feeling he’s being humble

- “How old are you, if you don’t mine me asking?”

- You tell him and he smiles

- “That’s how old my Son is, you two would be a good match.”

- “Which one? Don’t you have seven?”

- He smiles, because you still count Fred as his child even though he’s gone, just like him

- “Take your pick, I’ve got a whole volleyball teams for you to pick from”

- You laugh

- He’s a nice guy, the exact image of what a dad is, you think

- You like him

- Arthur likes you too, he thinks you would be a good match for Percy, maybe George

- He wants to give Percy a fighting chance, he’s a good boy-

- But he’s got his nose stuck in a book most days, Arthur considers it lucky if he ever gets married

- So it’s in early winter that he drags Percy with him to the department store hoping he’ll run into you

- “Why do I have to come along again?”Percy asks grumbling as he walks beside his father

- “Because I’m buying gifts for my department-“

- “You never buy us any gifts” Charlie teases from his other side

- Arthur also brought Charlie, to seem a little less obvious about his intentions of setting you up with one of his children

- He figures Charlie is the most harmless, if you see Bill... well that would be disappointing for you

- considering he’s married and all

- And the scars might raise more questions than he’s willing to answer

- And then Ron was busy at the ministry today, an emergency or something.

- He’s already decided as he walks through the store that if this doesn’t work out, he’s bringing George next week-

- And if that doesn’t work out, well-

- Maybe Ginny would be more your type

- how solid are Harry and Ginny really

- He’s so caught up in his own mental gymnastics that he doesn’t realize one of his sons isn’t following him until he’s well inside the store

- “Where’s Percy?”

- “Oh, he left like 15 minutes ago to take a phone call for work, but I bet he snuck off to that bookstore across the street.” Charlie says casually eyeing a brightly colored display

- Arthur sighs, well he does need to get some gifts for the kids, almost Christmas and all

- “Hello Arthur, what are you dissecting today?” You ask when you see him

- “Just picking up gifts with my son-“

- A small frown lilts onto your face, his son?

- It’s only a little shift of your head and you see him

- Well isn’t he just gorgeous

- He’s got a firm build, toned arms littered with dozens of scars and burns

- His face is chiseled, with a light dusting of red hair, matching vivid hair is long and pulled into a bun

- And the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen

- Damn what a hottie

- Arthur should have told told you his son was a total smokeshow

- And he’s got 6 of them?!? Are they all this gorgeous?

- Arthur doesn’t miss the way you look at Charlie

- And one glance at Charlie is all He needs to know that the feeling is mutual

- Why didn’t he think of Charlie?

- Well- actually he had started to think that maybe Charlie just didn’t feel that way about people.

- And so, to be supportive, he wasn’t going to push him into any romantic relationship

- But well since he seems to find you pleasing-

- “This is my son Charlie-“ he says putting both his hands on Charlie’s shoulders and jerking him closer to you

- A light red begins to dust Charlie’s cheeks, wether it’s from embarrassment or attraction he’s not sure

- You fidget in front of him feeling oddly self conscious

- “Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)”

- He takes you hand in his with a firm squeeze and you feel a little lightheaded

- His hands are surprisingly soft

- On closer inspection he’s got a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose

- Adorable really

- “So how do you know my dad?” He asks when Arthur is busy /giving you two time to get to know each other looking through the candle selection

- “Oh um I don’t know I guess we just became friends talking about how stuff works?”

- It’s a little weird to think about it, Arthur is your dads age, but he’s like your friend?

- It’s kinda weird tbh

- You wonder how Charlie’s digesting it but he just grins

- “Yeah that sounds like Dad.”

- It’s cute, the way he looks at his Dad

- You remember hearing about Charlie, that he works far away and that Arthur and his wife worry about him. And that he likes animals

- It’s kind of like meeting a celebrity, you know all about him

- except for the fact that he’s a wizard of course

- Well, it was nice meeting one of Arthur’s famous son’s, you suppose he’ll go back to Romania soon and -

- “I was wondering-“ he leans down, his voice low “if you might do me a small favor?”

- Your eyebrows thread together and your head tilts to the side a bit

- “It depends on what it is”

- Charlie only grins

- And so you find yourself standing in front of King’s Cross Station on your next free day, wearing a nice outfit that seems neither too causal, or like you’re trying too hard

- Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt until you see Charlie round the corner

- Well doesn’t he look absolutely delicious

- He’s wearing a crisp white collard shirt and a sweater over it, with a pair of khaki trousers

- Very dark academia

- “Sorry have you been waiting long?”

- You shake your head

- “No only a few minutes, have you thought about what you might want to get him?” You ask and he flashes a little and shakes his head

- “The best I could think of was a gadget of some kind?”

- You nod, you can work with that

- The favor Charlie wanted was pretty simple

- He needed help picking out a Christmas gift for his Dad

- Oddly wholesome in its own way

- You take him to a large department store

- “Maybe this pasta maker?”

- “No, Mum’s already got one”

- He should know, his dad enchanted it to make pasta on its own

- “Than maybe this waffle maker?”

- He shakes his head again, they had one and it did not end well

- You go to several stores throughout the day, but there’s nothing quite right at any of them

- Eventually you both slump down on chairs, untouched mugs of tea in front of you, both of you utterly exhausted

- “This is so much harder than I thought” you mumble, Arthur seems like such an easy to please person

- “I’m sorry” Charlie says, honestly the reason neither of you can pick something is because he can’t be honest with you

- Yeah his Dad loves muggle gadgets, but he loves them because he wants to take them apart, to see how it works

- And then he wants to enchant certain parts to make the contraption even better

- But he can’t tell you all that now can he?

- Not when you’re a muggle

- He sighs leaning back in his chair

- Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you for help, he saw how close you and his Dad were, like you were already family-

- But it’s unfair to you to monopolize all your free time like this-

- “It’s no problem really, this is actually really fun”

- You’re not lying, hanging out with Charlie is really fun.

- Usually spending time with people you’ve only just met exhausts you

- But being with him makes you feel comfortable, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm

- Guess he’s kinda like his Dad in that way

- You feel your mouth quirk into a small smile at the thought.

- He kinda looks like his dad too on closer inspection, around the jaw and-

- “Are your ears pierced?” You ask, and Charlie immediately flushes. A hand nervously fluttering to his ear

- “U-um yes, I did it when I was younger-“ he lets out a nervous laugh

- You raise an eyebrow

- “What did some girl break your heart?”

- He sputters at that

- “N-no of course not”

- You feel a wicked grin curling on your face, he’s awfully fun to tease

- “Boyfriend then?”

- He’s burning so bright red that you think steam might actually start coming out of his ears

- “N-no it was nothing like that,” his eyes are looking into his mug, fingers still twiddling with his earlobe.

- “My brother and I got them at the same time with our other friend. It was really their thing, wanting to get the piercing that is, I just joined to be apart of it”

- You can certainly see it, Charlie getting swept up in his friends things.

- “Besides this sort of thing... it doesn’t really suit me” he lets out a nervous laugh and you feel your heart swell

- “I think it would look great on you” The words leave your mouth without even thinking and you feel your face grow hot when they do.

- What are you saying!?!

- You’re embarrassed, but Charlie’s flattered.

- He’s never been the favorite sibling, he’s not as brave as Bill, or as funny as George, Percy’s the smart one, Ron’s the charismatic one, and Ginny’s the athletic one

- He hasn’t got anything to compete with honestly-

- All he can do is try to emulate his siblings, he guesses he’s still trying to figure out who he is

- Which is a little pathetic at his age- at least that’s how he feels

- But hearing you say it would look good on him- well it makes his heart flutter

- Meanwhile you’re completely ignorant to the fact that you’re making his heart race

- Completely caught up in your own embarrassment

- Geez you’re just blurting stuff out like a kid

- A lightbulb goes over your head

- “Hey I think I might have an idea of what your Dad might like!”

- You practically tug him into the the next shop, his face contorted in confusion until you show him what you thought of

- “Oh Merlin, it’s perfect”

- You’re both standing in the toy section of a department store

- Charlie’s watching the bubble machine like it’s the best thing he’s ever saw

- His dad is going to love enchanting it

- While Charlie’s asking the clerk about gift wrapping and other things you wander around the store

- Stopping when you see a rack of candles

- They’re the ‘homesick’ candles, with a scent that’s a place

- And then you see something else glint from the corner of your eye

- “Thank you so much for your help today-“

- You’re both standing in front of king’s cross again, you’re about to go home

- Charlie takes a deep gulp, if he was brave like Bill he might ask you on a date- a real day

- But he’s not

- So he’ll just thank you for your time, and ask for a business card so he can send you a tasteful gift with maybe a card asking to spend time again with you

- But before he can get the words out you thrust something out to him

- It’s a neat folded striped pink and green bag

- He takes it carefully on his hands, leading inside

- “Candles?”

- You nod

- “They’re those homesick candles, they have a scent for places, I got you London and then another one that says English country- it’s amber, honeysuckle and moss, I thought you might like it” you’re blabbering-

- There really wasn’t a need to do anything like this for him

- But well- you know he probably feels so homesick, not to mention his rowdy siblings

- So maybe this will offer him some comfort

- But he’s not looking at the candles he’s looking at something else that’s glinting beside them

- Thick fingers gently pinch the end of the thick paper square

- It’s a pair of earrings

- They’re Dragon Earrings

- “Oh that.” You look at the item with a wide expression “it’s really like a gag gift, I know you work with animals and you’ve got the piercing so-”

- Charlie’s grinning

- “You didn’t have to do all this.”

- “O-oh no, it was no big deal at all, I um- I wanted to.” You give him a shy smile and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach

- He’s never going to be as brave as Bill, or as Smart as Percy, as funny as George or loyal as Ron.

- But he wants to be kind

- As kind as you, if not more

- “No, I couldn’t possibly let you do something like this for me, especially not after all your help today”

- You feel yourself deflate, ah you were overstepping weren’t you?

- It’s just- you’ve heard so much about him and you work so well together,

- You had started to think of him as a friend

- But clearly it was too much -

- “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” your eyes snap to his face, which is dusted with pink, deep brown eyes staring into your own

- “To repay you for all the kindness you’ve shown me today”

- You feel a smile spread across your face, arching into a goofy grin

- He’s looking at you hopefully, pieces ears burning red. A matching hopeful smile curled onto his face

- “I would love to”

#Harry Potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter reader insert #Harry Potter headcanon #harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley x mc #Charlie Weasley imagine #Charlie Weasley headcanon #Charlie Weasley reader insert #harry potter hogwarts legacy #harry potter hogwarts mystery

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pine-lark · 3 years ago

Note

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

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thedevillionaire · 4 years ago

Text

Illusionary

Cerberus, Kia, domestic bedroom snz scene with a little magic, little romance? Hmm, yeah, sounds like me. 😏 --- Wrapped in a full-length darkest burgundy dressing robe, feeling somewhat refreshed but still more than a little coldhazy, Cerberus emerges post-shower to the sight of Kia, changed from her earlier black velvet bodice and jeans into a burnished deep gold satin negligee, lying on her stomach across the bed, head resting on her hands, attention fixed on the Testing papers in front of her. He pauses at the threshold, leans against the door frame to simply look at her awhile, silently enraptured, a soft smile on his face.

:Just so you know, babe,: Mindsends Kia, keeping her eyes on the papers, :it’s not possible for you to enter a room and not be noticed.: She glances back over her shoulder at him and grins wickedly. “You’d be a terrible spy.”

Cerberus chuckles, walking over to settle beside her on the bed. “Hard to argue given the circumstances, I suppose.” He toys with her hair, looking down at the papers. “Which Level are you applying for?” A light sniffle, and he frowns slightly, rubs his nose against an irritation rising anew.

“6.” Kia sighs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get that, but…I don’t know, I’m not…evenly skilled across the options or something.” She rolls over to sit up, cross-legged. “There’s a bunch of stuff I can do really well, and some other stuff I’m…just not very good at, I guess.” She gives him a rueful smile. “But I think if I maybe…”

“What is it you’re not sure of?” Cerberus reaches across her and picks up the papers, flicking through them as he moves to sit leaning back against the bedhead, rearranging the array of pillows and cushions to suit. Another sniffle, more sharply this time and he recognises the battle as lost, his focus dissolving captive to undeniable need, and he turns from Kia in surrender to an adversary already his conqueror many times over today. “HHAHTSSCCHU! Damn it, I swear Healing deal in placebos. Comple…ehh-HH ..completely…hh… Ahh-HEHTSSCH-uu!” He sniffles again and fixes Kia with a look conveying irrefutable vindication, raises an eyebrow. “*snf!*Hm? As evidenced. Completely ineffectual,” he states with authority, and takes several tissues from the box on the bedside. “Excuse me a mome… hh-HH... Oh, for f… HHAHTSSCCHU! Ah, gods. *SNF!* Pardon me, love.” He blows his nose in an attempt to stop any further irritation, at least in the short term, though he holds very little faith in that regard, and incinerates the tissues in a flashblaze of aetherfire.

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Kia says, gently strokes his forearm. “I’m fairly sure the meds have helped a bit, though,” she suggests. “Compared to earlier, at least.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m sure I’ve had at least ten minutes respite here and there,” mutters Cerberus sardonically, though he concedes to his bonded’s wry smirk quickly enough, places a kiss on her forehead. “Ah, I’m sorry, darkling. It’s just that as a rule, I’m rather fond of breathing.” Resting back against the pillows once more, he sighs again, absently rubs his nose, and returns his attention to the papers, making a quiet hum of thought as he flicks through them, in consideration.

“Sweetheart?” Kia, curious, shuffles up along the bed a little more to kneel beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to read what he was reading. “What are you doing?”

Cerberus points to the skillset of Illusion, listed as a subcategory within Hypnotics, several thick and emphatic lines scrawled beneath it. “This is underlined because…?”

Kia scoffed. “Because I suck at it,” she says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I can do the basics, but…” She looks up at him, nestling into him, trailing absent patterns across his chest with her fingers. “It’s just…it’s like…you have to sort of direct what someone else sees, so it’s…putting your images into their eyes without actually seeingthrough their eyes, so you don’t know if it’s actually working, you just kind of have to hope for it, and I can’t figure out when it is working so then I get distracted and the whole thing pretty much falls apart.”

“It’s a skill Demonics covers as well.” Cerberus kisses the top of her head, draping an arm across her as he drops the papers in his lap.

Kia stares at him, taken aback. “You can do this?!”

“Well, I don’t use it widely, nor is it my forte, but…”

“Oh, oh, oh! Want to take my Test for me?” Kia gives him a playful entreating look. “Just, I don’t know, shapeshift or something. Is that a thing? You can do that, right? I’ll let you wear whatever you like. Oh my god, I bet you’d be super-hot as me.”

Cerberus collapses into laughter, and she laughs with him, her heart warming as it always does when he loses himself to delight, and particularly now, with him unwell. She repositions herself to settle beside him, kissing him tenderly as she does so, and picks up the papers in one hand, resting her other hand on his thigh. “Alright, alright, okay, I know. I’ll take my own stupid Test. It’s mostly Vampirism specific, anyway. But still…” A devilish grin darts across her face and she bats her eyelashes at him with exaggerated flirtation. :Super-hot.:

Smiling, Cerberus looks down and shakes his head in an ill-advised move that brings about yet another stark reminder of the throbbing sinus headache he’s only just managed to almost forget. He winces slightly and does his best to ignore it. Claiming the honeyed tea from the bedside tray, he reheats it with a touch, and takes a sip. “Well, darkling,” he says, “perhaps not quite that, um…absolute, but I certainly owe you any favours I can offer at this point, so if you’ll allow me—” He kisses her forehead. “—to revisit a request that you once asked of me… Drop your Protect.”

Kia’s eyes widen and she looks up at him, confused, curious. “Why? Do you even need me to?”

“No, love, technically I don’t. But I’d prefer to have your consent, if you’ll give it.”

“For what? I mean, sure, of course, babe, but…”

And then Kia loses her words, struck voiceless, astonished, and reaches her hand out to feel for a bed that is no longer there, finding instead only the soft moss and verdure of a rainforest glade, the gentle sensation of vivid greenery under her touch; lush, thick and rampant plantlife above her, beneath her, beside her, in sensory undeniability. She turns rapidly, looking everywhere around her, unable to comprehend what’s happening even as the very atmosphere changes, the dark, thick, wet scent of fernery, pines, rich soils, and peat surrounding her, immersive and entirely real, solid, incontrovertible. The sky darkens to gunmetal greyblue, stormclouded and windswept, and the crash of distant thunder seems to vibrate the air itself. Sky? But there can’t be sky. Where’s the…where’s the ceiling? What…

“Honey?” she asks, questioning, her own voice feeling like a foreignness, seeking her love who isn’t where he had been mere seconds ago, and she runs her hand along the bark of a nearby tree, one of several, the texture rough and actual, definite. She pushes it, pushes harder; it does not yield. The thunder echoes again, muted but resonant, a certainty, and the heavy cloudcover darkens with it, bringing further shadow to the dell. Shifting her position and reaching for familiarity does nothing to transform the verdant rolling hills back into the furniture she knows so well – oak and cast iron and ornate fabric lost to, consumed by, this wilderness she’s breathing. The landscape stretches out endless and impossibly vast; bedroom walls stay invisible, dissolved. There are no hard angles. No corners. Thunder once more but softer, as if moving away. Wisps of phosphorescence dartdance across thickets and brush, phantasmal. She curls her toes against some lichen at her feet.

:Know this, love,: Cerberus Mindsends almost as if in echo, in memory, to the bone, and Kia spins around to face him, seated beside her but on the opposite side to where she last saw him, dressed as if for a fog-covered moorside in a thick cable-knit sweater and fleecelined suede coat, which she knows is not possible this is not possible it cannot be possible how can he do this how can anyone oh my god definitely not reality but still the only tangible perception she can make, and she isn’t at all sure she can speak to him and she tries to see what she knows to be real, where she knows she must be sitting, but she simply can’t, and she plucks a honeysuckle flower off a nearby creeping vine that has to be fictitious and yet it somehow isn’t, marvelling as she turns it over in her hands, touching its petals, breathing its sweet perfume.

“You’re extraordinary,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

:Close your eyes a moment, darkling, and immerse. Remember this. Understand this.:

And feeling the reassuring touch of his hand on hers, she closes her eyes as requested, reopening them after just a brief time to see again the bedroom that she’d logically known she’d never left, only then consciously recognising that he could not have taken her hand in that way from where she’d thought she’d seen him last, and she gazes up at him, open-mouthed in astonishment, for the shortest of moments before reaching up to trace her fingers along the contours of his face, almost as if to confirm his existence. “How are you even…” she murmurs in wonder, before calling herself back to reality somewhat.

She takes a moment to rebalance, breathes deeply, recentering. “Okay.” She exhales slowly. “Alright. Okay, that was…wow, that was completely amazing and… I love you but that was… If that’s what I’m meant to do… I mean, I could feel it. I held a flower. Fuck, babe. I have enough trouble even getting an image to form. A single image. You…you made a world. There’s no way I can do that.”

“You most certainly can, love,” counters Cerberus, “and, in fact, will. Should bring you up to a Level 8 grading, I’d imagine.” He presses his index finger then the back of his hand against his nose, frowning a little at a building itch, sniffling. “Excuse me. You just, um…recall the memory, enter in and redirect, adjusting for context. You’ll only be working with mortal capacity for resistance, also, if I recall the Vampirism protocol for this sort of thing correctly, so it sh…should be…” His breath hitches, the returning urgency stealing his sentence; he excuses himself with haste and turns from Kia, succumbing desperate, heavy, absolute. “AhhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Bless you!”

He raises an index finger and gives the briefest shake of his head, brow creased, and frozen in thrall to the crescendo of oncoming need; he takes an imposed moment, expectant, and another, inhaling shallow scissored twice and over, then deep, deeper still.

And again.

“hh-HH… Hh-TSSCHhuu!”

And oh he does not want to concede, but again.

“HMPTch! HHKTchu!” His attempt at resistance proves no contest against the still insistent, overwhelming tickle, and he gives over completely this time, abandoning any further fight. “Hh-TSSCH-uu! ah-hh… AHHTSSCHUU! Ah, gods.”

Kia’s own breath comes a touch uncertain too as she purrs a honeytoned, “Bless you, sweetheart.”

Cerberus exhales tiredly, pushes silken ebony disorder back from his face with one hand while claiming several tissues with the other. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, adding a sotto voce curse or two about the entire situation. “Pardon me.” He blows his nose, a little more gingerly now, sniffles again and sighs, repeats the process. Ridiculous.

A thought suddenly occurs to Kia that piques her interest far too much to not to ask it. “So, um…what would have happened if you’d sneezed during that whole…you know, ‘the bedroom is a forest now’ performance?”

Cerberus wipes his nose a final time before vaporising the latest used tissue collection. He chuckles quietly, clears his throat. “You’d best tell me, I think.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though. I would have…” Kia breaks off, examines her beloved’s expression with wary sidelong glance, considering whether there was any chance of...

No. With a faint scoff, she rejects the possibility, positive, confident. “No, you did not. There’s no way I don’t hear that.”

“If you say so, love.”

She frowns. “You’re right here. I am next to you in the bed.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” He flashes her a candid, disarming smile. “My favourite thing.”

Laughing, Kia pushes him in play. “Well, mine too, sweetheart, but that’s not what I meant and you know it,” she says before returning to her point. “You did not sneeze during that, though. No way. It just isn’t… Nope. You’re teasing me.”

“Well.” Cerberus once again brings newly steaming heat to the cup of tea with a touch, the very slightest of smiles crossing his face. “I admit that thunder is rather a cliché, but I didn’t have a great deal of time to consider intricacy of plot.”

“You di… But…” Kia stares at him in complete bafflement. “How?!”

“Illusion, darkling.” He stretches an idle arm across her shoulders, presses a kiss to her temple. “This is how it works.”

“Are you serious?!” Kia shakes her head in amazement. “God, do I even know what reality is?!” She gives a half laugh of incredulity, simultaneously astounded and utterly unsurprised at the variety of skills her beloved seems able to just call to command at will. “Okay, okay, and…so now because you…set me up, is that right, I can just, what, do that now? Oh. Ohh, whoa now, wait a second. Hang on.” She gives him a sly look, comprehension dawning. “Did you just do my homework for me?”

Cerberus laughs softly, a little darkly. “Consider it a crash course. Anyway, I know that you are in fact highly skilled in…not unrelated areas. I certainly know you can direct events. Your truly…outstanding talent with Immerse and Possess proves it. I suspect you just weren’t sure where to begin in this case.” He gives her a gentle smile. “You have an advantage, love. You should use it.”

Kia smiles back. “Oh, I’ll use you alright. I mean, use it.” She winks, laughing again. “I liked your mountain man look, by the way. Do you even have a cable-knit sweater?"

Cerberus raises an eyebrow. "What? You dressed me in a sweater?"

“I dressed you? What?"

“My direction only goes so far, darkling. Illusion involves a great deal of obfuscation, but it’s not a complete taking over. Some parts of it are nothing more than guidance, suggestions. And certain aspects are – I assure you – entirely of your own creation." He looks at her in nonplussed bemusement. “Really? Cable knit?”

“Navy blue, with a tan suede jacket,” Kia specifies with haughty precision before dissolving into laughter anew and doubly at the expression on his face. "I guess that’s what you get for setting everything in a forest. Come on, I was thematically accurate, at least.” She wipes away tears of laughter before meeting his gaze with conviction, points at him as if delivering an unarguable truth. “You looked hot as fuck, incidentally."

“I feel I’ve learnt something entirely new about you tonight,” Cerberus remarks, smiling briefly at her before suddenly turning away again, a couplet of fierce, unstoppable sneezes almost catching him unprepared absolutely, and he apologises with haste. “Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Goddamn it. *snf!* I have had more than entirely enough of this.” He sharply pulls another pair of tissues from the box, blows his nose again, immolates them afterwards with a burst of flame rather more emphatic than required.

“Aw, bless you, hon.” Kia tuts softly, strokes his hair back from his eyes, moves to sit across his lap, facing him. She traces a finely manicured nail down his neck, across his shoulder. “You know,” she nearwhispers, her tone softly teasing, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a sweater once in a while.”

“I’m really not…”

Kia leans closer, purrs as if sharing the wickedest of secrets. “Denim jeans too.”

:Gods, love, who are you?: Cerberus Mindsends in shadowsnarl as he wraps a strong arm around his bonded and draws them together, claiming her mouth and kissing her with fire palpable.

:You know me, sweetheart.: With deft touch and feline grace, slightest shrug, Kia allows her negligee to smoothly fall away, returning her beloved’s kiss perfervid, wanting, infusing her reciprocal Mindsend with the same.

:Your favourite thing.:

----

#supernatural soap opera #cerberus #kia #cerbia #snzfic #sneeze fic #he will never wear denim jeans nope never not gonna happen #the sweater's not completely out of the question though #my writing #my OCs

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obeymefictionwriting · 4 years ago

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Wedding Bells? Part 2!

You guys have been asking me for another chapter of my Wedding Bells? fanfic plus many of you wanted more Diavolo and Undateables... so I delivered! Please enjoy!

Barbatos smiled patiently as Luke messed up the ingredients again.

“Ah, shoot!” the little angel exclaimed in an annoyed voice watching the very special nine-layer Devildom Rainbow Cake not changing its color like it was supposed to.

“You should have added more Vivantium Rosarius extract to the fourth layer”, Barbatos suggested, patting Luke on the head.

“Hmph! Again I failed! MC, will I ever be able to master that cake? I wanna surprise Michael so much but for now, all I can is fail again and again!”

MC gave Luke a warm smile.

“No worries, let’s do it one more time. Um, Baratos, if I may ask… Would you mind bringing us some tea? It will help Luke concentrate, I guess.”

“A brilliant idea”, Barbatos replied. “I shall be right back”.

With these words, he left the kitchen of the Purgatory Hall, leaving Luke and MC alone.

It took Barbatos mere minutes to get to the Demon Lord’s castle to get his special tea that would help Luke calm down and concentrate. Barbatos was about to enter the kitchen when he heard:

“Really? YOU LIKE HIM??”

The hand that Barbatos was about to put on the doorknob, froze. It’s not nice of a butler to stand behind closed doors and listen to something that was not intended for his ears… But there was MC talking about someone whom they fancy… Might it be?...

“I mean, he is always so reserved and helpful. He has this calm aura around him, you know?”

Barbatos remembered a signet ring that he once took from the bottom of the Devildom Black Sea. Decorated with violently beautiful ruby gem, it was kept in his desk, waiting patiently for the right moment and the right person to be presented to. Maybe it was finally time the ring would saw the daylight and be put on a finger of a very special person...

“Hmmm he does seem nice”, Luke agreed. “But I’m still suspicious about him”.

“Barbatos, dear”, Barbatos heard a cheerful voice behind his back, “What’s go…”

With a move so sudden it was impossible to notice, Barbatos sealed Simeon’s mouth shut with a spell.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered and bowed, “but we must not give ourselves away”.

Simeon nodded; his brown eyes beaming with interest. He made a gentle motion with his right hand and was able to talk again.

“What’s going on here?” He mouthed these words with his lips but Barbatos understood him.

“MC is talking about somebody they… fancy. I was curious who it might be.” He admitted.

“Oh!” Simeon almost exclaimed but at the last moment, managed to shut up.

“Interesting, indeed”, a soft quiet voice said behind Simeon and Barbatos. When they turned around, there was Solomon standing with his usual coy smile.

“I also happened to hear something interesting” he explained. “Oh, but they are talking again!”

“What I also love about him is that he is a great storyteller”, MC continued, sounding happy. For sure, it was a great pleasure for them to think about this person. “I could listen to him forever and I cannot imagine what a vivid imagination he has!”

Simeon blushed heavily but his dark skin veiled the blush. He had so many stories that he’d love to tell MC! To be honest, since the moment MC arrived in the Devildom, Simeon had always been feeling immensely inspired. MC was his muse and he’d dedicate all his work to them. But most of all, he’d love to tell MC goodnight stories before putting them to sleep and then lying down next to them…

“A storyteller, huh? I know one”, Solomon sounded disappointed. “But who can resist an angel, especially one like you, Simeon?”

Barbatos did not say a word, but he felt slight worry and unease. To be honest, he was hoping MC was talking about him - but he was just a butler. No chance against an angel.

“But what about his power? Doesn’t it scare you?” Luke asked.

“Power? Yes, he is amazing - and intimidating too! He works so much on all these spells and he constantly seems to practice. I admire him for that. I mean, one has to be really determined and hard-working to achieve such a great level of knowledge and skill?”

Simeon pushed Solomon and grinned: “Determined? I see. That’s what you’ve been practicing with MC after classes”.

Solomon said nothing but felt content. To be honest, he always felt left out: with all these brothers and angels surrounding MC, he hardly had a chance to get noticed. He had Asmo, sure - but MC was different. MC was the one to be conquered and Solomon knew that every effort would be rewarded. And he was ready for it.

“So did you tell him?” Luke asked suddenly.

Everybody got tensed up. Barbatos was violently fighting the urge to peak in the future. Simeon was already planning a perfect date with MC. Solomon was just smiling and all sorts of fantasies were racing through his head…

“What are you guys doing here?” An overwhelmingly loud voice of Diavolo pounded like a bell behind them. “Are you having secrets? What are they about?”

The kitchen door swung open.

“Lord Diavolo? And… everyone?” MC looked confused.

“I was going to the library to get some books on divination”, Solomon said.

“I was about to go to the study to think about new TLS chapters”, Simeon added with a charming smile.

“I brought you tea”, Barbatos handed the bag to MC and blushed heavily.

“MC, Luke, what were you even talking about? These guys were glued to the door when I found them!” Diavolo looked disappointed because he hated missing out and not being included.

“We were talking about our professor on spells and hexes”, MC looked confused. “I enjoy his manner of teaching and Luke is a bit aware of him. We were just discussing his classes. Why?”

Diavolo looked equally confused.

“Maybe because you are such a good storyteller?”

“Or maybe because you are so gorgeous they’d want you to speak so passionately about them”, he thought to himself with a bit of sadness.

As a Devildom Prince, he always knew what was going on around him. He noticed how excited Barbatos got every time they visited the brothers. He noticed how Simeon’s eyes lit up when MC was passing by. And he sensed how Solomon was becoming more and more determined and eager as if purchasing a dream he was hoping to reach someday.

“But are we gonna make this cake or not?” Luke suddenly asked and everyone got busy.

“Lord Diavolo, would you mind staying with us and helping us out? We can taste the cake together after it’s done”, MC suggested.

The Devildom Lord beamed with excitement: “Just tell me what to do and I am ready for it!”

“And in addition to being reserved, powerful and good at stories, I love your enthusiasm too”, MC thought with a smile, passing baking powder to Diavolo.

#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #diavolo obey me #barbatos obey me #barbatos imagine #obey me solomon #simeon obey me #luke obey me #funny obey me

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mosylufanfic · 3 years ago

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Color My World (just paint it with your love)

For the Killervibe Gift Swap, a gift for @ava-has-a-closet-murderboard. Eventually I hope to get everyone a gift but it’s going real slow, y’all!

You see in color when you meet your soulmate AU. (Also obviously Ronnie died the first time and didn't come back as Firestorm, sorry Ronnie.)

Title from the song Color My World by Petula Clark

Color My World (just paint it with your love)

When Ronnie died, the world went grey in an instant.

Even as Caitlin screamed his name, she knew it was hopeless. Just the same as the world had exploded with color between one blink and the next the moment she'd met him, it reversed the moment his heart stopped beating.

For years, Caitlin assumed that Cisco saw the world in the same shades of grey as she did. She knew he was friendly and flirty and went on dates, and well - he was Cisco, after all. So she always expected to see him come rushing into the cortex one day, looking around at everything and seeing the colors after having met the person he was supposed to spend his life with.

So when she walked into his lab one day to find him comparing two apparently identical swatches, it was a surprise - but it wasn't.

"Cisco!" she cried, and he whirled to face her, stuffing both swatches behind his back. "Are you seeing in color?"

"Um, I - what? No. I was - comparing - um." He sagged. "Yes."

"You met your soulmate! Who is it? When can I meet them? What's their name?" She realized he wasn't looking as excited as people usually did in that first flush of color and love. "What's wrong?"

"I haven't met anyone new."

"Well, of course you have, you're seeing in color -"

"I met them years ago."

"Years? You've been seeing color all this time? You never said anything."

He nodded. "Sorry. Yeah."

"But when? And why didn't you - why aren't you - what happened?" Dramatic, overblown scenarios raced through her head, taken from cheesy cable movies with titles like "Soulmate to a Serial Killer.”

"Nothing happened, exactly. It's - " He looked away. "They're my soulmate, but I'm not theirs."

She goggled at him. You heard about those things, of course. Small percentages. Sad stories whispered behind hands. But knowing Cisco was one of them - "How do you know?"

"They'd already met their real soulmate when I met them."

She shook her head, attempting to wrap her head around it. "Are you sure? Have you told them? Have you talked about it at all?"

"Yes, I'm a hundred percent sure."

How could the universe be this cruel? Warm, laughing, loving Cisco, to be matched with someone who wasn't matched to him. To watch from the sidelines as they built a life with someone else.

It was almost as horribly unfair as losing your soulmate. No - no. More unfair. She'd at least had a life with Ronnie, no matter how short it had been. Cisco never had that with his soulmate, and never would.

"Why didn't you ever say anything? I always thought - "

"Because I didn't want you looking at me exactly the way you're looking at me right this very moment. Like I just told you my puppy has cancer."

She tried to rearrange her face. "I'm just -"

"Caitlin, it's fine. It happens." He shook his head a little. "I'm sorry I kept it from you."

"Who else knows?"

"Barry. And probably Iris."

"Has he met them?" A flush of - jealousy? she didn't know what to call it - washed up her throat.

"No, he doesn't even know who they are. Just that they exist." He shrugged and tossed the swatches on to the table. "Couldn't exactly keep it from him when we were designing suits together."

She said very quietly, "Did Ronnie know?"

He shook his head hard. "No, he didn't. No. Not even a suspicion. Look, I don't talk about it because there's nothing I can do about it, and there's nothing you can do about it, either. A soulmate is a soulmate, right? Even when they're not."

She reached to put her arm around his shoulder. "Cisco - "

Gently but firmly, he shrugged her hand away. "I've come to terms with it. It's just the way things are."

She swallowed hurt. "But you've been dating. Haven't you?" He had an app on his phone, and sometimes he would take it out and swipe through photos. She'd thought it was a regular app that just set you up on dates with other people who hadn't met their soulmate yet.

"It's a different kind of app. We all know the score. Nobody's on there to meet their soulmate. Just to find a good time."

"Is it just people who are - " She floundered. There was a term for people like Cisco, but to her mind, it was nasty and rude.

He said it anyway. "Third wheels?"

She made a face. It sounded even worse now that she knew it applied to him.

"Most of us, yeah. But there's a pretty good number of people who - uh - " He looked at her sidelong. "Who lost theirs."

"Oh." She couldn't imagine seeking anyone out after Ronnie. "Really?"

"Yup. I mean, they're not dead just because - well, anyway, if you ever wanna - you know. See the app. You can."

"Thank you,” she said. “But don't try to distract me. How long has it been?"

"A few years," he said. "Look, it's just a thing about me. Like having brown eyes and vibes and a rockin' fashion sense. Can you do me a solid, as a friend?"

"Anything. Of course."

"Let's never talk about this again."

Painted into a corner, she bit her lip. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"It's what I want."

Of course, she hadn't gotten the chance to ask the question that burned the most. Who was it? Who could possibly overlook Cisco?

But she'd promised.

She thought about it, though. She thought about it a lot, in her cold bed, in her grey house with all the colors she couldn't see anymore. At her kitchen table, set for one. When she opened up her phone and looked at the last picture Ronnie had sent her, a selfie with a particularly gigantic donut.

In black and white, of course. Like everything else, all the pictures of him had drained of color when he died. It made everything sting worse. She'd seen his face in color from the beginning, but now she couldn't remember the exact shade of his eyes or the different tones of his hair.

She didn't ask Cisco anything more, but she did go down a rabbit hole of research. One-sided soulmate was the technical term they used in social science surveys. OSS for short. She looked at reams and reams of statistics, quantitative and qualitative and longitudinal studies. Some of the OSS's said they were happy, some were depressed, some simply accepted it. Surprisingly, the stats on their overall mental well-being weren't all that different from people who were with their soulmates, or still waiting to find them.

Some one-sided soulmates spent their lives alone. But others dated and slept with and sometimes even married others like them.

She gave into curiosity and read the research on people who'd lost soulmates. She found the stats there very much the same. A little more depression, maybe, but there were a surprising amount of people who did just as the one-sided soulmates did - dating, sleeping with, marrying people they met.

Sometimes those people even found a second soulmate.

When that particular revelation popped up on her screen, she dropped a full cup of coffee and completely ruined her keyboard.

The day everything changed was just a regular day at first. The Flash and Vibe were out investigating a sketchy warehouse, and Caitlin was trying not to fret while reading yet another study on people who fell outside the soulmate norm.

"Cisco!" she cried as Barry whooshed them into the cortex, almost doubled over trying to support his weight. "What happened?"

"Got my bell rung," he slurred. "Ow, dude, ow, gentle - "

"The guy knocked him into a concrete pillar," Barry reported, settling Cisco onto the edge of the bed.

"No, don’t lay him down. 'll take care of him. You go get changed." As he whooshed out, she gloved up quickly and checked Cisco's pupils. They were the same size, and he denied any nausea or dizziness, but she��d still have to monitor him for signs of a concussion. She set her penlight down and gasped.

"What?"

“You’re bleeding.”

He wiped his face and blood smeared across the back of his hand. “Just a bloody nose. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

She tsked and pressed a square of gauze to his nose, gently feeling its shape. It wasn’t broken. “Are your teeth okay? Your tongue?”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t lean back! Just breathe through your mouth.” After holding it a few minutes, she checked, and indeed, the blood had stopped its flow. She let him straighten up. "How's your head?"

"Could use an aspirin."

"You got it." She turned away, but before she pulled her gloves off, she looked at the blood smeared over the fingertips and soaking into the gauze.

Against the light grey of her gloves and the white of the gauze, Cisco's blood showed scarlet.

At first, she thought she’d been mistaken. It had just been the blood, not anything else.

But then the sprinkles on the ice cream he brought her the next day showed up vividly blue and pink and orange against the rich brown of the treat. And the chips and guac she shared with him the day after that were pale yellow and brilliant green.

Color seeped back into her world a little at a time, mostly following Cisco. It was so different than before, but so wonderful at the same time. She'd forgotten how vivid red could be, how lavender was so delicate, how green was so rich. Sometimes she would just sit and stare at whatever had lit up today.

He noticed, of course. "What's wrong?" he asked one day, as the sunlight filtering through the skylights in the cortex picked out rich highlights in his hair.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"You were staring."

"There was a - a bug on you. But it flew away," she added hastily as he swiped at his hair.

It wasn’t like it had been with Ronnie. Then, it had been instantaneous, like a finger snap. Not this slow bloom of color, spreading outward from Cisco like watercolors soaking into paper, until every corner of the world had a different hue and shade. But Cisco wasn’t Ronnie, and she didn’t want him to be.

She worried about it sometimes. Did this mean Ronnie hadn't been her soulmate? That she didn't love him anymore? But she knew he had, and she knew she did. She would never stop.

It was just that she was one of the lucky very few who got a second soulmate.

And then the thought followed: what if Cisco's mystery soulmate was her?

She turned it over in her head, as carefully as an antique china plate. The facts fit. She had been with Ronnie when she and Cisco had met. She even remembered them telling him about their first meeting, over dinner or something. She struggled to remember his reaction, what he'd said or looked like, but couldn't.

And when Ronnie had died and the color had drained from the world, she'd told him that too.

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, watching the newly colorful starbursts behind her lids. "Oh, Cisco," she murmured to his past self. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I never saw. I know you couldn't tell me, but I wish I'd realized you were hurting."

Watching her with Ronnie must have been torture for him. Watching her after Ronnie died - that must have been torture in a different way, her loss of color confirming every day that he wasn't her soulmate.

But it was going to be different now. If they were soulmates, he deserved to know.

And if they weren't -

Her stomach pitched uneasily at the thought.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she made her way down to his lab. She'd kept this secret for a month now, clasped to her chest. And he'd kept it for years. This was going to change everything,

For the better?

She hoped.

He was head and shoulders into the souped-up treadmill Barry used to test his speed, a tool box open next to him. "Hey," he called out as she came in. She never could surprise him. Was that a soulmate thing, a Vibe thing, or just a Cisco thing?

"Hi," she said brightly, almost shrilly. She swallowed hard and perched herself on the edge of his table, wiping her sweaty palms on her favorite skirt. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, just tuning this old girl up. How about you? What brings you down here?"

"Do I have to have a reason to come down here?"

He peered at her over his shoulder. "No, but you sure look like you do."

She wiped her palms again. "I was just thinking."

"Uhoh," he said cheerfully, turning back to the treadmill.

"About your soulmate."

Although he didn't say anything, all the cheer sucked itself out of the room.

"About, um, when you met them, and how long it's been, and -"

"Caitlin," he said in a heavy voice. "You said you wouldn't talk about this anymore."

"I know, I did, but I'm just curious - "

"You promised," he said. "You made me a promise."

"I - I did - "

He straightened up again, crossing his arms, resting the greasy wrench against his shoulder. His brows loomed heavy and serious. "So why the hell are you breaking it now?"

Okay, this wasn't broaching the subject like she'd thought it would. "You should put that wrench down," she said. "You're getting grease all over that shirt."

"Subject changed appreciated, but why - "

“And I like that shirt," she said. "I like that color on you. “It’s very flattering.”

He dropped the wrench on his foot.

When the clanging and the yelping and the jumping up and down and the checking that his foot wasn't broken had all died down, he wiped his greasy fingers on a rag, getting the fingers greasier. "So," he said levelly, "you met someone. That's great. That- that's awesome. What's their name?"

Oh. She hadn't expected this.

"Cisco," she said. "It's you."

He looked up, pain filling his eyes, and probably not from his foot. "No, it's not."

"It is," she insisted. Oh, wow, she hadn't expected him to be this stubborn about it.

"No," he said. "No. You met someone and you didn't realize, that's all. I don't know why you think it's me, because we've known each other for years, and it's never been me before." His voice cracked.

She reached out to take his hands. "But it is. I've been seeing in color for a month now. Just a little at first. But now it's everywhere. And it started with you. Cisco, it's you."

He shook his head slowly. "How?"

She shrugged. “I’ve been researching. Did you know it's a whole field in social science? The study of soulmates. Amatology. It's so much more complicated then everybody thinks, Cisco. We always hear how you know in the first moment, and it's just that one person, forever, and - and that's not accurate! You can have more than one. And you know somebody for years before they become your soulmate. And that's what happened to me. With you," she added firmly.

He was pressing his lips together. "It was - " he said, then stopped. Swallowed. Took a breath. "It was the first moment with me. The first color I saw was the gold of your engagement ring."

"Oh," she breathed.

He swallowed again. There were tears in his eyes. "I've loved you for years, Caitlin, so I need you to tell me right now. Swear to me you're sure, and you're not screwing with me, and you - " His voice sank to a whisper. "And you absolutely know I'm your soulmate."

"I'm sure," she said. "I'm not screwing with you. I absolutely know that you're my soulmate, Cisco Ramon. And you know why? Because I don’t want it to be anybody but you."

He kissed her, hard, pulling her close. She had half a thought for her meticulously selected outfit, then mentally consigned it to the rag bin and kissed her soulmate back.

When they had to come up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. "I never wanted it to be anybody but you, either," he breathed.

"Even when - Ronnie?"

He nodded. "Because he made you happy. I wanted that more than anything else."

She traced the lines of his face, the arch of his brows, the curve of his lips. Dear and familiar and beautiful. "You're going to make me happy too."

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #killervibemonth #killervibemonth21 #soulmate AU #the flash

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sebstanseabass · 3 years ago

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Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 12

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER TWELVE

The chilly wind knocked against your small windows, mirroring the pounding in your head. Opening your eyes felt impossible as the dried tears stuck on your waterline. You groaned with your mouth closed, pulling the blanket over your body. You opened your mouth, licked your dry lips like a puppy just waking up; the aftertaste of liquor sat on your mouth. You almost wanted to hurl everything you put into your mouth last night but you suppressed it, seeing that you were in no state of getting up just yet. How much did I have to drink last night? Did I do something remotely stupid? Did I go somewhere? You had more to ask yourself but your thoughts dissipated, just dreading this hell of a headache to end.

There was more pounding and knocking; left, right and in just every direction — on the windows, in your head and lastly on your door.

"Are you up, doll?" A deep voice echoed from the other side of the door. It belonged to Bucky.

Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice (not minding the stickiness on your waterline), sudden vivid images appeared in your mind. The bar. Bottles of vodka on the floor. Steve. Your photos. A limo on the street. Wandavision. And Bucky's arms wrapped around you, lips fluttering on your forehead. Dead, drunk thoughts.

Everything was coming back to you. Even the taste of liquor and the smell of the damp street.

Still in a state of hangover, you couldn't bring yourself to speak just yet so you groaned a bit louder, letting him know that you were now brought back to life.

"Good morning, sunshine." He said a little too loudly for your bionic ears.

"Sshhh." was all you could muster, hiding further into the little cocoon you had made yourself just earlier.

"Come on, doll. It's past twelve but I did cook you breakfast."

The softness in his voice made your heart flutter and lessened the pain in your head. Slowly, you uncovered yourself and revealed the mess that you were to Bucky who was just standing patiently in front of you.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to hurl?"

You swallowed, and shook your head no as you slowly stood up from the bed. You grabbed the edge of the nightstand as the floor beneath you started to spiral. Before it could even swallow you whole, Bucky sped towards you and kept his arms around you until you reached the bathroom. You gestured to Bucky that you could wash your face and brush your teeth all by yourself so he let you be. He retreated towards the kitchen.

You tried to find your voice back once you splashed your face with the ice cold water. Yeah, that'll cure my hangover. You stared at your reflection in the mirror and was surprised you didn't look as much of a mess than you imagined you would be. You were thinking disheveled hair (baby hairs going up in different directions, looking like a kid who just played with the static electricity ball for the first time), smudged lipstick, running mascara, and clothes from the night before — a walk of shame starter pack.

A look of confusion crossed your face, noticing that you weren’t wearing the same clothes you were wearing last night. Then you looked back at Bucky with wide eyes, who was whistling a song while preparing breakfast at noontime.

You splashed your face with more water before going to the kitchen. Breakfast had been served at the small round table. Eggs, bacon, bagels, toast, and of course, Bucky's cereal.

"T-thank you." You managed to say.

It seemed like, you noticed, whenever Bucky did something nice to you that you obviously could yourself, the words seemed to fall out of your mouth so painfully slowly. This was the second time. No one had ever bought you clothes before, and had made you breakfast before, so saying the phrase "thank you" came somewhat unnatural.

Bucky didn't seem to notice as he scooped a big chunk of his cereal. "It's no problem. I figured you'd be hungry after... last night."

"Right." Last night.

You sighed, biting a piece of bacon. Oily, savory bacon which tasted better after a hangover. Good God.

The silence started to creep around you as you ate, among the elephants in the room (yes, elephants. I was rather a big crybaby with an undeniable thirst for affection). They were hard to ignore, of course and you knew you had to say something, at least the word "Sorry" but the simple five-letter word got stuck in your throat.

"I was expecting for us to talk once Howard dropped us off but you were knocked out." Bucky started. You mentally thanked him for speaking first but God knows, you couldn't quite handle confrontation — at least not about you. "I hope you don't mind, I changed your clothes and took some of your makeup off your face. You made quite a mess."

"I-I noticed." Third time. "And no, I don't mind at all. I think a 'thank you' is rather appropriate."

"You're welcome, doll." He grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't look. I undressed you with, uh, utmost respect."

"And hey, if you'd seen me naked then we're even." You laughed, recalling the first time you had met him.

"I promise you, I didn't see you butt naked so we're not even."

The mood lightened up a bit and started to take its own pace. You began to sit more comfortably on the chair, and grab more bacon and eggs. "Bucky," You started, hating to break what was a nice, light atmosphere, "I think I need to address the elephant in the room."

You’ve always hated that phrase. Elephant in the room. Why did it have to be elephants? Why couldn't it be, oh I don't know, dogs or cats or a raccoon? It sounded less scarier.

"I was just about to start." Bucky chuckled.

"I truly am sorry for the things that happened last night. Getting drunk, being such a fucking crybaby, and for well, you know."

Bucky knew. You knew. Even if you were drunk as a skunk, you knew all too well what you did. And you shouldn't have done it. Not like that, anyway. Not in that state.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you, Bucky. I guess I just had my jar full and I exploded right then and there. Y-you have to know," Fourth time, "I don't normally act like that. So rash, and irrational, and such a child. I usually think things through but last night, I clearly didn't. Please don't tell Parker about this. Not a word. Even though I basically take care of him, he's still so worried about me. Last night won't happen again. It was... impulsive, reckless, childish. And just plain stupid."

"Are you done?"

I frowned. "Um, yeah. I think I am."

"Look, y/n. You don't have to apologize. You're allowed to feel that way sometimes and it's okay."

"To feel that way, yes, I suppose but to act on those feelings... I don't think so. God, you shouldn't have seen me like that. Oh, God. Why did I let you see me like that?" Then, your face fell on your hands.

"I don't know if you remember this but just in case... You actually told Steve to call me.”

"I did?" You lifted your face, your eyes meeting his. "Oh no. Steve. I have to apologize to Steve. I think I said some mean things to him or... or something. And I have to pay for those drinks."

"Already taken care of. I talked to him this morning."

"You have Steve's phone number?"

"Let's just say I have my ways, yeah? Now you don't have to worry that much."

"Okay, yeah." You knew now more than ever never to question Bucky when he says stuff like that. "Thank you, Bucky. Really."

"I know, doll." He continued. "So... about your little speech. It was quite big. Ironically. You, uh, really let your guard down."

"To be honest, I don't remember much of it." You admitted, hiding your face through the little knots in your hair.

"I don't remember the exact words you said but I do think you said something of the lines of having to prove your parents wrong and that you've achieved nothing since you came here. And then you told me a bit about your friendship with Wanda and I suppose seeing her studio that fine afternoon pulled a trigger on your envy."

Suddenly, you heard yourself through and amidst the honking vehicles, the sounds of feet trudging the sidewalk, and the snotty wailing coming out of your nose and mouth. You relived it in my head, heard every crack of your voice, smelled the liquor from under your nose, and felt Bucky's hand interlaced with yours.

"Yeah, it's all coming back to me now." I really did let my guard down. All walls. Down. Just like that.

"You've never been back there? To your home?"

"No." You answered. "I have never stepped foot in New Jersey again ever since I moved here. Going back meant I failed and so, maybe I should go now." Bitterness was evident in your voice.

"Y/n, if I had your talent," Bucky set down his utensils now, his eyes digging right into yours, "I would never give it all up, even if it meant rebelling against my parents. If... if my folks were alive and would stop me from chasing my dreams... Hell, I too wouldn't listen to them. And you shouldn't either."

It was the first time Bucky mentioned anything remotely related to his birth parents or anything real in his life. You looked at him, crouched like a little child, lifting a spoon to his mouth. And there it was again, an onion peeling on its own, layer by layer by layer, but still missing its very core.

"It's been years yet I'm still stuck in the bar. That was only supposed to be a temp job to help Peter pay the bills." You knew in your heart and mind that you should stop yourself from talking but your walls were already down; the downest (is that even a word?) they've ever been. Here you were, in a room in front of a man you had only known for days and you had already revealed the most vulnerable side there was to you, that you didn't know even existed.

You didn't know if it was the remaining alcohol in your system or your walls crumbling down some more but talking about it felt right. Because you knew these words were aching to come out of your mouth, desperate for someone to hear them.

To hear you.

"I was so sure," you continued, "that I was going to skyrocket in the media industry. Making a name for myself, seeing my photos on billboards, magazines — everywhere. I wanted to see the world but I got stuck on product photography for small businesses. I was supposed to move on to bigger things... Bigger names. Now, I don't know what's in store for me."

"Y/n, you're living in the city of art and culture. You're surrounded by art and that's why you should explore more of it. And then once you do, find its center; its heart. Let that be your... masterpiece and then make more of it."

"You know, you're really good at selling some bullshit."

"You say it's bullshit now, doll." He laughed. "Until you see the big picture."

Bucky's words kept echoing on the walls of your brain as you tried your best to sleep off the headache you were still suffering from. But the pain in your head overpowered his voice, letting you doze off for a few more hours before you showered, slipped into some comfortable clothes and headed down towards the bar.

It was thirty past five when you arrived in the bar — the latest you had ever been but the realization seeping in your mind slipped away upon seeing Steve enter his office. You ignored the calls from Nick and Nat from behind the counter, wondering why you were so late. Once you were outside of Steve's office, you took a deep breath and gently knocked on his door.

A soft "come in" was heard.

You obliged and stepped inside his cramped office.

Steve stood upright by the window, holding and reading something inside a folder. He noticed your figure and slowly retreated back to his chair. He ushered you to sit across from him. You sent him a tight-lipped smile as soon as you sat down.

"I think you probably know why I'm here." You started. He nodded in response. "Steve, I am so so sorry about last night. I was just... I don't... I can't even begin to fathom why I even did that in the first place — "

"Y/n, stop." said Steve. "I forgive you. And I think I owe you an apology too."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, you asked me why I bought those photos and why I let you put some of them here in the bar. I didn't lie when I told you that I like them and they're amazing shots but... I think I also did it out of pity.”

And there it was. The truth. Whoever said the truth sets you free never had been lied to. And whoever said it must be suckerpunched right in the face.

"You were struggling, y/n. I could count on the fingers the people who went to your exhibit."

That photo exhibit happened more than a year ago, or maybe less — you couldn't quite remember as you buried it at the back of your mind. It occurred in a space for rent here in the Upper West Side, the same size as your apartment. As Steve described the scene that day, the memory immersed at the center of your brain, placing all the things displayed, all the people who showed up one by one. And little by little, a part of you started to fade into dust.

"You don't have to remind me, Steve."

Steve slid a bunch of photos on his desk towards you. The photos you took from the walls last night were staring at you. Crumpled. "Your new friend Bucky paid me a little visit this morning. We had quite the chat."

"Bucky came?"

"He showed the photos to me and left them here after paying for the drinks you drank last night. I don't know why he did it. He never gave me an explanation but it got me thinking... All these photos, I realized, were of us, the people around you."

"What are you getting at, Steve?"

"The bar, the street outside of the bar, the streets from your rooftop, and the park. They're all a part of your routine. I know I've always shown this professional front in front of you guys but you're not just my employees. I care about you and your well being, and your dreams. That's why I'm letting you go."

"Letting me go?"

"Y/n, what I'm trying to say is you're fired."

"What?!"

Your heart started to pace quicker than it usually would. It started to feel like it was about to punch Steve right in his damn face and knock him off the wall.

"No, no, no, no! This... This is a good thing."

"What? No, it's not! I'm the best employee you're ever gonna get." You argued, trying to save your job.

"That's why I'm firing you, y/n. I don't need you as my best employee. This isn't where you belong. Bartending won't get you anywhere near your dreams."

"But it helps me pay my bills!" You exclaimed, your voice getting higher and higher.

"I know, I know that's why I'm giving you a one-week notice. To think things through, and maybe have a plan."

You scoffed. "I had a plan that took me almost a year and three years later, it didn't work out and now, you're telling me I have one week to plan my damn future?"

"I'm risking losing my best employee yet." Steve replied with a smile, leaning against his cushioned chair. "Take what you can from that."

It had been a few hours after the little talk you had with Steve. Your head was spinning all over the place. You were having a hard time taking orders, and making drinks. You’ve had a few people complain to Nat. Apparently, you had been mixing up orders for the past few hours. Nick encouraged you to take a little break and while having that little break, a familiar lavender-vanilla scene filled your nose.

Your hunches rang true as you saw Bucky enter the bar (no suit this time, just a polo shirt and some trousers). Behind him followed a black man, entering the bar for the first time. Bucky spotted you in seconds inside the farthest booth where no one usually sits. A smile landed on your lips.

God, was I happy to see him.

The moment his arm snaked around your waist, your thoughts dissipated in a snap. "Hey, doll. I brought a friend of mine."

The black man beamed upon seeing you, extending his hand out for you to shake.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase. My name is Sam Wilson and I want to make business with you."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes story #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #bucky fic

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bowl-of-shortness · 3 years ago

Note

Dialogue prompt for your future kids AU

Do it for whoever you wish also sorry if I'm overloading your inbox.

"I don't like emotions, they're so messy"

"I think you're mistaking feelings for paint"

Painting a picture

Description:

Ozpin and Qorbyn decide to spend some bonding time together.

(This is pretty dialogue heavy)

“And so, that was how I first met team STRQ.”

“So you met them all through pops needing a tutor.”

“Correct.”

“Weird how things like that work, huh?”

Ozpin chuckles “I suppose so my dear, although I am curious to know,”

Qorbyn peeked around the canvas she was painting on curiously at her father, she had been painting something out of sight to him, they had both made it a bit of a game. Neither could see what the other was painting until they were done.

“How did you meet your other friends, besides Mr. Goodwitch and Ms. Ironwood.”

Qorbyn huffed, a gentle sound lightly resembling a laugh “Don’t call Jazzy that in front of her, she’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh?”

“Feels too formal she says, plus it’s too similar to what people call her dad.”

Ozpin grimaced slightly at the canvas in response to the sentence, he had forgotten about Jasmine’s feelings towards her father, he wished he could help more, given Jasmine was a welcome guest and practically third child of the Ozpin-Branwen family.

“But uh, I’m not sure about some of them.”

This caught his attention, “What do you mean my dear?”

Qorbyn fell silent, a silence he recognized as a somber silence, one that the short girl gave whenever she was upset.

“I……I don’t remember…how I met them.”

“You don’t remember….?” He repeated carefully.

“Yeah. I…….I don’t remember a lot of things…….”

“Like what?”

“Like what happened at school, I know the general details of what happened but I can’t tell you anything specifically like what we learned.”

“I see…..”

Silence fell over the two once more, he didn’t want to push the topic, he knew better than to do that with something that seemed sensitive to her.

“…do you um….wanna know something kinda scary….that happens to me all the time?” Qorbyn asks softly

“What it is my dear?”

“…….you….you can remember things really well, right? Almost to a fault? Like all those wars and stuff….?”

He grimaced once more, it was true, he did unfortunately remember everything in painful and vivid detail “Yes…”

“Imagine if you didn’t remember any of that stuff, like you know what happened but you don’t remember anything of it, sounds pretty great, right?”

“I suppose so….”

“But then, you can’t remember the good times either, you can’t remember the faces that made you happy, made you laugh, you can’t remember the places you love, your friends…….doesn’t sound so good anymore, does it? That’s what I live with. I know things have happened, but I don’t remember them.”

He thought for a moment before speaking “Is this why you seem confused when your father and I bring up moments of the past.”

“Mhm….”

“….I am sorry my love, I didn’t know.”

“How could you…? I always sucked about opening up to people.”

“Well you are opening up to me, yes? And I don’t recall being very good at opening up to people either. I too “suck” at it.”

Qorbyn snickered at this, earning a smile from Ozpin, he always wanted to see her happy. In a world that constantly wanted nothing more than to drive it home to this girl that she was worthless, he simply wanted to see her smile sometimes.

Qorbyn fell quiet once more, “But…..even though you don’t remember that stuff, those feelings, that response to what happened, it doesn’t go away…….it’s still there. And it’s upsetting and confusing because you’re feeling things and you don’t know why and—…….”

She stopped for a moment to contain herself, she was crying. She hated crying, he recalled mentally, she had told him that. He recalled her telling him that she thought she cried too much.

“…..and?” He asked gently

“….and it hurts….it hurts so much, and you don’t know why, and you want it to stop………why does it gotta hurt so much dad?” She choked out as she quietly set her paint brush down.

Ozpin stood up and left his chair, he walked over to Qorbyn. Crouching down, he hugged her, she sinked into the hug.

He grimaced, it was a question he had asked himself for every one of his lifetimes. Why? Why did it have to hurt so much?

Qorbyn scoffed at herself “Sorry…..I’m getting over emotional again.”

“You are but a human my dear, it’s ok to feel things.” He sighed and pulled away, holding her smaller hands in his own.

“Hypocrite……you and pops….” She mumbled, looking away.

Ozpin laughed gently at this, it was the truth, he and Qrow were truly no better, but that is why they sought to help her and Olivia. “Well, you only learn from the best I suppose.”

She looked at him, smiled, and shook her head. She quickly wiped the tears off of her face and sighed.

“I don’t like emotions, they’re so messy.”

“I think you’re mistaking emotions for paint my dear.”

Qorbyn looked over at the pallet of paint that was resting on the stool next to the one she was sitting on, she thought for a moment, observing the pallet, before getting up and grabbing a new canvas.

Ozpin raised an eyebrow curiously as she brought the clean canvas over “My dear? What is it.”

She gently took the previous painting off the easel and set the clean canvas on it.

“Maybe…….” She paused and looked back the the pallet, picking it up and observing it a little more.

“….Maybe?” Ozpin repeated back.

“Maybe emotions aren’t so different from paint. They are messy. But like paint, there are so many different varieties of emotions. And it’s not even just different colors of paint that are different, it’s what they’re made of, what they’re used for, the different brands.”

She took some blue and brown off the pallet and began to paint on the canvas, Ozpin watching carefully.

“And….some colors, mix better than others. Some colors you mix and you get stuff like grays or browns, some colors you mix and you get things like orange or green. Same thing with emotions, some emotions go better some than with others.”

Qorbyn takes some red, orange, yellow and green and adds it to the canvas.

“Sometimes you mess up and are frustrated with what you made, just like how you get frustrated with yourself sometimes. Sometimes you’re proud of the art you made. Same thing with your emotions. Sometimes you’re just proud to have been able to make yourself some food.”

She adds the last few details to the painting before leaning back to look at it with Oz.

“But in the end, all those messy colors and paints can make something pretty neat. Just like how all those feelings can make a pretty great person. And not every person is gonna like your art or like you, and sometimes some peoples art just isn’t good and you have to accept that they aren’t willing to change. So……it kinda is like painting in a way.”

The painting was that of a forest in the autumn, it was a simple but beautiful painting, mostly filled with vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows, but with hints of green, blue, and brown in the painting.

Ozpin smiled “I think,” he wraps an arm around Qorbyn, hugging her gently.

“That this is a lovely metaphor.”

#alchemy brews #qorbyn branwen #Ozpin #headmaster ozpin #professor ozpin #cloqwork #ozqrow #remnant heirs au

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pollenat · 4 years ago

Text

BLACKPINK and The first kiss

JISOO

It was too much for you.

The lights of passing cars illuminating her face, drawing the lines, shadowing the valleys, sharpening the edges - making her feel unreal, like the most beautiful of dreams. If you could, you would’ve stopped the time to watch the surreal painting of reds and yellows. No painter, no photographer, no poet could give Jisoo justice at that moment. Even if your eyes didn’t feel worthy of that, you watched her, careful as to not blink too often.

“(y/n).” You loved the way she said your name.

“Yes?”

“Why are you looking at me like this?” Her head bent to the side, mouth twisting into a sweet smile.

Embarrassed by her question you - with a heavy heart, mind you - dropped gaze. Your body turned towards the street where the cars continued passing each other.

“What do you mean? Isn’t that what I have eyes for? You know, looking?” Jisoo’s head dropped on your shoulder, something heavy resting behind the act of the gesture’s simplicity.

Minutes of verbal silence passed. Both the town and your mind were far from quiet though. Her hand sneaked in between your elbow and torso, then rested on your knee. Again, simple, but with a heavy undertone. One you didn’t know how to decipher. But then you realized that the position you’ve found yourself in was no ordinary one. The heaviness was right. It was the intimacy you shared with someone you dreamed of. A little worried, unsure what to think. Whether she meant the same as you did, or maybe needed a stable rock to rest on, you dared a question.

“Jisoo.” She hummed quietly, breath escaping through a small gap to tickle your neck. “What does it take from someone to be as beautiful as you?”

The weight of her head disappeared, and you looked to the side to watch her choke on saliva, half-laughing, half-covering her shock. She didn’t catch the undertone. Weird, considering the way most of your night together was built on double meanings.

“That was very sudden?” her hand patted your knee. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“You asked me first.” At the statement, her eyes looked past you to signal contemplation. “That’s why I was looking at you before. But everyone tells you that, right?”

“Not so directly.” Now you had to snort in amusement. “I mean, not when we’re sitting so close to one another. And don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry.” your hand went up to cover the grin, but it was the one resting on the same knee as Jisoo’s. She grabbed it before you could escape. “Jisoo?”

“I’ve been giving you signals all night. And then you start talking about others. It’s not what matters to me. What does, is that you’ve never told me I’m beautiful before.”

“Um- Well... I thought it was an obvious fact?” Oh, and don’t forget- “Signals?” Jisoo just nodded, her eyes away from you. “Signals, as in romantic ones?” Again, a nod. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She finally dared to look back at you. “It’s not like you’re not obvious.”

“Of course.” Feeling incredibly foolish, you once again tried to break free from the hold of a hand, but Jisoo didn’t let you. Instead she pulled it to her chest. “Jisoo?”

The tip of her nose nudged yours, close as soon as you turned to face her. Jisoo’s dark eyes looked at the surprise on your face. She took you in, counted the seconds for a(n im)possible draw back, leaned forward to do the unthinkable. Softly, then with a little more confidence, awaiting the moment when you’d wake up. But who would want to wake up from a dream like that one?

JENNIE

“I’ve got to say - I wasn’t expecting that.”

Neither did you. When she first sent you a text saying how bored she was, you felt the need to save her from herself, and ended up almost instantly stepping out of your home. Just half an hour later you were under her apartment block, waiting in your car. Something about Jennie always made you want to make an effort, even just to see the smallest of smiles on her beautiful face.

“Do you mean that in a good way?” She pulled a huge teddy bear closer to her nose. It couldn’t smell good - you got it from a booth at a fair. Who knew how long he waited for your lucky shot?

“Of course!” Her big brown eyes watched you above the toy’s head. You couldn’t be sure, but you wished it was a smile she was trying to hide from you.

Still wary, because hey, who would outright say they didn’t enjoy a surprise that someone else has prepared for them, you sat back on your seat. Jennie’s eyes followed your profile. Having their attention all to yourself made you self-conscious, and you considered driving her home. You didn’t want the night to end, but you were unsure where else it could go. The possibility of disappointment loomed over your head. You were unsure what it was she expected out of your weird friendship, as well as what you wanted.

Then Jennie’s soft voice called your name. Unable to stop yourself at the sound of the most beautiful rendition of the word you’ve ever heard, you turned to look back at her.

“Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?” You, was what you wanted to say. Instead, you opted on the much safer, and much lamer “Life?”.

Jennie couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face, and you wondered - what did she expect you to say? Or maybe what did she want you to say? Now that’s what you usually tried to avoid, wondering whether the woman thought about things similar to you. Whether the crumbs your vivid imagination survived on kept her alive too.

“Do you take all your friends for evening dates at a fair?” Did she really say dates, or was it just your brain’s desire?

“Ha, you’d be the first one.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to look to the side, to check her reaction. How surprised you were, when Jennie’s lips landed on your upper lip. It was too short and much too sudden for you to register properly. As soon as it happened, it also ended. Jennie pulled back, obviously also surprised by the kiss. If your mind wasn’t completely blank, you’d have realized that her prime intent was to peck your cheek. Lost on options you’d have laughed nervously, then changed the subject. But your mind was empty, and you made no movement. You just stared at the woman you had the hugest of crushes on, awaiting her next words. Ones that would probably extinguish the fire building inside your body.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

She was supposed to turn you down, not ask things like that.

“N-no.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Jennie looked to the side, biting her lower lip in nervous excitement, or maybe to hide a big smile. “Would you want to do it properly now?”

“What?”

“You know - that or whatever.” Her cute inability to call kissing by its name finally broke the spell.

Suddenly full of emotions, you threw your head back from laughter. Jennie joined you, her lower lip vividly red from the hard bite. It didn’t last long, because now, confident of your feelings, you decided to strike back.

ROSÉ

She looked heavenly, propped on her shoulder, with face lighting up every now and then. The TV series you have found together was a good choice. Not only did it keep you entertained, it was also long enough to make a good excuse for your lack of physical activity the past few days. Nothing felt as pleasant as rejecting all social engagements for more time one-on-one with Chaeyoung. Her behavior told you that she had a similar approach to the situation.

“Oh, sorry.” the voice from her phone’s speaker was barely audible. “No, I really can’t. I’m already all set for the upcoming week.” as soon as she noticed you watching, her smile turned sinister. “Yeah. Bye.”

“Aren’t you a busy woman?”

“Oh, I have no time for myself because of the amount of arrangements I made!”

The two of you fell down on the bed, giggling conspirationally. Only calming down made it possible for you to press the play button. Chaeyoung’s head moved a little bit closer, to rest on yours. In between lines of dialogue and obnoxious noises, you could register her breathing. The sound of drawing air in and out was so close, the whistling it accompanied also reached your ears. Then, when she shook in place from laughter, you registered the smell of her shampoo, a lovely floral aroma.

“What? Don’t tell me that joke was not funny!”

Accidentally, as least you hoped so, Chaeyoung pushed you with much more strength than she expected. She ended up going so hard, your rolled off the bed and landed on the carpet face-down with a thud.

“Oh no! Sorry!” You heard the screech of springs as she crawled to the edge. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” but showed no sign of wanting to get up. “This rug is pretty comfy.”

Chaeyoung laughed after a moment of hesitation, her hand eventually landing on your butt with a clean sound. She clearly wanted you to return to her side.

“Get up!

Finally, you did as told. Got up first on your forearms and knees, only then did you look up. Good thing that you did, otherwise your and Chaeyoung’s heads would have collided. But because you you made the effort to look where you were moving towards- Let’s say there were worse thing than being just centimetres apart from someone.

Chaeyoung must’ve been stuck in her spot watching you. Perhaps unaware of your intentions to get up, perhaps too busy making sure that your mission ended a success. Seeing her face so close, you froze in your spot. Just as she did. Stuck, watching one another for a long awkward while.

Not gonna lie, your face felt hot after you realized. Even hotter when you noticed Chaeyoung didn’t lean back. She stayed in place, looking at you. Never made a motion back or forward. As if she was unsure herself where to escape from your presence. Maybe she didn’t want to necessarily escape? That thought made you feel like choking. Luckily, you managed to control yourself.

“Umm- Chaeyoung?”

“Yes?”

You hesitated. Was it right for you notice things out loud? Weren’t they about to scare her away from you, like a noise does to a frightened doe? The time stood in place. Dialogues in the background melted into nothingness of your empty head.

Just as you decided to speak again, this time jokingly to resolve all the tension, your puckered lips were taking a completely different way. Just a split second of them forming into a small “o” (that was meant to sound as a “wha”), and next thing you knew Chaeyoung’s plush mouth covered yours. Her eyes were closed, you saw it with your wide opened ones. She was really into the kiss. Not that you had any objections, you just never... Considered?

Her hand sneaked around your neck, to hold you close, while another one rested on your shoulder for support. Suddenly confident, because she wasn’t showing any signs of stopping, and it was the last thing you wanted from her, your hands also rested on her body. You couldn’t be sure which parts. After all, your eyes finally closed too, useless when a completely different sense took over.

LISA

➛ tw: slight jealousy (in case you do not appreciate people showing it)

It was 4:25 PM when Lisa placed her hands on the table and told you to “dish”. You knew, because you were just checking the hour on your phone, wondering whether she would even show up to your meeting. Ever since a week before there’s been a strange energy thing going on between your duo. Lisa was distant, you were unsure how to approach her, and it wasn’t until the day before that she has finally given you a date and time to see her.

“Well, hello to you too?”

Your surprised face made her take an awkward step back.

“Yes, hello.”

The clatter of cutlery filled the silence between you. For so long, you felt like paying the bill and leaving. But you couldn’t. Not when she was finally talking to you again.

“You can sit down?”

A little weirded out by her behavior, you decided to focus your strength on pulling a chair out. Lisa did take the offer to sit down, but she looked ready to escape any second, purse on her lap.

“Em- So what am I supposed to dish about?”

Lisa raised her head to look back at you, then turned it away. As if she was mad you even dared to ask her.

“I don’t know. Maybe, since when you and your cute neighbor are so close?”

“I met her like two times outside of our neighborhood by a total accident. Wouldn’t say we are close? But wait- How do you know about this?” The whole conversation was so out of character for Lisa, you felt as if you were dreaming.

“Jennie told me the first time. The second time I saw you.” Her fingers picked up a napkin to play with.

“And you’re mad at me for this? For having impromptu chats with a neighbor?”

She frowned at your words, her eyes turning distant to let you know she was processing. In the end, she dropped the now-torn napkin and stood up. The suddenness of her movement made you do the same.

“Honestly, Lisa, what’s going on with you?”

“I should go.” Without waiting, she walked away.

“What? You just came!”

Lost on options, you pulled a wallet out and dropped a bill on the table. You were in hurry, so waiting for a waiter was out of question.

“Lisa! Come on!” Only after a while you managed to catch up to her. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She stopped at the feeling of your grip on her shoulder, but waited a longer moment to turn around. From her frown you could tell she was fighting herself.

“It’s dumb.” The look in her eyes spoke vulnerable. “Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not dumb if it’s bothering you. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

Lisa dropped her gaze, fingers now playing with the edge of her skirt. Which she looked really great in, by the way.

“So, you’re not into that neighbor?”

“What?” You laughed. “I am not! What made you think so? Our two random conversations?”

“I told you it’s dumb.”

“Lisa, I told you it’s not. Were you jealous because I talked to someone else?”

The look of offended bewilderment visited her face, forcing her eyes into the shapes of perfect circles.

“Not just someone else! You called her cute yourself! How was I not supposed to feel bad? We were on three dates that I thought went pretty well, so I got worried you didn’t feel the same way I did.”

“I’m not a player.”

“I didn’t say you were. Just maybe not into me.”

“I AM into you.” You were almost laughing, until you remembered Jennie’s words from the day after your second date with Lisa.

Your best friend ridiculed you then for not kissing the girl you were so obsessed with. That you were thinking too much into trivial things. That kiss was the best feedback. Not heart emojis attached to a goodnight.

“Hey, did you think that because we didn’t kiss?”

“W-what?”

It wasn’t ideal. The feeling overtook you suddenly, without any proper warning. And just like that - you did it. Lisa stayed in place when you kissed her, frozen at first. It was a short moment, with too little material to build up the fire. The thought that maybe you were overstepping the boundaries came up, and you leant back. Lisa watched you, unsure herself what to do next. Still, her hand caught yours before the distance grew too much.

“You know, I usually wait a little longer before the first kiss. But I get it, you were just impatient for the end of our fourth date.” She didn’t smile back, instead flicking your forehead. “Oww!”

➛ pollenat’s list of reactions

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

#if you cringed at jisoo's one #imagine what my humanistics teachers had to go through #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #blackpink fluff #blackpink fanfic #blackpink scenarios #blackpink imagines #bp fluff #bp fanfic #bp scenarios #bp imagines

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tuffduff · 4 years ago

Text

My Path to You (Slash x Reader)

Pairing: modern!Slash x younger!Reader

Words: 2,300 (OOPS)

Request: anon! : “hi there! i was hoping you could write a modern!Slash imagine where there’s a considerable age gap (whatever you’re comfortable with) and the two of them meet and fall for each other. eventually slash wants to ask the reader out on a date but is super shy and nervous but she says yes and then they go on a date and it can end however you want it to.”

A/N: MY FIRST SLASH REQUEST Y’ALL!! And I do be nervous writing it lmao. This is entirely from Slash’s POV, I’m not sure if people like that kind of thing but it’s a different way to explore writing. There’s a little coffee shop in my area that has a picture of Slash on the wall, so that was inspiration too. Hope y’all enjoy, thank you for the request! 🖤

What now? It was a question Slash asked himself nearly every day, now that he was newly single. That was a new feeling, one he wasn’t expecting now at this stage in his life; wasn’t he supposed to be married and settled and happy and all that shit by this point in his life? He brushed off the notion, after-all who gave a fuck. He wasn’t a conventional guy. Life is as it happens. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say the idea of getting back out there again intimidated him.

Slash kept to himself in his own world, for the most part. Creating, always with guitar in hand. Especially now being sober, putting himself out there wasn’t exactly appealing. He couldn’t use a dating app, he wasn’t gonna go to a bar or a club, and all of his friends were taken. Where would he possibly meet someone? Dating someone famous wasn’t really what he was looking for, he never fit in with that scene. He wasn’t opposed to dating a fan, but could he ever find someone who wanted him for him?

“Don’t worry, man.” Duff had reassured him. “If it happens, you know, it’ll happen. But not if you’re looking for it. You’ll find her when you least expect it. Just live your life.”

That was smart and Duff was usually right. So, Slash continued to focus on his craft. And he tried to change his outlook, very literally. One night, he wore a baseball cap pulled low and his hair tied back and tucked away in his jacket and hoped it was enough not to get swarmed as he headed out to an art walk in the more historical art district near downtown.

If anyone recognized him, they let him be as he walked down the cobblestone sidewalk, taking in all the creations. The more art and sculptures he admired, the more he stopped worrying about getting recognized.

He was admiring two pieces of wood burned art, a set featuring an artistic interpretation of a woman’s silhouette body.

“These are really sweet.” Slash complimented the artist, who gave a gracious nod.

“Thanks, man. Those pieces have had a lot of eyes on them tonight, thankfully.”

“How much for ‘em?” Slash asked.

“$65 each.” The artist replied, almost sounding sheepish. “...Maybe that’s why they haven’t sold yet.”

“I bet they took a lot of time.” Slash assured him. He pulled out his wallet, fishing out two hundred-dollar bills. “Don’t let people make you second-guess your work.” He passed him the bills, to which the man’s eyes widened.

“Uh, I’m-I’m not sure if I have the enough change.” He said, hastily digging through his small stack of cash from prior purchases.

“It’s cool.” Slash said, smiling and extending his hand. “Thanks again, man.” They shook hands before Slash picked up the two pieces of wood, already trying to picture the perfect spot in his house.

“Okay, I’m back! I’ve got it!” Slash heard someone breathlessly calling behind him. It was a younger woman clasping a wad of cash in her hands as she ran up to the man Slash had just left. “Dipped into my savings but...”

The wood carver gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, they just sold.” Slash watched literal heartbreak wash over her eyes before they flickered right over to him. The dismay in her gaze, the way her shoulders slumped and deflated nearly made his own heart break.

“Oh...damn.” She muttered, tucking the cash back in her pocket. “I really liked them. Oh well. Thanks, anyways.” She said politely. She sent one last glance towards the pieces of art in his arms before she turned on her heel and walked away, head down.

“Hey!” Suddenly, Slash found himself hurrying after her. She stopped in her tracks and turned, her eyes now displaying curiosity.

Uh, what now? He asked himself in his head once he found himself face to face. Up close, she was even more striking, he realized. Beautiful, he’d never seen a face like hers. So expressive, so vivid, so alive with emotions. Her hair framed her face perfectly, her clothes complimented her body well and seemed to be a representation of the woman she was. And he liked everything about what he could see.

“Uh,” he chuckled nervously, looking down. “I, uh, I overheard you had your eye on these.” He said, raising the pieces of art.

“Yeah. I come here to this event every month. I’ve seen those two every time and I’ve been trying to save up. This month I would’ve had enough, but bills—you know.” She rolled her eyes and sighed a little. “Anyway, I saw them tonight and I just couldn’t bear to wait another month or risk them finally being sold, so I ran back to the ATM down the street and pulled out of my savings, not that I really had a lot in there to begin with...” she paused as though she had said too much, shaking her head, flustered. “Sorry. Uh, but I mean, I’m happy for you. Just, take care of them for me.” She chuckled, but her eyes were still stuck on the art.

“I’ll do a trade with you.” Slash proposed. His nerves were playing tricks on him, making him more outgoing than he normally was and then wanting to take it back as soon as he spoke.

“Um, what kinda trade?” She asked curiously. Her nose scrunched a little as she frowned in confusion and he smiled. She was precious. Slash found himself wondering every little detail about her, about the path she had walked in her life so far, and how somehow theirs had crossed.

“I’ll let you have these if you’ll get coffee with me.” Coffee dates, that’s what people did nowadays, right? She blinked a few times at his words and had him wondering.

“That doesn’t seem fair; you paid for those. I’ll pay you for them.”

“No, no. I really don’t need the money.” Slash replied, laughing a little. “How about you keep one and I keep one?”

“...Why?”

“I can tell you really like them.” He said. She bit her lip as she seemed to consider his offer, hesitating.

“And why coffee?”

“I think you’re the prettiest art I’ve seen all afternoon.” Again, her face expressed vivid emotion that most people tried to hide. He watched her lips form a laugh and appreciated the sound.

“I don’t even know your name.” She laughed. He panicked a little in his head. Guess he wasn’t gonna get everything right; it had been a while.

“I guess you can call me Saul.”

“You guess?”

“My friends call me something else.” He mused. A part of him was curious to know if she knew him; lots of people recognized him, not that he was conceited or kept track. Was she a fan? Did she hate his kind of music? Surely, she’d heard of Guns N’ Roses. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” Slash smiled; it was like finding the right spot on a puzzle. It fit perfectly and helped him see even more of the picture. “Y/N, I can tell you really like them. I wouldn’t feel right keeping both; I just stumbled upon them.”

“All the more reason you keep them. They spoke to you, like they spoke to me.” There it was. Her voice, her words, it sent a slight wave through his stomach. That warm, fluttery feeling. He extended out one of the pieces to her insistently.

“All the more reason you keep one too.” She smiled as she took the wood carving.

“Thank you so much.”

“So, would you maybe wanna...?” Again, a part of him panicked. “You don’t have to, you know. You can take your half and be on your way if you’re not interested.”

“No, I’d love to! There’s this little local coffee shop I go to all the time—they display local artists’ work and have live musicians Friday nights and stuff. Do you want my number?”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be cool.” He fumbled with his phone, surprised he had gotten so far. That evening he went home with more than just a piece of artwork and a new perspective. He dialed Duff immediately.

“Hello?”

“I’ve got a date, but I need help.” Duff laughed.

“Are you on that date right now?”

“What? No.”

“Oh okay—it sounded urgent.”

“Well, I’m still freaking out a little.”

“Why?”

“She’s a little younger. But she’s so fucking beautiful, dude. She’s just, I don’t know that much about her, but I want to, you know? From just what little I could see.” Slash sighed a little before he walked Duff through the whole story.

“Did she not recognize you?”

“I don’t think so. But I was wearing a hat and glasses and my hair was tied up.”

“It’s gonna be fine, man. Don’t forget who you are, and that’s one badass talented motherfucker. But also, if nothing else, you can take something from this experience and just gain a new perspective. See the world from someone’s eyes. Don’t overthink any of it. If you guys click, you click.”

Slash realized Duff was right. That’s why he appreciated art. Music, especially. There was so much to be said in something someone created, a story they were trying to tell. Listening was something he did best.

He met Y/N at the local coffee shop, not far from where they had first met. The large pot holders outside were adorned with colored mosaic and he stopped to admire them for a moment.

“Hi, Saul.” He turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Y/N was walking up, a bright smile on her face. It was as if his memory were confirmed; yes, she was as beautiful as he remembered the first time.

“Hey, Y/N. This place looks neat.”

“Wait ‘til you try the cold brew. Do you like that?”

“I like those things you get at Starbucks, the caramel things, you know?”

“Caramel macchiatos?” Y/N asked with a laugh. “They have something like that. I’ll order it for you.”

“Okay.” He agreed instantly, smiling at her. “I trust you.” He paid again even though she argued, remembering what she had told him about bills. As they sat down together with their drinks, they broke into what he supposed was small talk, however, it didn’t feel like it. In the meanwhile, Slash couldn’t help but notice the pictures adorning the exposed brick wall behind them. A framed photo of ABBA, The Rolling Stones, Aretha Franklin…and, one of himself, on stage. He laughed a little.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asked as she sipped her drink. He smirked a little, deciding maybe he should come clean.

“I was just looking at the pictures on the wall,” he replied nonchalantly. “Out of all of these people, who do you think is the coolest?”

Y/N turned in her chair, her eyes passing over the pictures.

“The Rolling Stones are cool...Slash is pretty awesome. Probably one of those two.” He smiled when she turned back around. “What?”

“You think I’m pretty awesome?” He asked as he pulled his shades down. Y/N’s eyes widened and she clasped her hand over her mouth.

“I—you! Are you—” he laughed. “So that’s what your friends call you! Oh my god. I didn’t recognize you with your hair pulled back and the glasses are different, and I didn’t know you had the scruff nowadays—it looks good.” She stopped. “I listen to you all the time, this is so...strange.”

“Is it bad?” Slash asked.

“No!” She laughed again. “But...me?” Slash shrugged, smiling as he nudged her shoe with the tip of his converse.

“You seemed pretty chill.”

“Thanks. Most of the time I’m not.” She grinned.

“Neither am I.” She didn’t try to argue or continue to fawn. She didn’t stare at him like he was a Martian. There was reverence in her eyes, surprise, but more so, curiosity.

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. It’s kinda like, social media. People only put a small portion of themselves out there, what they want people to see usually. But when everybody knows who you are, they still only know one part of you. And they think they know everything. But here I am...getting a divorce. I’m a dad. I’m just trying to figure shit out like everyone else. Experience life.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He laid all of it out on the table, after-all, he couldn’t hide any of those facts if he were looking for an honest partner.

“When it comes down to it, that’s what matters, right?” She mused with him. “Experiences. Not getting it right. Who decides what’s right anyways? I’d rather say I really lived.” It was those words that really stuck with him. It had him thinking, it had him yearning, it had him daydreaming.

It had him asking to see her again.

Slash called Duff before he even made it home.

“Hey, man, how’d it go? How’d she take it when you told her?”

“Good, she really is just the most chill chick ever. She knew who I was, she just didn’t recognize me. But she’s so cool, she’s got all these thoughts, all these opinions that really get me thinking, you know? I can’t wait to pick up my guitar, man, like, I’m that inspired right now.” Duff laughed.

“So, are you gonna see her again?”

“Yeah. That’s the other thing.” Slash paused. “I invited her over for dinner next week.”

“Oh. Right on; good for you, man!”

“But I don’t know how to cook.” Duff was silent for a moment before he laughed.

“Okay...well. I can help.”

#slash gnr imagine #slash gnr #saul hudson #saul hudson imagine #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #gnr imagine #gnr #slash x reader #80s imagines #classic rock imagine

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soulwillower · 5 years ago

Text

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook.

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him, for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier.

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill.

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile.

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame.

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way?

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently.

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk.

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel.

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others.

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho.

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address."

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please." her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please." and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks, then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie has adhd #losers x reader #losers club x reader

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