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steddieprompts · 3 days ago

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Steddie; 1925 words; friends to lovers; belated valentine's day.

Eddie paced into his room and then back out into the hallway. Turned. Paced back into his room. Cracked the knuckles on his right hand. Turned. Paced back out into the hallway.

It was a good thing Wayne was at work or else he would make some remark about Eddie pacing a hole into the hallway floor.

He turned into the kitchen, grabbed the honeycombs out of the cabinet and shoved his hand in the box, scooping out a handful before returning to the hallway. Into his room. Eat a few honeycombs. Turn. Back out into the hallway. Eat a few more. Turn. Back into his room. Eat the rest of the honeycombs.

His eyes landed on a notebook on his desk.

Mrs. Laski, his fifth grade English teacher, had told him to write when he couldn’t figure out what else to do. He had a suspicion it was just her way of keeping him in his seat and quiet but that didn’t matter right now.

He didn’t know what to do, and there was a notebook.

He plopped himself down at his desk and flipped open the notebook, turning pages until he found one that didn’t already have notes and drawings scribbled all over them.

2/10/88

I’m gonna kill Jefferson.

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second before putting pen to paper again.

Why would he say I’m in love with Steve? He talks about Kevin from his ridiculous band camp way more than he talks about Barb and he and Bard are dating! Just because I talk about Steve every once in a while…

Just, where does he get off pointing it out?

Eddie bit his lip tapping his pen against the notebook probably about as fast a hummingbirds wings, his knee doing its best to keep up under the desk.

I don’t even… I’m not looking for a relationship. Haven’t even thought about it.

But now, dear Jeffery has gone and put this idea in my head and it’s growing like cancer. It’s probably going to start dripping out of my ears all soft and mushy.

Steve Harrington.

<3 <3

The problem – the fucking annoying, needling, migraine inducing problem – is that he’s right. As soon as he said it, I knew. Why didn’t I know before?

Eddie dropped his head to his desk and let out a tortured groan. This morning, he was the same Eddie Munson he had been for years… well, ever since he survived a trip to an alternate dimension with 20% more scare tissue than he had before. He was fine this morning and then Jeff had to open his mouth after the campaign. Eddie had harmlessly mentioned that Steve applied for a job at the fitness place opening up across town and Jeff came back with, “Does Steve know how much you love him?”

Eddie was pretty sure he meant it as a joke… was 75% sure. But it put the idea in his head and now…

Eddie picked up his head and wrote with so much force that it probably made a dent in the next five pages:

I’m in love with Steve Goddamn Harrington.

Eddie stared at the words… ran a finger over them, the ink smudging a little, feeling the indents of the letters; smiled a little. He skipped a line and kept writing:

I’ve never considered what being in love would be like. Never really been interested enough. Now that I think about it though, I think I’ve loved Steve for a long time. I mean, he saved my life… so that definitely has something to do with it…

But at the same time, that’s not it at all.

Steve is…

Eddie looked around his room. On his nightstand was a baseball that Steve had brought over one day and just left there. Whenever Steve visits he picks the ball up, lays back on Eddie’s bed and tosses the ball up and down, up and down, never once missing a catch and hitting himself in the face like Eddie is pretty sure would happen to him if he tried it.

His eyes drifted over to his closet, where one of Steve’s swim team shirts hangs on a hook. He loaned it to Eddie one day when they were swimming and he just… never gave it back.

He knows that under his bed is a box of Steve’s personal stuff. He brought it over one night when he thought his parents were going to kick him out and Eddie promised he could always stay with him and Wayne if he needed. Steve didn’t stay more than two days, but the box never left. Steve said he felt better leaving it with Eddie. Eddie respected Steve enough to never snoop around in it.

Steve is kind. He’s too kind sometimes and it makes me wonder how he survived his parents; survived all that shit that happened in ’84, ’85, ’86. Sometimes I can see it in his eyes. When he thinks no one is looking he gets this thousand-yard stare and I know he’s somewhere else, hearing echoes and seeing ghosts.

And he’s so strong. He’s told me about the nightmares, the things that happened to him, and how much he longs to get the hell away from this shit-hole town. But not until the kids are gone. Not until Robin and Nancy are settled somewhere far away from here. Not until he knows that everyone is safe. I asked him when that would be, and I swear I saw his spine bend further under the pressure of it all. When is anyone ever safe?

Eddie’s eyes drifted to the corner of his desk. Tucked under another notebook was a newspaper ad for a car dealership, where Eddie knew Steve had circled the truck he ended up buying. Eddie asked if he was turning into some kind of country boy. Steve shrugged and said, “It’ll come in handy when Robin goes to college after her gap year.”

Eddie also knew there was an aborted half circle around a used RV. He knew Steve wanted to travel, to see something outside of Hawkins. To do something normal and distracting and fun. Go somewhere he could relax and not worry. Eddie was accosted with a memory of himself and Steve, parked in the van on the side of a backroad, looking out into a freshly cut wheatfield as the sun set. The orange and red coloring the side of Steve’s face as a soft breeze carried the last traces of summer warmth into the back of the van and Steve closed his eyes against it.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

I think I love Steve because… Because he’s like Aragorn. It sounds corny and stupid but… Aragorn does everything for the people he loves. Only becomes king because he knows that others might use the same power for evil. Carries the horrors of war with him but doesn’t lean on anyone that can’t hold his weight. And Steve does that. He loves fiercely but in a way that can only be seen if you’re looking for it. He’s loyal to his friends. He carries so much weight for the ones he loves.

And I think I’ve realized, though I’ve known in the back of my head for a while, that I always want to be by his side, to hold him up if he needs me. Because I know he would do the same.

Someone knocking at the door startled Eddie out of his thoughts. He dropped the pen on the notebook and hopped up out of the chair.

He hardly had time to process the fact that it was Steve on the other side of the door before he spoke.

“I got the job.”

It took Eddie a minute to process but when his mind caught up he threw his fists in the air before launching himself out of the door and wrapping his arms around Steve, the force of his hug knocking Steve back a step.

“Jesus,” He heard Steve chuckle before he turned his head an planted a comedically loud kiss to the side of Steve’s face.

“Dude!” Steve groaned, shoving him away but not losing the stupid grin as he wiped at the side of his face.

“Come on, Steve-o, let’s celebrate.” Eddie grinned, pulling Steve into the trailer and Steve let himself be pulled.

Eddie bounced down the hall into his bedroom, pulling his lunchbox off its shelf in the closet.

“Munson, they’re gonna drug test me tomorrow.” Steve said from the doorway of Eddie’s room where he was pulling off his Family Video vest.

“God, you’re not even getting a paycheck yet and already they’re ruining your fun.” Eddie groaned, putting the lunchbox back where he got it. Steve threw the vest on Eddie’s bed before picking up the baseball. “Can you drink? Or will they sense the debauchery in your urine?”

“Uhg, why’d you have to use that word?”

“What, debauchery?’”

“No, ‘urine.’”

Eddie cackled. “Should I have said piss?” He rounded the bed and headed for the hallway. “Fluids? Excretions?”

“You’re disgusting!” Steve shouted at him as he made his way to the kitchen.

Eddie smiled to himself as he opened the fridge, pulling out four beers before grabbing the cheese puffs out of the cabinet.

“It’s too bad it’s a Tuesday or we could go to the hideout and weasel free drinks out of Linda. You know she can’t resist…” Eddie stopped dead in the doorway because there, sitting at his desk, was Steve, notebook in hand, eyes on the page.

“Shit,” involuntarily left Eddie’s mouth as he almost dropped one of the beers. Steve didn’t look up, didn’t even move, just kept reading.

Eddie threw the beers and puffs on the bed before taking a couple of stuttering steps towards Steve.

“Stevie? Uh, that’s…” That’s what? What could he possibly say right now that would explain the words on the page as anything but what they were. “I can…”

Steve held up a finger and Eddie froze, stopped talking because what else could he do? He watched as Steve’s eyes moved line by line down the page, finger held up with the ball still in his hand like some sort of sports wizard casting a spell on Eddie to keep him silent and still.

He reached the end. Put the notebook down. Dropped his hand. And finally turned to Eddie.

“Do you mean it? All of that?” Steve asked, eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Yeah. All of it.” Eddie replied past the lump in his throat.

Eddie watched as Steve slowly got up from the chair, placing the ball on the desk before taking the one step that placed him squarely in front of Eddie.

“You know, Valentine’s day is coming up, and I know it’s not your favorite holiday but uh…” Steve slipped his hands into Eddie’s “Would you like to spend it with me?”

Eddie smiled, leaning into Steve’s gravity. “Only if you buy me one of those cheesy, drug-store teddy bears.”

“Deal.” Steve grinned back before he was pulling Eddie’s hands, tilting his head just so and murmuring “I love you, too” before sealing his confession against Eddie’s lips.

When they broke apart Eddie squinted at him. “I can’t believe you snooped in my personal writings.”

“I can’t believe you needed Jeff to tell you that you loved me.”

“I take it back, I’m not going out with you.” Eddie grumbled.

“Yeah, right.” Steve laughed before kissing Eddie again.

#steddie #steddie valentines day #lol i just edited it but at first i had little hearts to note the read more #but then i realized it looked like eddie drew lil hearts in his notebook #changed it cuz it threw off the vibe but also now i just have the image of eddie doodling 'mr. steve munson' and 'mr. eddie harrington'#all over with little hearts #anyways... back to your regularly scheduled program

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nelle-y · 3 days ago

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A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) I

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya (Vahumana), they have history (iykyk), one nsfw innuendo, not proofread

Note: my humiliating attempt at writing Alhaitham’s smart ahh attitude >A< anw, lmk how you guys want this story to go! (comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated)

(You) About Alhaitham

Scribe Alhaitham? He’s… intelligent. That’s all I have to say.

(Alhaitham) About you

Hm.

(You) About Alhaitham: History I

He and I partnered up in a thesis which, thankfully, got approved by our professors. Working with him was challenging, to be honest. Every idea I had, he’d shut it down with some counter argument—“they’d never approve of that,” or “it has too many defects.” A conversation with him may as well be a debate! Frustrating and infuriating.

(Alhaitham) About you: History I

They are competent, I’ll admit that much. But their ideas? Flawed. Reckless. It’s as if they refuse to consider consequences before leaping into action. Every discussion turned into an exhausting debate—because, naturally, I had to be the one to explain why their half-formed theories wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Really, for someone who specializes in history, you’d think they’d have learned from past mistakes. And yet, they persist.

(You) About Alhaitham: History II

Talking about this in my place of work is not really appropriate. … Fine! Yes, we were in… amorous congress. But it happened a long time ago—when we were still students. Just once. A drunken mistake, that’s all it was!

… Keep this between us, though. I love my job.

(Alhaitham) About you: History II

I’d rather this particular detail remain in the past where it belongs. It was years ago, an irrelevant event. I fail to see why anyone would find it worth discussing now.

Though, knowing them, they’d likely frame it as some dramatic mistake rather than what it was—an ill-advised but ultimately inconsequential decision. Either way, I don’t intend to entertain the conversation.

… You think I should drop by? Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to evaluate their current methodology.

(You) About Alhaitham: Work

It’s inevitable that we cross paths—he’s the Akademiya’s Scribe, after all. I can handle brief interactions, but when he lingers, it’s… bothersome. Always with that unreadable expression, listening too intently to everything I say. I know he’s just waiting to poke holes in my arguments. Ugh. Some things never change.

(Alhaitham) About you: Work

They have an irritating tendency to be vague, as if I won’t immediately notice the gaps in their reasoning. Do they think that being imprecise will make me less inclined to argue? If anything, it has the opposite effect.

I don’t intend to debate them at every opportunity, but when they make it so easy, I see no reason to hold back.

(You) About Alhaitham: Annoyance

Do you know how aggravating it is to give a lecture, only to see him sitting there in the back, arms crossed, silently judging every word that comes out of my mouth? He doesn’t even work in my Darshan! What is he doing there?! “It was on my way,” he says. “I had time to spare,” he says. Liar.

Having the Scribe in my classroom is distracting—both for me and my students. I’d appreciate it if he found a different way to pass the time. Preferably far away from my lectures.

(Alhaitham) About you: Observation

I fail to understand how they manage to get results. Their lectures lack structure, their methods are inconsistent, and yet… their students actually retain information. It goes against all logic.

Still, I suppose there’s something to be said about efficacy, no matter how unorthodox. Not that I’ll be admitting that to them. They’re insufferable enough as it is.

(You) About Alhaitham: A Final Thought

I swear, he only comes to my lectures to irritate me. He just sits there, arms crossed, waiting for me to say something he can nitpick. It’s distracting. The other day, I caught myself scanning the room to see if he was there before I even started teaching. Ridiculous.

…No, that doesn’t mean anything! It’s just easier to prepare for battle when you know the enemy is near!

(Alhaitham) About you: A Final Thought

They’ve developed an odd habit of pausing mid-lecture, glancing toward the back of the room—toward me. If I were to be charitable, I’d say they’re checking whether I have any objections.

But that would imply they value my opinion. Which, of course, is absurd.

(Your student) About you and the Scribe

… So, uh. Are those two dating or something?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham fluff

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jackoquako · 2 days ago

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they’re not actually that big of plot holes if you consider just how bigoted this society is against supers.

Firstly, tony didn’t have a plan. I don’t believe either side when they say he was thinking about killing or capturing Bucky because that man was not thinking. From his lines and the way he’s brutally lashing out against both Steve and Bucky (his fighting here is reminiscent of how he fought against Killian in Iron man 3) tony is simply acting off of grief. Even the line “do you even remember them?” is indicative that he isn’t thinking properly because he doesn’t even respond to Bucky’s line: “I remember them all.” And the ending line of “My dad made that shield” / “You don’t deserve it” is just him lashing out. Tony didn’t have a plan, he was just lashing out at the people he blamed for his parents’ deaths.

To your point about Bucky being assumed guilty.

They were not in the United States. Not all justice systems operate on “innocent until proven guilty”, especially when there’s a Photo Of You Doing The Crime. And the photo of Zemo dressed up as Bucky made it pretty clear who probably did it

Because Nat dumped the files online, everyone knows about Winter Soldier’s kill streak. They know that he worked for Hydra, and he’s proven himself to be dangerous. Pretty much nobody but Steve and his circle would know that Bucky was brainwashed, the governments only knew he worked for Hydra.

The us government was freshly hydra-free. That manipulation and thinking would still be present in how they operate. Think about it like this

These countries just put the Accords in place, only to be attacked immediately by a superhuman threat. What would be a better way to show how beneficial these accords are, than to apprehend this threat with your non-super armies. The UN had something to prove in front of the entire world.

Not even mentioning the fact that everyone automatically believed the video mysterio made, proving that these people turn on their beloved heroes in a second. It might be Disney-etic writing but it could also be a way to bring a watered-down version of anti-Mutant bigotry into the movies. Most of these aren’t plot holes, they’re just signs of a corrupt people.

Team Iron man fans saying that Steve was wrong for not telling Tony that Bucky killed his parents but honestly, seeing how Tony handled finding out about it, I wouldn't have told him either. Tony was already willing to throw bucky into prison or an institution IMAGINE what he would've done if he found out bucky killed his parents while they still had him in custody. Steve was doing what he always has done, protect Bucky.

People openly supporting the revenge killing of a man who had NO control over his life for the past 70 years and wasn't even conscious for the majority of it because of something he did WHILE BRAINWASHED is insane to me.

(also please don't attack me I'm just stating my opinion TwT)

#captain america #marvel #fandom #character discussion #movie discourse #marvel mcu

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lancestrollsgf · 3 days ago

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# STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE EYES ! YANDERE! AXEL KOVACEVIC X READER, WRITTEN

introduction master list request list

# WARNINGS: not a good interpretation of a yandere (not intense), lowercase intended, female! reader, use of y/n, spelling/grammar errors, possible OC axel and gullible reader, established relationship, messy writing, and maybe bad descriptions. good ending!! + a cute extra scene at the end

# SUMMARY: you decided to follow your boyfriend to the torment he was participating in. due to not making many friends in highschool in croatia, being in a new environment and country could be a possibility to make new friends, but by the way axel is acting, he doesn’t seem to like that.

# AUTHOR’S NOTE: i did have to watch season 6 again to really get a good intro on axel again, i also did some research/watch interviews, hoping it is right. in this axel is 16 years old and is from croatia, balkans. meaning that axel is going to school in croatia and went to hong kong for training with sensei wolf. i know that it wasn't shown but pretend that axel and reader actually had time and would at least in someway interact with the other characters (more like just miyagi do). i apologize for this being on the short side, i’m still trying to get the hang of writing again. word count: 1100. here is the link of the song the title is named after!

# REQUESTED: YES

axel has been your boyfriend for a while now, and you've always been by his side—more voluntarily than anything, considering how hard it was for you to make friends in your high school back in croatia. it wasn’t that you were unlikable, just that people didn’t seem to care enough to get close. axel was different, though. from the moment he noticed you, it was like you were the only person in his world.

when he told you he was leaving for the tournament, you didn’t hesitate to follow. a new environment, a new country—it sounded like an opportunity, a fresh start. maybe this time, things would be different. maybe you could finally belong somewhere. but axel… he didn’t seem to like that idea.

it started small. a hand on your lower back when you tried to talk to someone new. standing just a little too close when another competitor greeted you. answering for you when someone would ask a question. his grip would tighten, his voice always calm but firm, a quiet reminder.

stay close to me.

you brushed it off at first. axel had always been protective. he said it was because he knew what people were really like— how they used and discarded others when it suited them. you didn't want to believe that.

but then came the glares. the cold, sharp eyes watching every interaction you had. the way his jaw clenched whenever someone so much as smiled at you. the way his mood soured whenever you laughed at someone else's joke.

then the words.

"we're leaving soon, don't get to close"

"they're pretending to be nice, they're trying to get to me"

"i'm the only one who understands you"

at first, you tried to ignore it. axel had always been intense— possessive, even —but he had his reasons. he didn't trust easily, and he never let his guard down. but now, that wasn't just directed at his opponents in the tournament. it was now aimed at anyone who got too close to you.

it started off small. a hand on your wrist when you lingered too long in a conversation. a sharp look when miguel or hawk cracked a joke that made you laugh. the way he always seemed to position himself between you and someone else. like an unspoken barrier.

at first, the others found it ammusing.

"man, your boyfriend's intense," hawk had said nudging miguel after axel all but dragged you away from a conversation. "you sure he let's you breathe?" miguel had given you a sympathetic glance, but he didn't push. sam, on the other hand, did.

"you know that you can talk to whoever you want, right?" she asked one afternoon when axel had stepped away for a minute, due to his sensei wanting to have a conversation with him.

"i know," you had said, but the words felt hollow. because deep down, you knew it wasn't about permission. it was about him. about the way axel saw the world— how he believed people couldn't be trusted. and more than anything, it was about his fear of losing you.

but it couldn't go on like this.

that night, after most of the competitors had gone back to their rooms, you found him outside, leaning against the railing of the balcony of your shared rooms. the bright active city lights reflected in his eyes, but his expression was unreadable.

"you're mad," he said before you could even open your mouth. "i'm frustrated," you corrected, stepping closer. "axel... you have to stop this. i want to be here with you, but i can't do that if you keep pushing everyone else away." his grip tightened on the railing. "i'm not pushing them away. i'm protecting you."

"from what?" you asked, starting to get irritated. "from people being nice to me? from me finally being able to have the chance to make friends?"

he turned to face you then, his gaze sharp but conflicted. "people lie. they act friendly, they pretend to care— but in the end, they always let you down." his voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. something raw. "not everyone," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "not me."

for a moment, he didn't move. then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, his grip firm, but not forceful. "i don't want to lose you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "you won't," you promised. "but you have to trust me the way I trust you."

axel exhaled sharply, looking away. you could tell it wasn't easy for him, to let go of control. but after a moment, he nodded. "...alright," he muttered. "but if they give me a reason to not trust them—"

"i know," you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. "you'll be watching." a smirk ghosted across his face, and for the first time in a while. his presence didn't feel suffocating. it felt grounding.

— extra scene funny and cute!! (y/n and axel are sitting with miyagi do in this scenario and they have a good relationship with them in this scene.)

the shift in axel hadn't gone noticed. while he still had his moments—hovering nearby whenever someone got a little too friendly—he wasn’t shutting you off from the rest of the world anymore.

during a lunch with all the teams in the tournament, miguel nudged hawk and nodded toward the two of you. “dude, i think your little intervention worked.” hawk smirked, taking a bite of his food. “told you. y/n just had to remind him that she’s her own person, and won’t go anywhere.” hawk replied quietly.

demetri, who had been wary of axel ever since the tense standoff, finally realized enough to sit at the same table again. “so, we’re actually allowed to talk to you now?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

axel shot him a look, but there’s no hostility behind it. “don’t push it.” tory leaned back in her chair, smirking. “hey, progress is progress.”

even sam, who has been quietly observing, gave a small nod of approval. “it’s nice to see you with us instead of watching from a distance.”

you squeezed axel’s hand under the table, and for once, he didn’t flinch away from the attention. instead, he met your gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the end!!! 😄😄 if anyone from the better norris series is reading this, part three is coming soon! just trying to get through the axel requests, which i am open to more requests, before posting the third part. ( i am working on part four rn )

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vqnrouged · 1 day ago

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⠀⠀HAII uhhmm... moot 😋🥳 eemrmtm... if im NIT mistaken, i saw ur request status open so emrntm.. :sweats: (sorru im kinda awkward w interacting w new ppl 😓)

⠀⠀may i request⠀⠀ second years X gn!reader⠀⠀ who's frequently (sl)eepy but is really, REALLu good at combat???!! like they'd often see [n] tiref in general; though when classes were dismissed, they "unintentionally" saw the reader quarreling some npc who's mildly injured (and possibly a lopsided ankle for the fun of it🤑) and just one tapped the npc's pressure point causing them to faint and BOOM!! reader caught the [insert character] staring at the scene whilst the reader acts like nothing happened 😼😼

⠀⠀SORRY IF IT'S REALLT SPECIFIC i tried to get a hold of myself when i saw ur guidelines when requesting and i hope this isn't too much 😓 my brain is currently filled w tons of chaos and i feel like expressing them at some point /e cry..... BUT TAKE YOUR TIME!! it's no pressure to be doing this in a hurry cuz im often busy w tumblr too and i might not notice it's already been minutes, hours, days or weeks after this request hdhsjsshbs

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐖/ 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏�� 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mystery girl by housecall

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : floyd leech, kalim al-asim, jamil viper, silver

𝐚/𝐧 : i’m sorry i took so long to answer this request, zen. i got caught up with school. :( forgive me for being a lil’ rusty with my writing, i’m trying to get used to it again. hence why i split this into two parts. please enjoy!

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇

Absolute boredom was the only way to describe the end of the school day. The last class always seemed to drone on and on until Floyd found some form of entertainment in a random object, preferably one he could use to bother someone else. However, his joy would always be cut short due to Trein’s exceptionally keen vision and intolerance for disruptions. To put it kindly, he was a total buzz kill.

Hence the pure excitement Floyd felt when he exited the classroom, only to see you, the oh so famous prefect, taking down a larger student in mere seconds. It fascinated him, you were so tiny yet you took the big fishy down so quickly? Consider this eel impressed.

And he was not about to pass up this opportunity for entertainment, so he slowly approached you and the student that laid unconscious on the cold tile. It wasn’t until he stood directly behind you that he uttered even a single word.

Floyd quietly put his head on your shoulder. “Whatcha doin’, shrimpy?” He whispered.

You jumped back from the new presence, and of course it had to be Floyd of all people who found you. Talk about bad luck, he was not going to be letting this go.

A nervous chuckle left you as you turned to face him, your hands clasped together behind your back. “Oh hey, Floyd. What’s up?”

He waved his hand in a relaxed manner. “Oh, nothin’ much. I just so happened ta’ be heading towards the lounge when I happened to see my Shrimpy making a ruckus.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Then a thought occurred to you, could you trick Floyd? So, you quickly came up with an excuse. “What-!? No, I was just heading back to the dorm.”

The eel suddenly got serious, his mismatched eyes stared down at you, unblinking. “Shrimpy, you’re a really bad liar.”

Okay, so that was a terrible excuse. You definitely should have seen this coming.

He relaxed his expression, an eagerness now playing behind his eyes. “Let’s cut to the chase. How’d ya take that big fishy down so easily?” He asked.

You didn’t reply for a moment, too shocked to come up with an answer.

Floyd then grabbed onto your shoulders, aggressively shaking your body as if money would start falling out of your pockets. “Shrimpyyyy, c’mon tell Floydie how you did it!” He whined

You released a loud sigh, putting your hands over Floyd’s to hopefully cease his actions. “Fine, I used martial arts.”

Floyd still had an iron grip on your shoulders, but upon hearing the boring explanation for your royal take down of a Diasomnia student, he slumped down with a pout. “That simple of an explanation? You should’ve just spit it out.”

His disappointed frown then turned into a large, sharp-toothy grin as he eagerly brushed passed you towards the poor student you knocked out. “Let me help ya dispose of the body!”

“FLOYD.”

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐋-𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐌

After finally being let out from his afternoon classes, Kalim was ready to get back to the dorm and set up for the banquet later that evening. But much to his surprise, he was soon met with a tantalizing sight upon turning the corner.

You, the esteemed prefect, famously known for rivaling even Silver in the sleepyhead department, towered over a student adorning a Savanaclaw uniform. The boy didn’t seem injured, at least not from where Kalim was standing. Whatever trick you had pulled, it must’ve been a smooth take down.

This had the housewarden immediately intrigued.

Without missing a beat, the boy happily skipped over to where you stood. The books held in his hands were in a vice grip, his excitement could barely be contained. Attending Night Raven sure did have it’s surprises, but he was abnormally eager to approach you himself.

The white haired boy excitedly exclaimed.“Whoa, how’d you do that?”

You spun around to face the stranger before you, then it hit you. Didn’t this guy look familiar? The garnet-red eyes, the white hair, and even the blindingly bright smile seemed recognizable. Oh, it was Kalim! Well, shit. This guy was notorious for having the determination of a lion working it’s damndest to catch it’s prey, there was no way you were getting out of this. The universe must hate you.

In a desperate attempt to escape the situation, you tried to brush him off. “Please excuse me.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but this housewarden was not going to give up.

Kalim continued to wear his bright smile, running up next to you to match paces. “But, you were the only one around who could’ve done something like this.”

Incredulously, your eyes widened and you began to pick up the pace. “No, he was like that when I found him.”

Kalim put his hands together like a puppy asking for treats. “Please, tell me your secrets.”

His eyebrows then raised and a light bulb lit up above him. “I know, you can come to the banquet tonight and we’ll be able to talk all about it!”

Your feet stopped and you were sure your face held the most confused look one could hold. You couldn’t help but turn to face him. “What?”

Kalim bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerness radiating off of him. “You’re officially invited to the banquet tonight!”

You didn’t even know what to say to this.

And Kalim did not give you the time to answer. The boy gave you a grin and a quick wave. “I’ll see you later, banquet duty calls!”

“Wait-!”

Kalim didn’t give you time to speak before he was already running off towards the Hall of Mirrors, clearly in high spirits because of his new friend. Friend? You weren’t sure that the two of you had immediately reached that status, you mean, you had just met minutes ago. Though, an inkling feeling that he already thought of you as friends kept seeping into your mind.

It was pleasant. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go to the banquet.

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋 𝐕𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑

Jamil Viper, a calm and collected individual, never one to stand out too much, or cause trouble for others. Or at least, that’s how you knew him before this incident.

It had been a normal day, as normal as a day could be at Night Raven College, and you had your sights set on someone. Typically, you were a student that wouldn’t dare meddle or get in fights with anyone. But a certain second year Scarabia student just had to be a jerk to Ortho, the only person in NRC who’s kindness rivaled Kalim’s, and you were not about to let this guy get away with his crimes against your good friend.

So, you set up a time and a place. Of course, you were not going to use your fists against this guy. You simply wanted a productive conversation to be held, like mature teenagers should have. But, no. The man came at you full throttle, he clearly did not read the letter you gave him at all. Whatever now became of him was in self-defense, and before you knew it he was on the ground.

And Jamil Viper had witnessed it. Not just a sliver of the altercation, all of it.

There was a silent staring contest between the two of you, no one dared to utter a word. It was thick and quite frankly, an odd situation to find yourself in. Jamil has had his fair share of weird encounters, but at this point he did not care about that. This was the icing on the cake to his already long, arduous list of tasks he needed to complete for the day.

To put it simply, his patience was thin.

“He came at me first.” You quickly mumbled, already sensing the displeasure emanating from the vice housewarden.

Jamil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself down. “I saw, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

Although you felt tired after having used your energy, you didn’t want to make him do it alone. It was not going to be an easy task to carry a boy over half his weight to the nurses office by himself. “You sure? I can at least come to the nurses office with you.”

Despite your willingness to help, Jamil declined. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

He knelt down to the students place on the floor, grabbed his arm and wrapped it around his shoulder to take him to the nurses office. He didn’t say another word either, simply walked off.

You stood still for a moment, soaking in whatever the hell just happened. “See you around?” You muttered.

It was not until a few months later during your time training for the SDC that Jamil mentioned the incident regarding the Scarabia student again during a conversation over some snacks.

“I was trying to be discreet about the situation, it wasn’t like I asked to start a fight!” You argued.

Jamil frowned, crossing his arms. “You were not at all discreet about what you were doing, [Name]. Keep your voice lower if you’re going to go against school rules.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, already reaching your hand into the bag to grab another chip. “I’ll definitely keep that mind next time I get into a fight.” You retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

That shit-eating grin Jamil loved to wear made it’s way to his face as he questioned you. “Oh, so there will be a next time?”

Your eyes immediately hardened into a glare. “I hate you.”

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair all while continuing to wear that smile of his. “Lovely to know that I’m now an accomplice in your ‘Journey for Justice.’”

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑

It was a beautiful sunny day when the incident occurred. Silver was enjoying a well deserved nap under a green, flourishing tree where the shade was just the perfect amount, not too hot and not too cold. There wasn’t a single person around to make a lot of noise either, just the sounds of the leaves rustling back and forth. The conditions were absolutely perfect.

That was until the peacefulness ended.

The Diasomnia student slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light. He then let out a yawn, using his hands to push himself up into a sitting position. Then, he saw it.

You, the prefect, regarded for your sleepiness and kindness, being aggressively screamed at by a student in a Heartslabyul uniform. It seemed that you weren’t in immediate danger, but the boy was getting more hostile by the minute. That much Silver could tell and he wasn’t going to allow someone to get hurt.

He began getting to his feet when something interesting occurred, and it happened in only a matter of seconds. Silver’s theory proved to be true, the Heartslabyul student became more hostile and attempted to throw a punch at your face. Instead, you expertly dodged it and quickly used your hands to hit specific points on his body, causing him to clatter to the ground, completely unconscious.

It was something Silver had never seen before and he was intrigued.

With a grunt, you lifted the unconscious boys arm over your shoulder, though it proved to be quite difficult. The whole situation made you angrily curse under your breath. “I hope you learned your lesson. Picking on underclass men is a low thing to do and you know it, especially when you’ve taken it too far. Riddle is not going to like this.”

Ah, so it was a noble act.

Regardless, Silver hastily made his way over to where you stood. He didn’t hesitate with his words either. “If you don‘t mind me asking, what tactic did you use to take down that student?”

Silver’s voice surprised you, he was always quiet in class and you had never really taken the time to pay attention to anything but your instructor. You truly didn’t know what to think, so you didn’t. You spoke without thinking. “Oh, that.”

Well, shit. No pretending like you weren’t involved anymore.

Upon seeing the look on your face, Silver awkwardly coughed. “Please excuse me for asking.”

You shook your head, the cat was already out of the bag. “It’s alright, there’s no hiding it now. You saw everything, didn’t you? What I used to take down this man was a form of martial arts called kyusho jitsu, it uses pressure points to take down an opponent.”

Silver’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “That’s very interesting. Would you mind telling me more?”

You grimaced, taking a glance down at the unconscious boy resting on your shoulder. “Sorry, maybe another time? I need to get this guy to the nurses office.”

Silver didn’t hesitate to move to the other side of the student, repeating the same action of lifting the boys arm around his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind if I assist you.”

Giving him a thankful smile, you turned to face towards the hall leading east. “Thank you. I never got your name by the way, mine is [Name]. And yours?”

He returned the gesture with a small grin. “I’m Silver.”

“Pleased to officially meet you then, Silver.”

“Likewise.”

@𝐯𝐪𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐝 — ˚ ✦ . ˚. - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

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thatfrailsoul · 3 days ago

Text

– I watch the skies getting light as I write

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

One step after another. One shaken breath. One look around you, confused, as you are trying to understand what is real, what is good and what is bad… What you got through, the things you’ve endured and accepted from the same hands that you thought would only caress you, take care of you, protect you… With that one fear of making the same mistakes. Of never learning and calling upon yourself the same fate again, as you hold another hand.

After surviving a fever that lasted a little too long, I'm back again, with this new reading from our Divinatory Jukebox!♡ I still feel a little meh, so for a while I will do readings that are slightly shorter, so I can come back gradually without overwhelming myself. And so for today, and through the song “How to disappear” by Lana Del Rey, your inner self has a little story to tell you, about what it is holding deep down in your heart, hiding it, not being able to release it, not before being fully able to understand it. What it was, why it did happen, how so much pain was able to overwhelm you right when you felt so safe… This reading will be a little message for you about your journey of love, the one that you are so eager to go through, to make progress in, without realising how your own hurt heart is holding you back, too afraid of feeling again the same pain of the past now, when those wounds are still bleeding so much.

Give yourself a moment. Slow down your breath, feel it. Put aside any judgement, overthinking or convictions… And just follow the pile that caught your gaze more, the one that will allow you to connect to yourself and receive this needed message.

And let me know what pile you chose..!♡

P.s. A little question for you ♡

{ Thank you so much for letting me know!♡ }

– Pile One,

the child: the six of cups and the knight of wands

It was never your fault. All the people that you met. The bonds you had. The things they did and said… It never was because of you. Of how you were, your worth or what you did. And it never could've been different, no matter how much the regret makes it seem possible or real.

There are so many ways in which a situation can evolve, so many different outcomes that depend only on what we are willing to do and want. It's true. But the past is a whole different story. It is something that we can’t reach. And that, fortunately, can never grasp us no matter how much we fear it.

And you need to understand it. To feel it. A truth that is so simple that is just overlooked, never considered by our judgemental and overthinking mind. The fact that we are safe here. Now. You are safe. Because you are not anymore with those people, not stuck in those suffocating moments that felt like an eternity of hurt.

You are here now. And it is new, every single second of it. At each step, each moment, each new breath… You enter a new reality of possibilities, created with your decisions, with your awareness and confidence that you won’t allow it to happen ever again. And it is enough. Truly. To protect you. It is enough to put miles and miles between you and them, or all those reflections of their meanness and cruelty of which you sometimes catch a glimpse in others that come too close to your heart.

You are safe here, with your own self. You have enough protection and guidance. Enough to not make again those mistakes, even if they never were yours in the first place and you simply learned from them through all this pain. You are doing well. No matter if you are getting closer to someone or, contrary, are hiding for a moment to heal and rest. No matter if it is all like you wanted and imagined, or completely the opposite and frustrating in how slow or fast it is. No matter if you are making a decision, opening your heart again, or are still waiting, still unsure… You are doing well. It is your journey. Only yours. Even when it seems to be influenced so strongly by the others. It is still and only yours to live and follow. And no matter how you will do it, it will always be the right way, the one that will be enough for your heart.

Don't put even more pressure on yourself. Don't fuse the past, of which you are still so afraid, and the future, that you are already overthinking, in this ball that you are ready to throw at yourself again and again. Let them go for a moment, detach them. Not from yourself, but from each other. Don't force the past, with your fears and convictions, to come into your future and shape it. Because it never was supposed to do it, it never wanted it, if we’d talk about it like it is a personification of some sort…

It's the past for a reason. You already got through it. You already lived it all. So allow yourself to stop keep on doing it in the now. Or in the future. Don’t look at this life through the lenses of someone that you are not anymore. Nor through those of the ones that wounded you, betrayed you, even if it still hurts. Let those situations and memories alone. Let them be. In their own eternal moment. In the space and time that was created just for them. They don't need more of it, they don't need for you to sacrifice your present moments or the future ones. And you don't need it in order to stay safe.

You already learned from them. What you needed and even more, even those lessons that weren't yours. You gained the strength, the confidence. You healed enough to live different moments and connections, to experience a different type of love… You just need to become aware of it. Of the fact that there is no need to keep on fearing, aggressively protecting yourself from it. Whatever that “it” might be. It will not repeat. It will be all different. And, in the good and in the bad, you are ready for it. You just need to realise and live it.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Two,

the tree: the queen of cups and the temperance

Even though it is much better and gentle to hear that it never was supposed to be this way, that you never were destined to feel so much pain… That it wasn't your fault, nor the consequences of who you were and what you wanted… Even if it would be so much easier to heal those wounds if you would hear all of this… It still wouldn't be a complete truth. And you would know it deep down, you would have that uneasy feeling, that fear that it might happen again, because you would be aware of the fact that it was indeed because of what you did and said, to others or to yourself.

It was bound to happen. Your heart was destined to be scratched and crushed. In that moment or in another. In the hands of that person or in the ones of someone else… perhaps even yourself. It would've happened either way. Because it was the only thing that could've break through that wall of delusion, entitlement, a little immaturity, that was creating so many wrong convictions in you about the connections, about the shapes and ways of love. That pain and the feeling of betrayal… were truly the only things that could get you angry enough to unveil that mirror that you never looked in. It was the only way to make you see. Who you were, your own actions and words, your needs and desires, that often weren't so aligned. It was the only way to turn your gaze, your scrutiny and judgement inwards. To you. And not only to others, that so often simply reacted to how you were.

It is not an easy subject. The one of the maturity, of growing, of realising our own mistakes and for the first time, after so long, seeing the uncomfortable truth that it wasn't only others, the source of so much challenge and pain. It is not easy to listen to all those sudden conclusions and answers that our mind starts to find, when it is alone with our heart… And it is even more difficult to accept them, to admit that we too did our part in creating those battles in which we got stabbed…

But you did it. No matter if you wanted it, decided to take that time and reflect, or if it just came crashing down on you in the moment that you were already so tired and consumed that you couldn't ignore or postpone it. You did it. To your own self. You found a way to listen to you, to the truth, to allow you to show yourself how the things really were as you got through them, not seeing nothing but attacks and betrayals. You did it. You stayed there for a moment. You let it sink in. Until it changed something in you, even if those wounds still continued to sting.

Your healing became your growth. And each stitch on your heart started to feel sweet and sour in its pain, because of the knowledge that it wasn't just useless hurt. It had a reason, a motive, that you can now escape and avoid because you know what are those things that can trap you in them.

It gives you confidence, that new knowledge and awareness of yourself, enough to make you feel ready for another journey. For a new connection in which you can practice the things that you learned, making them truly work… But it is a little too soon now. You still need those stitches to keep you together, to burn a little to remind you of the consequences of impulsive and rushed steps that you shouldn't take if you want to take care of yourself. And this means that you are not ready. Not until those wounds will be only scars. Scars that you don't try to forget about and hide away. But those that you respect and are proud of, the ones that you look at without feeling regret, shame or rage. Those that you honour, by making the steps that never would make your body, your heart, go again through all that pain.

You need a little more time. A little more patience. Those feelings and connections that you strive for will not go anywhere. They will wait for you to be truly ready. They will wait because they know that it is best this way, that it is worth it, for you to heal completely first, before doing the next step.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Three,

the paths: the moon and the five of wands

It wasn't really your choice to be here. To be alone, to feel so tired and cold. It never was your intention, not even for a second, to remain without anyone… It never was the reason behind your actions and your words. And yet they led to this. To feeling so misunderstood in every connection and situation, to seeing their eyes so hurt or full of rage, even when you chose your words so carefully, as you only tried to explain what you needed, what you felt…

It feels a little like a losing game. The one you can never win no matter how hard you try, not when the rules change every single damn time. The people, their thoughts and feelings, their unique way of seeing a connection, what love is supposed to be… It is just tiring and confusing. Especially for a heart that never wanted so many complications, so many “adventures”. A heart that so innocently and genuinely only looked for love, in any way, shape or form.

It really makes you slow down, all of this, so many challenges, difficulties, arguments and hurt. It makes you reflect on whether this is really what you want. If it is worth it at all. If you really can't live without it to the point of finding somewhere that strength and patience to keep on trying no matter what…

But, what if, the desire and need for this unconditional and powerful feeling, did indeed led you to a journey of love? What if they still worked, all those wishes spent on this… but just in a way that you didn’t know you needed to experience first?

You were so eager, so open, so ready for it… You did so much in the name of love, never pretending to find a specific type of it, just wanting to feel it once… And it was given to you, a journey of love. Of love for yourself. And the urge to take care and protect every inch of you, exactly like only a person truly in love would've done.

Through the ones that came closer, their often annoying or painful ways; through others that are further, their fairytale like stories that made you feel jealous and simply sad because this is not what you have; through the experiences, the ups and downs, the never ending frustrating stories and only few feeble joyful moments… You did go through a journey. And you did find love. The one of the truest and strongest form. You found love for yourself. Who you were. Who you are. And who you can and will become.

It is not what you looked for nor expected, it's true. But it is exactly what you needed to experience and learn. Before letting others teach you what love truly is, you needed to understand it on your own, to set those boundaries, expectations, limits that only those that are worthy can overcome. Those that you will see from miles away, feel so naturally and instantly. Because now you simply know what love is, respect and kindness, and you can recognise it in every gaze of those that truly can embody it, making you feel safe.

{ ♡ }

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jscrawls · 1 day ago

Text

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of injury, poor writing, ooc writing,

Part 15: skimming the surface…

🔹🔹🔹

“what happened.”

your voice nearly snaps out as you stare in at Bruce, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest Under the covers. Why is he here at his manor if he was in a car wreck?

Alfred shifts beside you, angling his head to stare at you with a morose expression, his eyes scarce meeting yours. “It was a car accident, Master Wayne. Just as I explained on the way home.”

You glance at him with a raised brow, challenging his stare for once. “I know the why, I'm asking how the wreck happened. Driving under the influence? Texting and driving? Avoiding a jaywalker? Cars don't just wreck themselves, Alfred.”

He looks away, head tilting just slightly as his hands tuck behind his back and his stance squares, deceit? You sense a lie coming before he so much as opens his mouth.

“He was on the way to a lunch break when his driver was cut off, apparently his executives wanted to continue their meeting over tea.” He meets your eye again, eyes narrowing as he studies you just as intently as you study him.

“Considering the recent happenings, could it be targeted.” Your voice is steady as you speak, unblinking as he reacts, turning more fully to face you. “I doubt the attackers from last night are responsible for a little fender bender, what makes you say that?”

His expression relaxes a touch, brows raising in curiosity as he glances in at Bruce and back at you.

“the timing is just…. Odd. what are the odds of this happening the day after an attack, right when the CEO of a company leaving a meeting where there was concern about said company's property being targeted? I'd look into whoever the other party was if I were the investigator.”

You glance in at Bruce as well, watching him breathe deeply and slowly, whatever he's on seems to have him in a deep sleep, oblivious to the conversation happening in his doorway, unless he's just a heavy sleeper. The hint of bandages peeking out from under his gray tee confuses you, just why isn't he in a hospital?

“…. You make a good enough case, I'll have a word with the insurance investigator about your concerns.” He nods to himself as if confirming something, he's slowly but surely letting his guard down around you. You're not sure how to feel about it. “Good, that's….Good.”

You look away from them both before you say something foolish, are you so bored that you're giving yourself more paranoia? Looking for things to be wrong so you can rip everything apart at the seams, pretend you're not the only one hiding things?

Alfred nods his head as he gives Bruce a final glance, he straightens up and rests a hand on the doorknob, a silent end of the discussion for now. “Yes, now I'm certain you're tired after therapy so…. I'll call for you when dinners ready, master Wayne.”

And without waiting for a reply, he shuts the door with a soft click and turns away, shoulders sagging slightly as he shuffles off, he looks tired and worn…

You take the hint and pad towards your own room, like hell you're just gonna sleep though.

🔹🔹🔹

First thing that ticks you off is the lack of news, you lounge on top of the dark covers with the debugged phone in hand as you go through multiple media outlets, no news about Bruce Wayne, or Wayne enterprises, or anything about an unnamed rich man getting hit by a car. Even in the wake of last night's attack you know damn well that something like that would be reported on, especially mid day? Presumably in the city for anyone to see? People love to talk about the famous. Thrive on watching them through their screens. It makes you suspicious.

It takes a while to tap the GCPD police scanners, this phone is surprisingly hardy for all the programs you're shoving in it, still nothing. No reports or chatter about the billionaire at all, you knew Alfred was full of it, but making up a wreck? What's the old man playing at here.

You drop the phone on the pillow beside you and stare up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing as you ponder everything. The fires looked bad, too big and too quick to just have been normal alcohol fires. Maybe a fuel based starter? But who'd be stupid enough to put that in glass bottles and hold it in their hands? The kids were already squirrelly by the time you woke up, maybe afraid to go to school, but they should've been comfort seeking then. The body language was wrong there too…..how much do they know? Damn it all, too many theories and nothing to work with. you want answers and it seems you’re gonna have to work harder for them.

The kids are gone be the time dinners served, it's just you and Alfred again eating in tense silence while you both avoid the elephant in the room. he keeps his focus on his plate almost stubbornly so, body language closed off and uninviting.

“so where is everyone else tonight?” you give him a curious look as you set your fork down, trying to prompt him to answer as you casually lean forward on your elbows.

he sighs almost imperceptibly as he glances at you, picking up his teacup and slowly swirls the hot liquid inside. “the same places they usually go, master wayne. the kids have practice, friends, responsibilities, and i believe you know where master bruce is.” he takes a long sip of his tea after speaking, glancing at you over his cup.

you tilt your head questioningly, brows raising as your fingers tap on the tabletop rhythmatically. “do you think it’s safe?” he mimics your expression, confusion dancing across his face as he leans back in his chair. “how do you mean?”

“i mean there was just an attack on the city, quick arrest or not i doubt it’s safe to be going out this late.” is this just an elite thing? surely bruce wouldn’t let his underage kids out on the town right now of all times. right?

alfred gives you an odd look, looking you up and down scrutinizingly. “….you’re very paranoid about things today.”

“should i not be.” your fingers pause, palm flattening against the table as you meet his stare.

an awkward silence stretches over the kitchenette, you and alfred staring at each other waiting for one to crack, the tension builds until…the notification system dings, someone’s at the door.

alfred tenses and stands slowly, attention clearly shifting as he quietly excuses himself from the table. you want to bang your head on the table, why the hell is everyone so weird here? it’s like trying to wrestle information out of yelena.

you’re picking at your food when alfred shuffles back in the room, as soon as you glance at him you freeze, all the hair on your arms standing as air moves just behind you and you swing a butterknife on pure instinct.

your heart leaps up in your throat when something grabs you as soon as you even turned, what the fu-

“oop sorry about that! didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.” a Midwestern accent apologizes beside you as the hand quickly loosens from your elbow, a dark haired man stands behind you with an apologetic expression on his face as he rubs at the back of his neck, he’s maybe Bruce's height, possibly a bit taller. broad as a barn and half as heavy. yet you didn’t hear a single step, a single shift. it’s as if the big guy phased in the room behind you like vision.

trying to hide how startled you are you turn towards him and offer him a small smile. “wow you’re a quiet one, gonna give bat-man a run for his money haha.” you force a chuckle out, your heartbeat all the way in your throat, you haven’t been snuck up on like that in a while…

“sorry, sorry. sometimes i forget how people don’t…anyways are you okay?”

his eyes flick to the butterknife in your grasp, you force yourself to quickly drop it on the table.

“i’m good, just a bit jumpy i guess….who’re you?” his brows pinch together in confusion for a second before realization flicks across his face, he holds a hand out for you to shake. “wow i totally forgot about that, please forgive me….again, i’m clark. i’m bruce and yours friend.” you take his hand.

he smiles at you just as alfred shuffles over, extra teacup in hand and a confused look on his face as he glances between the both of you.

you ignore Alfred's judgement as your hand drops in your lap, this guy somehow avoided making a single sound with cleated boots on, even a widow would struggle on this flooring. something in the back of your mind is screaming at you to stay alert around him, like base animal instinct screaming there’s a predator near…he also reminds you of captain rogers for some reason, the fidgeting of the hands and sincere whispered apologies reads just like the captain when he fucks up. you didn’t think you’d miss the annoyingly endearing awkward politeness, but here you are.. “it’s fine i’m getting used to it, nice to meet you again clark.”

“nice to meet you again too, it's good to see you up and moving. I'm sorry I could only make it here when Bruce is down for the count. i’ve been out of the country for a bit…” Alfred clears his throat, interrupting your question before you could even ask, he moves to pull Clark aside, talking about refreshments and offering him a plate of food as if that was worth interrupting you for, even clark looks confused as the butler pulls him away, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before the older man grabs his attention.

Frustration bubbles up on you once more when it feels like you're being kept out of the loop again, what does Clark know that you're not supposed to? Something akin to tempered rage clenches your fists and grinds your jaw like a spring pulled too hard, ready to snap back into place. When Alfred mentions taking a plate of food to Bruce you interrupt him.

“I'll bring it to him.” You're already standing up before you finish speaking, pushing your chair into the table as Alfred and Clark both glance at you with differing expressions.

“You haven't finished your food yet, master Wayne….” You don't even look at your plate as you step around the table, brushing past both men to grab the tray.

“I'm fine, my therapist said it's good for me to flex my motor skills as often as possible at home. I wanna check in on Bruce anyways, see how he's doing if he's up.” Alfred starts to speak but Clark drops a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile.

“I've been meaning to drop something off with you anyways Alfred….”

You miss the rest of his sentence as you stride out of the room, maybe it's time you question your husband.

🔹🔹🔹

“you awake?”

You rap your knuckles on the heavy door as you softly call out, the food tray balanced on one hand. For a moment you hear absolutely nothing within the room, maybe he's still passed out?

You're about knock again when the door pulls open, Bruce blinking blearily at you with a major case of bed head. You'd laugh if you weren't suddenly face to face with him, who's not wearing any pants….

“Hey….” He mumbles dumbly, staring at you for a moment in a seeming daze. “Hey. Can I come in?” You gesture to the food tray with your chin while shifting your hold on it.

“Hmm?��. Oh, yeah come on….” He steps aside as you wordlessly step in, casually kicking the door shut with your foot while he gives you a confused look. You'd like some privacy right now.

You set the tray down on the bedside table before turning your head to glance over at him.

“You feeling okay? Heard you had a wild day…” that'd sound funny out of context, he just follows you to the bed and slowly sits on the edge with a grunt, eyes never quite leaving your form. “not great, could be better I think…. How long was I knocked out for?” he awkwardly runs a hand through his hair while shuffling closer to where your standing, you pass him a plate while trying to ignore his state of dress.

“dunno, how about you tell me.” Your hand grabs the edge of the table as you put on your most innocent look, you don't miss how he regards you when you lean down towards him a bit.

“What's that mean?” His eyes flick over you the briefest bit before he looks down at his plate, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows.

“nothing, just wanted to know when you went down the stairs I guess….I think I've got the whole getting injured thing covered, you shouldn't try to give me a run for it.” You smile sweetly at him as you sit down beside him, his body language shifts again, leaning into you just slightly as you press close enough that your thighs touch. Just what you wanted.

“this morning maybe? It's a bit of a blur…. The kids thought it was so funny.” He sighs exasperatedly as he runs a hand through his hair again, messing up his bed head even more.

“i can see why.” When he gives you a sour look you snort, briefly leaning over him to grab at the thermos on the tray so you could steal some of his tea.

“oh you're so funny now, a real comedian.” He sounds exasperated but you're not fooled.

“Mhmm, at least mine was better than tumbling down the stairs like a slinky.”

“This isn't the pain Olympics you know, not my fault I'm very fragile.” He huffs again and turns his head to hide a small smile, then he slowly sets his hand just behind you on the bed, not quite pulling you in but definitely making moves to be close to you. Guess he likes being softcore bullied by you?

“well you should still watch your damn step, there's enough brain damage going around as is.” You sneak a glance at the bandage under his sleeve, you're certain that's professionally applied. He rolls his eyes and chuckles quietly to himself while shaking his head.

“it's sweet how you're going soft on me…..I missed seeing you like this.”

His tone gives you pause, that same saccharine tone full of affection just like in the hospital, it makes something resembling guilt curl behind your ribs and settle there. “…like what?”

“…relaxed. I know I kinda put you in an odd position when I brought you home to all…. I'm just happy to see you laughing. Even if it's while mocking my pain.” he snorts at his own words and looks up at the ceiling, there's something kinda odd about seeing the reserved man act so…. Light-hearted, you expected to have to work harder here…. Maybe it's the pain meds he's on?

Your take a long swig of the hot tea to give yourself a moments pause, how do you even respond to that? Even with all the deceit and close-door happenings his words and body language are honest. you've already confirmed what you wanted to know so why are you still here? “Your…our Friend’s here to see you.”

His eyes fall to meet yours again with no small amount of disappointment in them, he knows you're yet again denying an intimate moment, verbally retreating from him, he's slowly getting used to it.

“oh yeah?” the smile slowly returns as he tries to keep things light for you, even in his slightly dazed state he’s trying to be considerate of you, it’s uncomfortable.

You slowly stand up from the bed and stretch, looking away to hide a small smirk as you hand him the thermos that was technically supposed to be his. “Mhmm, Clark's here. He said he's sorry you're so bad at walking on your own two feet.”

He scoffs loudly as he takes it from your grasp, eyes never leaving your form as he slowly raises it to his lips. “I have such a nice support system, I'm truly blessed. I'll hobble my way down there in a few.”

you nod as you glance around one last time, pretending not to notice the bottle of lidocaine gel on the dresser as you turn away and shuffle towards the door.

“Oh, and one more thing Bruce?” you glance over your shoulder at him from the doorway, hand resting on the wood frame just above your head as you smile sweetly at his unsuspecting figure.

his eyes meet yours as he pauses eating, fork halfway to his mouth as he addresses you. “yes?”

“You might wanna throw some pants on before you leave this room.” you have to suppress a snort as he quickly glances down at himself while you leave.

the smile slowly slips from your face as you stroll down the hallway towards your room instead of going back to the kitchenette, you know one thing without a doubt now, bruce and alfred are very good liars.

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: wow this one got away from me a bit, I think this is my longest chapter yet 😓 hope y'all like it and it was worth the wait. Hope y'all have an amazing day/night!

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @4rachn3

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batman x reader #batfamily x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #black widow reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 days ago

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I like the way you write a characters voice/dialogue, it feels very in character to how they talk in game, feels like i could place it in twst and it wouldnt look out of place

zhsvsqvadawGdqdaew:4-?2! THANK YOU 😭 Dialogue is my favorite thing to write so I’m glad that you enjoy it so much!! Having my dialogue be considered comparable to canon dialogue is a high honor.

xhkssbjwbxjz Sometimes people mistake the birthday one-shots I write as vignette translations 😅 which I’ll take as a compliment?? Because that means what I wrote the characters doing and saying sounds like something they’d do and say in canon!

All that time reading the vignettes and cross-referencing how the voices have been localized in EN has been really interesting and useful for my craft. After absorbing and marinating in all that information, I try to put myself in their headspace, pretend to be them in certain situations, then ask myself, “Okay, so how would I honestly react?” Once I have the dialogue down, I read and reread and ask myself if I can truly hear the character saying this. This is easiest for me to do with Jamil, since I feel we are very similar.

One “test” I like to do is swap out the name of the speaker for a different character; if the dialogue is bland enough to work for multiple characters, it’s not good enough and it’s back to the drawing board. The voice has to sound distinct to that single character. If it doesn’t pass muster, I’ll rewrite it until I’m satisfied. It’s an entire process, not a one-and-done!

In Twst, it’s said that imagination helps a mage with their magic spells. For me, imagination helps me with my writing www I used these methods a lot when writing OCs and doing writing commissions too~

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #feedback for the writing raven #Jamil Viper

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junezsq · 1 day ago

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Hii could you do Harry bf headcanons?

(⁠^⁠^⁠)

harry james potter as your bf … ! 🤍💫

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ a/n! these were so fun to write, i hope this meets your expectations,, enjoy<3

۶ৎ . was pretty awkward when you first started dating but after a while the flirting just came naturally. from calling you affectionate nicknames to random compliments; half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. however, the second you flirt back he becomes all flustered with rosy cheeks and stutters

۶ৎ . loves it when you show up at quidditch games to support him and calls you his lucky charm. most of the time he’s not even paying attention to the game; the moment he sees you in the stands—with his initials painted on your cheeks and dressed in his spare gryffindor jersey—he cannot take his eyes off you

۶ৎ . you’re one of the few people who’s allowed to touch and play with his hair. it actually comforts him when you do so and he loves it when you run your hands through his messy curls

۶ৎ . likes to just watch you and will listen to you very intently. it doesn’t matter if it’s as simple as telling him about a mistake you made during one of your classes, he will pay attention to every detail; a small smile growing on his lips and twinkles in his eyes as he watches you speak

۶ৎ . really attentive and an excellent gift giver. he remembers details about things you’ve told him you might not even remember yourself. so, don’t be surprised when you receive a bouquet of white roses on a random wednesday just because you told him you thought they were pretty a few days earlier

۶ৎ . can be really sassy and enjoys teasing you. probably about either your height or your grades. you pretend it annoys you but the fact it makes him laugh makes you happy too

۶ৎ . gets jealous pretty easily but can control it well and doesn’t really show it. you know when he’s jealous though, and you will tease him about it

۶ৎ . will go on study dates with you in the library, but not much studying gets done. he can’t stop staring at you and when he gets the chance he will swoop in for a kiss

۶ৎ . slightly insecure. he’ll go quiet after you fight or when you’ve had a discussion, thinking it was his fault. he knows communication is key, though, so you’ll give him the time he needs and he will come to you when he’s ready to talk things through

۶ৎ . slipping each other love notes in classes. he’ll also hide them in your books for you to randomly find

۶ৎ . really supportive; he’ll side with you and protect you no matter what

۶ৎ . when you start dating you make a routine of falling asleep together wherever you can; the common room being your favorite spot. it started as a way of being able to comfort him if he’d have a nightmare but it slowly turned into a routine

۶ৎ . swings your hands whenever you walk hand in hand

۶ৎ . loves it when you wear his hoodies. he will leave them laying around for you to find because he knows you’ll steal them

۶ৎ . so funny. the two of you are almost always laughing when you are together and it’s mostly about something dumb too

۶ৎ . not that big on physical touch considering his past trauma’s, but he adores holding your hand. it doesn’t matter if you’re walking the hogwarts corridors to your next class, or if you’re just sat down next to each other. whenever he’s anxious or deep in thought he’ll automatically reach for your hand; holding it brings him a great sense of comfort

۶ৎ . is not the most careful person so often breaks his glasses. he’s perfectly capable of fixing them himself but loves seeing you do it for him. neither does he care for cleaning his glasses, but when you do it for him he’ll be immensely grateful and will thank you with kisses

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

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sporesgalaxy · 2 days ago

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hey I updated the Pierre Document. The document with all the information about which version of events I consider canon to Pierre. the Pierre document where i write down random shit all the time. that document.

posting this as im on the verge of passing out so i dont have time ti regret it yayyyyyyy

•••

Pierra's family are avid travelers, possible for mild-mannered citizens like them due to their home island Old Tool's status as a travel hub and their family history of working in the Marine shipbuilding and sailing industry. Thus, Pierra being taken along on a pleasure cruise with the rest of her family would be an unheard of luxury in most of the world, but it wasn't originally all that big a deal to Pierra.

Things took an unexpected turn after the cruise ship Pierra was on had already crossed the Grand Line (using sea prism stone technology) and entered the East Blue.

Since the East is supposedly the safest of the four blues, the hired Marine guards were lazy in their security measures, drinking and partying to congratulate themselves on crossing the Grand Line without incident.

Therefore the ship's protectors were woefully unprepared when the Buggy Pirates suddenly attacked! The Pirates were on their way to Reverse Mountain, and energized after reuniting with their captain and escaping Marine custody!

The pirate attack happened while Pierra was avoiding her family (and especially her mother) on a quiet part of the ship and quietlt spiralling into despair about how she has no idea what to do with her life. The terrifying pirate attack was almost a welcome distraction.

With no one she knew close at hand to worry about the safety of, Pierra's first instinct was to hide, and she was scared enough to employ the devil fruit powers she swore never to use in order to hide in an impossibly small space! This gambit backfired however, and to Pierra's acute horror, her hiding spot inside a crate of alcohol was taken aboard the Big Top as loot.

Pierra managed to stay hidden as a stowaway on the Bigtop for at least a couple of weeks. Then, the Buggy Pirates met Portugaz D. Ace, who managed to be the first person to notice the giant red centipede sneaking around the ship. Luckily for Pierra (who spur-of-the-moment decided to go by Pierre and "pretend" to be a guy), Ace is nice and believes Pierre when he says that he never meant to cause any trouble. And luckily for the Buggy Pirates, Pierre is down to his very core desperate for approval and has a lot of chitinous helping hands he's delighted to lend as long as you tell him he did a good job.

--------

Tiny Pierra lets ants crawl all over her. She watches them tear apart a dying grasshopper in the garden, piece by piece.

Pierra looks with wonder in her eyes at a rotting fish covered with maggots. At a dead baby bird that fell from its nest too soon. At a bag full of bloody ducks her father shot.

Pierra gets too upset sometimes, and too frightened frequently.

Pierra hides as often as possible.

When Pierra starts getting big, she wishes she was still small. She used to like squeezing into tight spaces; inside a box, under a small desk, under a bed. She doesn't fit anymore. Sometimes she feels like she's stopped fitting anywhere at all.

Pierra sneaks into other people's rooms when she's alone in the house, just to look around without disturbing anything. Just to hear the silence.

Pierra takes food she is not supposed to eat, just to get away with it. Just to test how far she can go without being noticed. Just to be unnoticed and forgotten on purpose, instead of as a reflex.

When Pierra is 16, she goes to the market with her mother. While her mother speaks to someone, Pierra breaks off a tiny piece of the most interesting fruit at the stand. No one notices her do it this time. Pierra chews and swallows the piece of fruit, and it tastes bad, but Pierra is pleased to have learned what it tastes like without permission.

Later that evening, alone in her room, Pierra thinks she is dreaming, or maybe losing her mind. She wonders half-heartedly if the fruit was poisonous and she is dying-- but she doesn't want to disturb anyone if she's wrong again.

So, she does what she always does when she thinks she is losing her mind: distracts herself and waits for it to pass.

It passes, eventually, but this won't be the last time. She learns that it's not madness, but the curse of a Devil. She learns she can't swim anymore. She prays for forgiveness. She tells nobody.

When Pierra gets too upset and admits it her mother a year later, she is begged never to transform again. To hide it forever, for her own safety. Human traffickers could be anywhere, her mother says, and Devil Fruit users fetch a high price. Pierra promises to keep hiding. Pierra wonders if it will be easier now, having someone who understands.

Pierra's mother goes back to acting like nothing ever happened. It doesn't get much easier.

---

"It'll be okay," says Pierra's mother gently, drawing her daughter into her arms. Pierra wraps her arms around her mother as well, because she is supposed to.

"We'll figure this out..." her mother continues, "...we can fix this."

Pierra stares over her mother's shoulder as she feels the last remains of her hope crumble away in silence.

That's it, then. Despite everything, despite so many years of cyclical disappointment and pain... Pierra's mother would not give up on "fixing" her.

She and her mother had been repeating this painful exercise for Pierra's entire life. Over and over, every year, every month, every week, for as long as Pierra could remember.

Pierra is so tired of trying to be fixed. She is tired of trying to be something she isn't. She is tired, so so tired, of letting down people who see something in her.

She had hoped that after such a spectacular failure as this one, her mother might finally give up on fixing her. She had hoped that her mother might start trying to learn how to forgive her, instead.

That hope was gone now.

Now, Pierra can see that her mother will never stop waiting for someone less disappointing to take Pierra's place. Pierra can see that her mother's pity will always be directed at the less disappointing person Pierra is certain she can never be.

Wrapped in her mother's arms, Pierra has never felt more alone.

"We'll figure it out together," her mother adds, squeezing Pierra's shoulders tighter.

----

Humans have to be taught everything. We're very good at learning. It's what we evolved to do.

Some animals have to be taught how to do things. How to hunt, where to go.

But many animals exhibit behaviors that are never taught to them.

Humans have a precious few. Holding our breath underwater, hanging on with our arms.

The less social the animal, the less learning it tends to do.

The more its behavior is ruled by instinct.

-----

Most Observation Haki users learn to tune out the auras of nonaggressive bugs, consciously or unconsciously.

Otherwise, their senses would be overwhelmed by spiritual "noise" from hundreds of tiny auras. The glut of information can make it harder to notice actual threats, and the easiest solution is to ignore typically irrelevant details-- i.e., bugs.

It's something like mentally tuning out the sound of cicadas in a forest when you are listening for a distinctive bird call.

In his centipede form, because of his skittish nature and typical lack of malicious intent paired with centipede instincts from his Zoan abilities, Pierre's aura usually registers as a genuine nonaggressive bug aura. It can therefore go easily overlooked, despite Pierre's large size.

Like if our proverbial birder was listening for bird calls, but Pierre was a bird whose call almost perfectly mimicked a cicada.

It takes a very skilled Observation Haki user and a very sharp mind to take in ALL auras in an area without tuning out small details like harmless bugs. To these sort of people, centipede Pierre can be detected just as well as anything else, and his large size will even cause him to stick out.

In the cicada metaphor, these people are sharp enough to identify any bird calls and count the number of cicadas calling at the same time. And Pierre sounds like a cicada...but not a species of cicada the expert listening recognizes. Thus, Pierre sticks out.

Pierre's attitude can also ruin his bug aura camoflauge. If he is too focused on anything besides his own survival, his aura ceases to be nonthreatening or buglike enough and he will no longer go overlooked.

For bird-Pierre, this would be like accidentally letting out a distinctly bird-ish squawk rather than the mimic-cicada call.

-------

B: [unlocking a chest] This poster better be the best thing since sliced bread or I am completely SCREW--

[Pierre is revealed to be inside the chest. Buggy gawks at him.]

P: I- I know how this looks!

P: But it's not the same as last time!! I'll leave as soon as I--!

B: [snotty, sobbing, frantically grabbing Pierre's shoulders] NO!!!!!! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!!!

P: !!!! [Pierre is wide-eyed and speechless]

B: [stops sobbing] wait a second.

B: [shaking Pierre by his lapels, angry now] Where the HELL have you been, Chucklehead?!!!

P: [being comically shaken around too much to form a response]

B: I haven't seen you since we got arrested on--!!!

B: [stops shaking Pierre, squints at him] .....OHHHHH.

[Pierre has no idea whats going on, is still being grabbed by the lapels]

B: [angry smile] [lets go of P and crosses arms] I see what happened!!!!

B: [vindictive] The government took back your pardon because they abolished Warlords!

B: [pokes Pierre in the chest] So after two years of thinking you're BETTER than me,

[Pierre's eyes widen]

B: You had no choice but to come crawling back!!! [flicks Pierre's nose] GYAHAHAHAA!!!

B: [patting Pierre's head condescendingly] Don't worry Chucklehead, I won't make you grovel. Much. [mean grin]

P: Wait, what?! [earnest] I-I'm not-- I don't think I'm above you, Buggy!! That would be crazy!!

B: [smug aura cracks slightly] Eh?

P: [sheepish] I'm surprised you even remember my name! A famous pirate like you must meet so many amazing people, I didn't think I'd stick out at all...

[Buggy gets smug again, and a bit flustered]

B: Well, heh heh...

B: [remembers he's mad] Then why'd you ditch me?!!

P: I-I didn't ditch you!

B: Like hell!!! All the Buggy Pirates got pardoned when I became a warlord, but YOU never came back!!

P: Because I'm not a Buggy Pirate?! I was a stowaway!

B: [gawks again, like "are you serious??"]

P: ...you...wanted me to come back??

B: [dodging the question] YOU'RE DODGING THE QUESTION!!!

B: What were you even doing for th last two years that was so much better than ME-- MY CREW!!!!!!

[FLASHBACK PANEL: Pierre on the Snail. He is saying "No, Mom-- I-- I DO want to be here. The science is really interesting, I just--"]

P: ...Well, keheh... [drags hands down face] ...Ugh. Trust me, I did NOT wanna be there.

P: So, when the navy caught the Buggy Pirates, they saw my Devil Fruit power.

P: [before Buggy can ask] I know I told you I've had this since I was a kid, but I never used it before I was with you. It was always this big secret.

P: Anyways, I was really afraid that I'd get in trouble for hiding it, so I told them I got the Devil Fruit on your ship and that I was a hostage.

[Buggy squints at Pierre. It's a good thing Buggy likes him and is exactly as cowardly]

P: They believed it, and I was hoping they would just let me go home, but they really wanted my Zoan powers, so I ended up stuck with the Marines...

[FLASHBACK PANEL: Marine representative says "You've got a unique ability, Ms. Pierra. Opportunities like this shouldn't be wasted! Please, consider our offer, at least--" Pierre interrupts: "I'll do it." He looks terrified and miserable as he says it. What's his problem?]

P: And that's where I've been for...two whole years.

[FLASHBACK PANELS: Pierre thinking "I have to get out of here." "I hate this." "I can't do this anymore." Pierre talking on the snail again, "Yeah, I'll look into research positions." "No, I haven't looked yet." "I've been really busy..." "I just haven't gotten around to it." "I still wanna do something different."]

B: Okay. So how the hell did you end up in my closet???

P: Uh.

P: They sent me with the guys who were supposed to arrest you, actually, but I ditched them.

[FLASHBACK PANEL: Pierre is on a Marine ship looking miserable and indecisive. Suddenly it is chopped in half by Crocodile. Pierre survives by hiding in a barrel & manages to paddle ashore.]

B: And you snuck all the way in here? On an island full of bounty hunters??

P: [manic grin] ...I guess!

P: I'm kind of just trying to not die right now!

P: Thanks for not killing me, by the way! Kehaha!

B: Kill you?? Of COUUURSE not, Pierro-chan!!!

B: [claps Pierre on the back] Why would I kill my own PERSONAL bodyguard!!!

P: ........HUH?

#1pc #centipierre #op oc

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yubellia · 3 days ago

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Tales of a traveling Creator…. „Am I an author now?…“

Imagine that we, the creator, finally made it back home. Back home to Teyvat that is. „Because this is where you belong, your grace!~“…. Yeah… great.

Actually, life is pretty sweet. Sure, there are certain things we don‘t have in Teyvat but… we can look past that. Mostly.

The characters don‘t know that for us, all of this was a game. Literally a video game. And there were many others too.

Now imagine how it must feel to never see your favorite show or cartoon again. How it feels to never play your favorite games again. (Especially if you know that a series would get a new game or season soon…. Gosh the horror!)

One day, you notice how your memories of these things start to fade. You forget the name of a character. Small things. But it’s scary enough to make you do something. You do the next best thing.

„Somebody bring me empty notebooks and writing tools! Hurry!“ Your always loyal followers almost run over each other to get what you requested.

And so starts the time period of none stop writing. Really. You carry notebooks everywhere. You start to write down the plot of your favorite games, shows, movies. You name it.

Until one day, because it had to happen, someone asked you where this enthusiasm came from. You and some of the other archons were having tea and snacks in inazuma. Ei insisted that you had to come for a visit again. Zhongli, your loyal shield („shield for what?“ „better be safe than sorry.“), Nahida was there too. Naturally considering that she is pretty much your daughter. Ei brought Miko with her and that’s when it happened.

„Your grace? I heard you always carry these notebooks around these days. Would you be willing to share your thoughts with us? Hm?~“

Zhongli gave Miko a slightly stern look but you shook it off. „sure. Why not. You see, i noticed that i started to forget certain things. Books I read in the other world.“ (you had to think on how to put this.) „stage plays I saw, songs and the adventures I had in…. Other worlds.“ „you visited other worlds too? Like the traveler?“ „yes. I did. Just like with the traveler or you guys, I used…. ‚Vessels‘ and guided them through their adventures. And i started writing things down so that I won‘t forget.“ You showed them a picture. „I even used my powers to create images of the characters.“

Miko‘s ears started to twitch. „Oh my…. Would you mind if… I took a look at that?“

„Sure…. But wait. Not this one. Here. This story is finished.“

You take another notebook from your pocket and hand it over. Miko promises to take very good care of it and the others look on in jealousy.

That was a few weeks ago. You continued. You did everything you could. Even create pages with character sheets and detailed descriptions.

One day, there is a long line in front of a book store. You could hear the owner talk about the newest story.

„Witness the the tale of a chosen hero in a distant world! A fight between good and evil. An innocent child chosen by destiny and the gods! One of their graces many vessels in another realm. This is The legend of Zelda. Ocarina of Time.“

For a moment, you just stood there with your mouth slightly open… „Miko…. Why? Zhongli can you believe it?….. Zhongli?“

You didn’t get an answer because instead of next to you, Zhongli was waiting in line for a copy of the book…..

„Oh hello your grace! The people of Inazuma and Teyvat as a whole love the adventure of the young hero and the princess…. When I read it, I just new it would be a hit.“

You didn’t have it in you to be surprised when Miko showed up. Oh and Zhongli returned with a copy of the book soon after that.

„So… I am an author now?“

„Well, it would be a shame to keep you loyal readers hanging no? Also, I heard some people discuss the criteria for becoming someone worthy of your guidance.“

„Well fortunately Link and Zelda have enough adventures. And i visited enough worlds…..“

Once Zhongli is next to you again, you grab his sleeve and pull him away before others see you.

(Heaven forbid I tell them about Kingdom hearts. The legend of Zelda has enough lore to keep them busy.)

#sagau #sagau headcanons #sagau x reader #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons

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weekendlusting · 2 days ago

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A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 5

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

The morning after the storm was oddly serene, as if the universe was trying to compensate for the chaos of the previous night. The streets of Monaco glistened with the remnants of rain, and the salty scent of the sea mixed with the crisp morning air. The sky was a soft, pale blue, clouds lazily drifting by, oblivious to the storm they had thrown at Charles and Ahaana only hours before.

Inside Charles’s apartment, the atmosphere was far from peaceful.

Ahaana groaned as she turned onto her side, the oversized shirt she had borrowed from Charles tangling around her legs. Her hair was an absolute mess, strands sticking up in ways that defied physics. As she stretched, her foot hit something solid.

"Ow!" Charles’s voice grumbled from the floor beside her.

Her eyes flew open. "Why the hell are you on the floor?"

Charles lifted his head, looking thoroughly disgruntled. "Because someone stole the entire bed," he muttered, rubbing his side.

Ahaana blinked and sat up, glancing at the bed—a king-size, might she add—where she was sprawled diagonally, using up every inch of available space. She cleared her throat. "I don’t remember that happening."

"Oh, you wouldn’t," Charles deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "You were too busy starfishing and kicking me in your sleep."

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile. "I do not starf—"

"You do," he cut in, stretching his arms above his head. "I have the bruises to prove it."

Ahaana rolled her eyes, throwing a pillow at his face. "Well this is your fault for not having a guest bedroom. What were you thinking?"

He caught the pillow with ease, smirking. "Keeps the women closer, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not ready for this so early." Ahaana huffed and dramatically threw herself back onto the bed, arms spread wide. "Well, whatever. It’s morning now. Crisis averted. We survived."

"Barely," Charles muttered under his breath, earning another pillow thrown his way.

By the time they were both up and moving, the awkwardness of the previous night’s almost-kiss had settled into something unspoken but still lingering between them, like an unfinished conversation waiting for the right moment to resume.

Ahaana busied herself in the kitchen, making coffee as Charles scrolled through his phone. The scent of fresh espresso filled the apartment, making the place feel warmer than it actually was. The whole routine felt strangely domestic and mundane.

"You’re awfully quiet," Charles noted, setting his phone down and watching her. "Plotting world domination?"

She shot him a look. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous," he murmured, taking a seat at the counter. "Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a small smile. She handed him a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping her own. "So… last night was—"

"Eventful?" Charles supplied.

"I was going to say weird, but sure, let’s go with eventful."

He smirked. "We almost kissed." Ahaana choked on her coffee. "Charles!"

"What? Am I not supposed to mention it?"

"No!"

"Too bad," he said with a shrug, his smirk widening. "It was a moment. A near, very charged, very dramatic moment." She groaned, rubbing her temples. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t." She sighed. "Unfortunately, you might be right."

Charles chuckled, leaning closer. "So, are we going to pretend it didn’t happen, or are we acknowledging it?" Ahaana pursed her lips, considering. "I vote for the mature, adult thing where we pretend it never happened and move on."

Charles made a face. "Boring." She smacked his arm. "Fine. What do you want to do?" He pretended to think. "We could analyze every second of it and make things sufficiently awkward."

She shot him a glare. "Charles."

"Or… we could do neither and just accept that there’s something happening here."

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep a straight face. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

He tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "Sure you don’t." Ahaana sighed, setting her cup down. "You’re impossible."

"And you like it," he teased, taking a sip of his coffee. "Now, are we getting breakfast, or are we going to keep avoiding the obvious?"

She groaned. "Fine. Breakfast. Let’s go."

"Great choice. And just so you know, I’m not done with this conversation."

Ahaana pointed a finger at him as they grabbed their jackets. "If you don’t shut up, I’m shoving you into traffic."

Charles laughed. "So much hostility first thing in the morning. I’m honored."

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. Whatever this was between them—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The streets of Monaco were still damp from the storm, but the sun was beginning to warm them, glinting off the wet pavement like scattered diamonds. Ahaana and Charles walked side by side, a comfortable but charged silence stretching between them.

"Where exactly are we going?" Ahaana asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she matched his pace.

"Somewhere that serves food," Charles replied easily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Charles led them to a small café tucked into a quiet street corner. It was one of those places that looked effortlessly charming—warm wooden interiors, tiny round tables, the kind of place where people wrote poetry about their heartbreak over croissants.

He leaned in slightly. "I come here a lot. They have the best pain au chocolat in all of Monaco."

She rolled her eyes. "That’s for me to decide, Ferrari.”

Charles chuckled, “Prepare to be amazed”, as they grabbed a table by the window.

The café was buzzing with soft chatter, the smell of fresh coffee weaving through the air. Ahaana shrugged off her jacket, settling into her seat as Charles waved over a waitress.

"Bonjour, Charles," the waitress greeted with an easy familiarity before glancing at Ahaana with a polite smile.

Ahaana raised an eyebrow at him. He did come here a lot it seemed.

The waitress took their orders—Charles, predictably, ordered a pain au chocolat and an espresso, while Ahaana opted for another pain au chocolat and a cappuccino.

"So," Charles started once the waitress walked away, drumming his fingers against the wooden table. "Are we acknowledging the obvious today, or is it another day of blissful denial?"

Ahaana sighed heavily. "Charles."

"What?" His tone was infuriatingly casual. "I just think it’s interesting that you seem so intent on avoiding—"

"I am not avoiding anything," she cut in, folding her arms. "I just think that some things don’t need to be dissected to death."

He tilted his head, studying her. "I agree. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist."

Ahaana busied herself by adjusting the sugar packet in front of her. "Okay, philosopher. What exactly do you want me to say?"

Charles leaned back, that irritatingly knowing smirk playing at his lips. "I don’t know. Maybe something like—‘Charles, you are the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever met, and I am helplessly drawn to you.’"

She deadpanned. "I’m going to throw my croissant at you when it comes."

"Bold of you to assume I won’t catch it midair and eat it."

Their food arrived, and the moment evaporated as quickly as it had come. Charles grinned, immediately reaching for his pastry. "Ah, the true love of my life."

The moment Charles took his first bite of the pain au chocolat, his eyes fluttered shut like he was experiencing something spiritual.

Ahaana watched, unimpressed. "You look like you're having an out-of-body experience. Should I leave you two alone?"

Charles opened one eye. "Jealousy is not a good look on you."

She scoffed. "Of what? A pastry?"

"A perfect pastry." He took another exaggerated bite. "Flaky, buttery, perfection incarnate. Unlike some people I know."

Ahaana picked up her', narrowed her eyes, and took a bite just as exaggerated as his, chewing deliberately.

"Life-changing?" Charles smirked.

She wiped her lips with a napkin. "You can’t tell after just one bite."

Charles leaned back, laughing. "Such ego. Are all bollywood people like this?"

Ahaana smirked back at him,"I'm not a guide, you should come and see for yourself?"

The bell above the cafe door jingled, and a familiar voice rang through the air. "Look who it is! Monaco's very own lovebirds."

Ahaana turned in time to see Lando Norris striding toward them, grinning like he had just caught them committing a crime. Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet followed, Kelly rolling her eyes at Lando’s dramatics while Max just looked amused.

Charles groaned. "Oh, fantastic. I was hoping for some unsolicited commentary this morning."

Lando plopped into the seat beside Charles without an invitation. "And here I am, delivering."

Max slid into the seat next to Ahaana, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Morning, Ahaana. How was your night?"

Ahaana threw a pointed look at Charles. “What did you say?”

Charles acted completely obvious and hid his face behind his croissant. “The groupchat needs updates, you know.”

“Ugh” Ahaana shook her head. “They aren’t going to forget about this for a while now you know that.”

Lando snorted. "The candles, Charles? Very romantic, mate. I can see why Ahaana is smitten." Ahaana nearly choked on her coffee. "I’m what now?"

"Smitten." Lando wiggled his eyebrows. "You know, falling hopelessly in love, unable to resist his charm—"

Charles leaned forward. "Lando, if you want to keep your front teeth, I’d recommend shutting up."

Lando pretended to consider. "Mmm…nah."

Their food arrived, and the conversation shifted as they ate, though the teasing never truly stopped. Lando nudged Charles at one point. "So, when’s the wedding?"

Charles shot him a glare. "Do you have a death wish?"

"Oh, constantly," Lando replied with a grin. Kelly rolled her eyes. "Lando, must you?"

"Must I? Absolutely. It’s my duty as an agent of chaos." Max shook his head. "I regret sitting here."

"No, you don’t," Lando countered. "This is the highlight of your morning."

Ahaana rubbed her temples. "You are all exhausting."

Ahaana fought the smile threatening to break through. Whatever this was between them—whatever name it had or didn’t have—it wasn’t going anywhere. And, as infuriating as Charles was, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it to.

Ahaana’s phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a name she wasn’t expecting to see for another two weeks. She frowned, picking it up. "It’s Karan."

"Hey, what’s up?"

On the other end, Karan Johar’s voice was rushed, urgent. "Change of plans. The schedule’s been moved up. You need to fly out for the Jigra shoot in three days."

Ahaana blinked. "Three days? But I was supposed to have two more weeks!"

"I know, but there were some production changes. Vedang has also been informed. We need you here ASAP. We can’t start without you. Something about permission with the set location."

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing at Charles, who had straightened up in his seat, his expression unreadable. "Okay, okay," she exhaled. "Send me the details. I’ll book my flight."

"Already done," Karan said. "Check your email. See you soon."

The call ended, and Ahaana let her phone drop onto the table with a thud. "Well. That happened."

Charles’s jaw was tight. "You’re leaving." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yeah. In three days."

Charles didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just stood there, slight discomfort thrumming under his skin like an overworked engine, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets they might as well have been glued there. His jaw was locked, shoulders rigid, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him.

He didn’t understand why he was so—affected. Why his chest felt too tight. Why was his head buzzing with thoughts he didn’t want to have.

He barely even knew her.

That was the thing. That was the logical part of his brain screaming at him to get a grip, to stop acting like a lovesick idiot because this wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

Ahaana was just… Ahaana.

Sharp-tongued, impossible, breathtakingly frustrating.

And in three days, she would be gone.

He just clenched his jaw and breathed through the ache of something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

She was leaving. And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But somehow, it did.

Everyone went on with their days after their impromptu brunch session, Ahaana even bid him goodbye with a slight peck on the cheek, walking away with her phone to her year to work out the semantics of her new movie.

After that, Charles had spent the past another day and a half avoiding anything that even remotely reminded him of Ahaana.

Not that it had helped.

He had tried to keep himself busy—early morning workouts, meetings, going over race strategies, mindless drives through the city—but it was there. That feeling, lingering in the back of his mind, like an annoying hum he couldn’t shut off.

She was leaving. Tomorrow.

And the worst part? She didn’t even seem bothered by it.

He had seen her the night before, briefly. A group dinner with their usual circle, where Ahaana had been her usual, sharp-witted self, laughing and arguing with Lando, making Kelly roll her eyes, stealing bites of Max’s food without asking.

She looked fine.

Meanwhile, Charles had barely been able to focus on the conversation around him.

Every time he had glanced in her direction, there it was again—that stupid, irrational tightness in his chest. That frustration that had been eating at him since she first said those words: I have to leave in three days instead of seventeen.

Why was this bothering him so much?

Why couldn’t he just shake it off?

Why did it feel like something was ending when there hadn’t even been anything to begin with?

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply as he sat alone in his dimly lit hotel room. The city outside was alive, the distant hum of traffic filtering through the windows, but inside, it was just quiet. The kind of quiet that made his thoughts louder than they should be.

Charles hated it. He hated this feeling. And he hated that no matter how much he tried to push it away, it wasn’t leaving. Charles had never been good at ignoring things forever.

That was why, when he saw Ahaana again—just hours before her flight—he felt something snap. He reached out to her and texted her about wanting to her, she quickly sent him a pin of her location.

She was sitting at a small café, her laptop open, fingers typing away at something. She hadn’t noticed him yet, completely absorbed in whatever she was working on. The warm glow of the streetlights made her look softer somehow, more at peace than she had in the past few days.

Charles took a second to think about what he was gonna say and before he could stop himself, he walked over.

Ahaana looked up at the sound of footsteps, blinking in mild surprise when she saw him. “Charles, Hey.” He didn’t respond right away. Just pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, drumming his fingers against the table.

She frowned. “You okay?”

No.

But he just shrugged. “You leave tomorrow.” She tilted her head. “Yeah. We covered this already.”

There it was again. That casualness. That ease. Like this was just another goodbye, another trip, another moment that didn’t mean anything.

“Are you coming back?” he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

Ahaana blinked at him. “To Monaco?”

He nodded, jaw tight.

She leaned back in her chair, considering. “Not anytime soon.”

His stomach twisted. He stared at her, trying to figure out why the hell that answer bothered him so much. Maybe because she said it so easily. Like she hadn’t even thought about it. Like it wasn’t even important.

“Right,” he said, forcing a nod. “Makes sense.”

Ahaana gave him a curious look. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch something?” Charles let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Nope.” A beat of silence. Then—

“Charles, are you mad that I’m leaving?”

It was a simple question.

But it wrecked him.

Because was he?

Was that what this was?

He didn’t know. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to say it out loud. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His voice was low when he finally spoke.

“I don’t like this.”

Ahaana frowned. “Don’t like what?”

“You leaving.”

There. He said it.

And for the first time in days, he finally let himself admit that this—her—was something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

Ahaan took a breath, and paused as if thinking about what to say to him. "Okay." She sighed. "Charles, Look, I can’t do this. Not right now.”

Instead of answering, he turned on his heel and started walking, his hands clenched into fists in his pockets. He heard Ahaana scoff behind him, muttering something under her breath before her footsteps echoed his own.

The café door jingled shut behind them, the warmth of the space left behind as they stepped back onto the cool Monaco streets. The morning sun had risen higher now, casting golden streaks over the wet pavement, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"So that’s it?" Ahaana finally snapped, falling into step beside him, Him having no idea where he was headed. "You’re just going to walk away and sulk because I have to leave for work? Why are you acting like this?"

Charles let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw tight. "I’m not sulking."

She let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, really? Because it looks a lot like sulking."

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "I don’t know what you want me to say, Ahaana."

She crossed her arms, her eyes scanning his face. "I don’t want you to say anything. I just—" She hesitated, shifting on her feet, before shaking her head. "Forget it."

And just like that, she started walking again, faster this time, like she was trying to outrun whatever had settled between them.

Charles hesitated only a second before he cursed under his breath and followed.

He caught her wrist before she could slip too far ahead, his fingers wrapping gently around it—gentle, but firm enough to stop her. She turned, startled, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t pull away.

And in that moment, he just realized his surroundings.

The quiet alleyway in Monaco felt like a forgotten passage, leading straight to the endless blue of the Mediterranean. The textured stone walls, shuttered windows, and wrought-iron balconies stood in silent observation of Charles and Ahaana's story unfolding, as if taking it all in. A single lantern hung delicately above, casting a warm glow, and the uneven cobblestone path sloped gently downward, guiding the way toward an open terrace, its red-tiled edge the last barrier before the sea.

The water glimmered under the soft evening light, stretching endlessly, merging with the sky in golden and blue hues. A faint breeze stirred the stillness, carrying the scent of salt and the distant murmur of waves.

There was a rare kind of solitude here. No voices, no hurried footsteps—just the lingering warmth of the day and the vast, open horizon ahead, and two people caught in a moment that neither of them saw coming.

Charles barely had time to pull her back, his breath still heavy from the moment before, before his eyes locked onto Ahaana’s. The air between them was charged, thick with tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all night. The soft golden glow of the streetlights illuminated her face, casting delicate shadows over her features, but all Charles could focus on was the way her lips were slightly parted, the way her chest rose and fell as if she, too, was struggling to steady herself.

Ahaana didn’t move at first. Neither did he.

For a brief second, the quiet hum of the city in the distance felt deafening, but here—on this deserted street, with the Mediterranean breeze curling around them—everything else ceased to exist. It was just them.

Then, as if something inside him snapped, Charles moved.

His hands gripped her waist, and in one swift motion, he backed her up against the stone wall, the uneven surface pressing against her spine as he crowded into her space. She gasped, her fingers reaching instinctively for his shoulders, her eyes wide with something between anticipation and challenge.

He didn’t give her time to think.

His mouth was on hers in an instant, claiming her in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure, unfiltered hunger. His lips moved against hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt, his hands sliding up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

Ahaana melted against him, her grip on his shirt tightening, her body arching slightly into his. He groaned into her mouth, swallowing the soft, breathy sounds she made as their tongues tangled, as he drank in every reaction she gave him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle.

It was fire—burning, consuming, a culmination of every glance, every lingering touch, every unspoken desire that had led them here.

His hands roamed down, skimming over the curve of her hips before gripping them tightly, pulling her flush against him. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

And then—his lips left hers, trailing lower, down along her jawline.

He could feel the way her breath hitched, the way she tipped her head back slightly, as if inviting him in. Charles didn’t hesitate. His lips found the delicate skin of her neck, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the pulse point there, feeling it hammer wildly beneath his mouth.

Ahaana trembled in his arms.

He smirked against her skin before dragging his tongue over the spot, savoring the taste of her, the warmth of her. Then, with deliberate slowness, he nipped at the sensitive skin, just enough to make her gasp, to send a shudder rippling through her.

He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, her grip tightening as he continued his path downward. His lips traced along the curve of her neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses before he latched onto a spot just below her ear, sucking lightly.

Ahaana whimpered.

The sound sent something dark and possessive surging through him. He kissed her harder, his tongue flicking out to soothe the mark he’d just made before moving even lower. He was relentless, his lips and teeth exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He wanted to wreck her, to make her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

“Charles,” she breathed, her voice unsteady, her hands sliding down his chest, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Her lips were swollen, her pupils blown wide with something he knew mirrored his own.

His fingers skimmed along her jaw, then trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over the spot he had just kissed. The way she looked at him—raw, open, completely undone—nearly made him lose the last shred of control he had.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Ahaana swallowed hard, her breath still uneven, and she looked up at him with something dangerously close to surrender.

And Charles?

He knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t nearly done with her yet.

The silence between them was deafening now. Not the kind that was comfortable, the kind that made words unnecessary—but the kind that held unspoken truths, that pressed against Ahaana’s chest like an invisible weight.

She had to leave in five hours.

She hadn’t meant to let it get this far. The way Charles kissed her, touched her, looked at her—it had stripped her of all logic, all reason. But reality had a cruel way of creeping in when the moment ended, and now, standing in the dimly lit street, her lips still tingling from his, she felt the cold sting of it.

This wasn’t something she could allow herself to fall into. Not again.

Not after what happened last time.

She had been reckless before, trusting, letting herself believe in something that had felt just as electrifying, just as undeniable—until it had shattered, leaving her with nothing but scars that still ached when she thought about them. It had taken everything in her to piece herself back together, to rebuild the walls she swore she wouldn’t let anyone climb again.

And yet, Charles had scaled them effortlessly.

He was still leaning against the wall, his hands resting on his knees, his breathing uneven as if he was trying to steady himself. When he finally looked at her, she saw it—the flicker of something deeper in his green eyes. Not just desire, but something heavier. Something dangerous.

Something she couldn’t afford to chase.

“This…” She exhaled, shaking her head, even as every part of her wanted to take it back. “This isn’t a good idea.”

His jaw tensed, and for the first time since she had met him, she saw the slightest crack in that smooth, confident exterior. But it was gone in a blink, replaced by a small, almost indifferent nod. “I get it.”

She swallowed hard. “Charles—”

“No, I do,” he interrupted, pushing off the wall. He rolled his shoulders, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You have your reasons. And you’re leaving soon. It wouldn’t make sense.”

It was everything she had told herself. Everything she knew to be true. But hearing him say it back made her feel like the biggest liar in the world.

Because it did make sense.

Because for those few stolen moments, when he had kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world, it had felt terrifyingly right.

Ahaana wrapped her arms around herself, forcing her voice to stay even. “I just—I can’t let myself go through that again.”

His expression faltered, just for a second, and she wondered if he had been burned before, too. If he understood what it was like to give yourself to something only for it to slip through your fingers.

Charles took a slow step toward her, not close enough to touch, but close enough that she could see the shadows of conflict playing across his face.

“I won’t fight you on this,” he murmured. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want me, I won’t make it harder.”

But that was the problem.

She did want him. More than she should. More than she had let herself want anything in a long time.

And that was exactly why she had to walk away.

Ahaana took a step back, putting distance between them, and Charles nodded again, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back from reaching for her.

“Goodbye, Charles.”

He forced a smile, but his voice was quieter when he said, “Yeah. Take care, Ahaana.”

She turned before she could change her mind, before she could let the look in his eyes unravel the resolve she had barely managed to hold onto.

And as she walked away, every step felt like a battle between what she knew was right and what she knew would haunt her long after she was gone.

Because Charles Leclerc wasn’t the kind of man you kissed once and forgot.

And some things—some people—left a mark no matter how hard you tried to walk away.

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ᝰ.ᐟ fifth part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel @blushmimi

comment to be added to taglist

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51 notes · View notes

babybearnation · 1 day ago

Note

Pop star reader headcannons w/ Zane Maloney, Nyck De Vries, Alex Albon, Logan Sargeant, and Arthur Leclerc

Love you mwah 😚😚😚

-🦊

i love you too hehe

gn!pop star!reader

zane maloney:

your music is his new favourite thing and he will proudly tell any and everyone about it

can always be found at your concerts, silently mouthing all the words to your songs as he stares lovingly at you and no one else

appreciates the fact that you make subtle merch that can easily be incorporated into day to day life because you know it's what he prefers to rock when repping you

will sometimes brag about owning limited edition merch or special editions of your albums until someone reminds everyone else that he's your boyfriend and that's why (this doesn't happen often tho!)

nyck de vries:

uses your music as a way to motivate himself before a race - your brighter, poppier songs are his favourites for that purpose

before f1, nyck could always be found front row of your concerts, cheering you on, but post-f1, he sticks to backstage, still cheering you on but in a safer place, away from peering eyes

posts about your new music on his instagram story to hype you up to his followers because he believes you deserve all the attention

does silly little unboxings of your new albums when you are on instagram live because he actually loves interacting with you fans in all the ways he can

alex albon:

plays your music at full volume in his driver's room, annoying everyone who gets too close to it

loves interacting with your fans so will be in the crowd of any of your concerts that he can attend, hyping you up and cheering you on with the rest of your fans

gives his friends specified song recommendations from your discography as a way to get them to listen to you more

if you release a new album during the f1 season, he'll get a custom helmet made for the next race that is inspired by your album art to promote you

logan sargeant:

everyone is so tired of hearing about you and your music because logan does not shut up about you ever

hides backstage at your concerts because he wants to support you but the media is still totally down to pick on him so he prefers to stay backstage where he considers it safe

gets a small section of your lyrics tattooed on him, especially if you write a song about him, because he loves your music and wants to support you

won't admit it but he carries a copy of your newest album with him everywhere he goes because it brings him comfort

arthur leclerc:

LOVES to promote your music - treats it like it's his fucking full time job considering how often he talks about your music

loudly and proudly in the crowd of your concerts - everyone knows he's your man and will happily interact with him because he's so fun to talk to

always ready to sing your songs - he knows them all off by heart, no matter what language you sing in, and can easily win those "guess the lyric" games when its your songs

brags about all the limited edition and signed stuff of yours he has but everyone knows he's your boyfriend so they won't take him seriously at all (doesn't stop him though)

46 notes · View notes

suddencolds · 1 day ago

Text

duffel bag, packed light (yves/vincent AU fic)

Hello! Happy (definitely-not-late) Valentines day. <3 I hesitated on posting this because it's a little disjointed, but I think I need to kick it out of my drafts (go! leave!) before it gets stuck in there forever.

My kind anonymous prompter dropped some of the most fire prompts known to mankind in their submission 😭🙏 These are the two which I went with:

Write an AU oneshot that is completely different from the current Yvescent setting using a combination of 3 or more of the following emojis: 🏝️🎒🛳️🗓️📓🌧️🍱🌠🎬 + hear me out what if we got um spicy kink!Yves or kink!Vincent au 👀 and flowers or an irritant of your choosing

This whole fic is AU!Yves + AU!Vincent w/ the kink, in which they are not coworkers, but instead meet as strangers on a cruise, and Yves turns out to be allergic to something unexpected 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. I should apologize for the long exposition; the first half of this reads more like a character study. If you don't care about how they meet, you can scroll down to the section labeled "Firsts"!

—

The stranger breaks the silence first.

“It’s a nice view,” he says.

They’re on one of the rooftop floors. It’s surprisingly crowded out here—apparently Vincent’s idea to take an evening walk was far from original. Vincent looks out at the unending expanse of water before them, the sky dark, the cruise deck high enough that the waves below them are almost too small to make out.

“It is,” Vincent agrees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the ocean plenty,” the stranger says, leaning out onto the railing. The wind picks up on the strands of his light brown hair. “Assuming you’re a cruise person.”

Vincent contemplates going with the assumption. He is not obligated to tell the truth, of course—that he is terribly out of place here; that, if he’s being honest, it is a little strange and embarrassing to be here alone.

“I am not a cruise person,” Vincent says. “I won the tickets through a work raffle.”

“A work raffle?” The stranger turns to him, perking up.

Vincent nods.

“You’re kidding me,” the stranger says, suddenly animated. “You should’ve bought a lottery ticket right after, with that kind of luck.”

“I think I’ve used up all my luck reserves,” Vincent says. “Out of everyone who could have won, I may be the least suited to be doing this.”

“What does that mean? That you don’t like cruises?” When Vincent shakes his head, the stranger stills, contemplative. “Do you get seasick or something?”

“I am not the kind of person who would pay for a cruise.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have to pay for this one.”

Vincent supposes that is true. His coworkers had been happy for him when the announcement had come out—are you serious? I’m so jealous! And you’re going to love it! And Take lots of pictures! We’ll definitely be grilling you for them when you get back!—he thinks he probably ought to be happy, too, considering how expensive this kind of thing would be normally, considering how statistically unlikely it had been for him to win.

Instead, he’d felt a sort of blankness, bewilderment veering on apathy—but it would be ungrateful to turn this kind of thing down, or to sell it off to someone else, wouldn’t it? In the end, he’d nodded a little stiffly at them, and smiled, and promised them their pictures.

“And what about you?” Briefly, Vincent entertains the possibility that this stranger is someone who takes ten cruises a year—the exact opposite kind of person that Vincent is, the kind of person who likes being hundred of miles out from the nearest coast, who likes the extravagance of the room service and the on-deck waterslides and the quaint high class diners, who likes talking to strangers. “Is this your hundredth cruise?”

The stranger laughs. “It’s actually my second. I was planning to go with someone. We bought two tickets way back—not company-sponsored, by the way, though I wish they were.”

“Did they decide to call it a night early?” Vincent asks.

The stranger laughs—a short, curt laugh. Vincent cannot tell if it’s genuine. “She’s actually not here. She couldn’t make it.”

It seems strange, to Vincent, that someone might miss something as expensive as a cruise. “Something else came up?”

“To be frank, I was in a relationship with her up until two weeks ago,” the stranger says. Then he laughs again, a little self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, that’s probably too much information.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I’m sorry about the breakup.”

The stranger waves a hand. “It’s fine. She left me the tickets, which wasn’t cool, but I found someone to resell hers to, even though it was sort of last minute. Facebook marketplace is the maker of miracles. The guy who bought it is somewhere on this ship, though I don’t think I could point him out to you.”

“Are you alright?”

The stranger blinks at him. He looks a little caught off guard. “Sorry?”

“With the breakup,” Vincent clarifies. “Two weeks ago is still recent. Are you alright?”

The stranger is quiet for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you to ask,” he says, at last.

Vincent looks away from him. “That’s not an answer.”

The stars are starting to come out. The ocean stretches out, wide and dark, beyond them. The stranger says, after a moment: “With a view like this, who wouldn’t be?”

He reaches up a hand to swipe at his eyes. His sleeve doesn’t linger for very long. If Vincent weren’t looking, he might mistake the motion for something casual, something unassuming.

The stranger squeezes his eyes shut, and takes in a breath. The exhale that follows is carefully, meticulously even.

Vincent doesn’t know what it is that prompts him to open his mouth. It’s a stupid, impulsive decision, directed towards someone to which he has no allegiance. It’s entirely unlike him.

And yet.

“My cabin number’s 3-75-F.” he says, before he can think better of himself. “If you need company, or if you want to talk about how your ex was the worst person on earth, we can get dinner, or just take a walk. If you don’t, I won’t take it personally.”

He turns, starts off in the direction of the deck entrance—this is preferable, he thinks, to sticking around to hear the stranger’s response. Judging by the size of the cruise ship, there are probably two thousand people on board. Vincent tells himself that it’s statistically unlikely he will run into this particular stranger again, which means his offer doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

“Wait,” the stranger says, falling into step with him.

Vincent turns.

“That actually sounds really nice. I’m glad you offered. Dinner, tomorrow at 6?” The stranger extends a hand. When Vincent looks up, he is surprised to find that he’s smiling. “I’m Yves.”

Vincent takes it. “Vincent.” he tries to keep his surprise out of his voice. “I’ll be free.”

Yves says: “Great! I hear there’s a restaurant on the third floor which people really like. Do you like seafood?”

“Seafood’s great.”

Yves grins. “I’ll make the reservation tonight. Goodnight, Vincent.”

“Goodnight,” Vincent says, before he can second guess himself into taking it back. He has the distinct sense that he’s just gotten himself into something he’s fundamentally ill-equipped to handle.

—

In truth, the first time Yves meets Vincent is not the first time they meet. Vincent meets Yves for the first time when he’s in line to board. This, like their second meeting, is a coincidence.

—

Before.

The stranger is smiling.

The girl he’s talking is interested in him. That’s the first thing Vincent notices. It’s not a secret—it’s evident in the way she cranes her entire body towards the stranger as he speaks. Evident in the way she laughs, her shoulders shaking, after he tells her something Vincent can’t quite decipher; evident in the way her eyes snap to his hands as he gesticulates.

Briefly, Vincent wonders how they know each other. A couple? But the more Vincent watches, the more he realizes that that doesn’t make sense. His body language is so deceptively open, as if to dismantle any line upheld between the two of them, but he is careful not to touch her. Likewise, she doesn’t reach for him, even though—from the way her gaze lingers on his arm, too long, loaded—Vincent thinks she probably wants to.

Long-time friends, then? Whatever the stranger is saying is too novel, and the girl is nodding vigorously at him, now, and Vincent can see that she’s trying to make a good impression. Have they just met tonight, then? The girl rummages through her purse for her phone, pauses briefly to type something out. Holds the screen up so he can see it.

The stranger leans in, his face intimately close to her, to peer down at it, too. There is something so confoundingly thoughtless about the gesture. It is almost as though there is a gap in how long they have known each other—as if she is, to him, already a longtime friend. There is no nervousness to the way he regards her, no pointed self-consciousness.

It’s a little interesting, Vincent thinks. He wonders, briefly, if the stranger knows that she likes him.

What strikes him about the arrangement is how open he is. It’s peculiar. It is as if they are not strangers at all. He holds the conversation seamlessly, with such warmth that Vincent marvels at it, as easily as if he has known her for years.

—

Dinner.

It’s around 5:41 when Vincent hears the knock on his cabin door.

The cruise room is more comfortable than he’d expected it to be. The ship is large enough that it feels oddly stationary, and the room—despite its relatively low ceilings and narrow walkways—has an excellent view of the ocean when he pulls back the curtain—the unmoving blue line of it, the inky sky above it, the clouds low on the horizon.

Vincent, who had been half expecting Yves to not show up at all, puts his book down on the nightstand and heads towards the door.

When he opens it, Yves is dressed in a button-down collared shirt and slacks. He looks boyishly handsome, Vincent thinks—kind of like he could be a movie star, probably someone who would play a childhood-friend-turned-lover.

“You’re early,” Vincent says.

Yves checks his watch. “I guess I am. Did I catch you unprepared?”

“No, I’m ready,” Vincent says, nodding towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The living quarters on the cruise are ordered in neat rows. They head down a long hallway toward the central elevators. Yves talks about his morning—about how he’d spent his time perusing the second floor shops, how he’d played one game at a casino, won twenty dollars, and now he’s determined to never go back. (“I need to keep the net positive,” he says, “statistically unlikely as it is.” “You’re already doing better than everyone else in the casino,” Vincent says.)

The elevator ride is short. The cruise technically has fifteen floors—more if you count the partial floors at the top: the rooftop bar, the rooftop garden and grill.

“I can’t wait till we get to shore,” Yves says. “Not that the cruise isn’t nice, and all, but whenever I take a walk on deck, it never really feels like I’m stretching my legs.”

It’s Thursday evening. They’ll dock early tomorrow morning at the Amber Cove cruise island, spend a few hours there out on the beach, and then head back onto the cruise for their next stop. Vincent has packed swim trunks, sunglasses, a couple bottles of sunscreen, but the idea of going to the beach on his own feels distinctly out of character. He’s never been the kind of person to seek out experiences like this—sunny and indulgent—on his own, without someone else to pull him into them.

He supposes this isn’t really an exception. The company tickets which landed him on this ship in the first place were the catalyst to everything.

“You haven’t eaten here before,” Yves asks, as they round the corner to the door of the restaurant, “have you?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I’ve only been to the diner on the second floor.”

Yves smiles back at him. “That’s good. I don’t have to cancel my reservation, then.” “I wouldn’t have made you cancel it anyway.”

“You seem too polite to do that sort of thing,” Yves says, with a laugh. “There are too many things to do on deck for me to be dragging you to the same few places.”

Yves relays his reservation name and time to the waiter, who shows them to a table by the window. The restaurant is dimly lit—the majority of the light is coming from a single candle that sits in front of them, next to a vase of tastefully arranged flowers.

“This place is very romantic,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “I guess it is. Does that bother you?”

Vincent thinks that he can easily imagine another version of this evening—a dinner in which the seat across from Yves is occupied by his ex. An evening where they talk and laugh over a shared bottle of wine and eat the best seafood on the ship.

“I can see why you would have wanted to come here with her,” Vincent says. “I’m sure you had a lot to look forward to. I’m sorry.”

Yves glances back at him, his expression unreadable. Then he looks down. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “You didn’t have any part in it.”

“In your decision?” “In hers.” He shakes his head with a laugh that doesn’t quite show in his eyes. “It wasn’t mine to decide. She rekindled an old relationship at a bar. It was with this guy who went to the same college as the both of us, though I didn’t know him that well.”

He unfolds his cloth napkin and positions it gingerly on his lap. “I didn’t even know that they were friends, or that she would be meeting up with him. We were still together when it all happened, and then suddenly we weren’t.”

“That must have been painful for you,” Vincent says.

“I probably should’ve known better,” Yves says, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He smiles, a little self-deprecating.“I think there were probably signs that I missed. It’s the sort of thing you dwell on, you know. If everything really came out of left field, or if she’s already been falling out of love for a long time. This is depressing, but I keep thinking about—well, if maybe I could’ve done something to fix things if I’d realized it sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

Vincent looks down—at the flowers between them, arranged artfully in a shallow glass vase. “You shouldn’t have had to do anything. You shouldn’t have had to speculate at all.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It is none of his business, he knows, and besides, it’s not as though Yves has asked for his opinion. He finds himself thinking, abruptly, to Yves’s conversation with the girl in line, a couple spots ahead of him—the girl smiling, leaning close; Yves somehow reflecting back her interest with warmth.

It is part of the reason why Vincent is here, right now, if he’s honest with himself. Vincent understands exactly why people would be drawn to that particular sort of warmth. It’s the sort of warmth he doesn’t know how to cultivate, probably wouldn’t be able to cultivate, even if he tried. It is evident even now, in the way Yves seems to so readily offer his ex the benefit of the doubt, in the way his warmth extends towards her still.

“If she was having second thoughts, then she should’ve said something. You shouldn’t have been expected to read her mind,” Vincent says. Perhaps being so honest is overkill, but even if no one else in Yves’s life will say it, Vincent finds he has no such reservations. “At the very least, she should’ve ended things with you before looking for other options. Frankly, your ex sounds like a terrible person.”

Yves blinks at him, a little taken aback. “I’m sure I’m giving you a very biased impression of her. She’s a pretty reasonable person.”

“Reasonable people can do bad things,” Vincent says, crossing his arms. On some level, he understands—of course Yves, with his proximity to the problem, would not see it this way. “Your ex hooked up with someone behind your back. I find it hard to believe that someone who had your best interests in mind would do that.”

Yves seems to consider this.

“I don’t think I’ll be in the business of forgiveness anytime soon,” he says, as if he is choosing his words carefully. “You’re right to say that what she did was pretty terrible.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “But?”

Yves is quiet, for a moment.

“I think it would be easier,” he says, at last, with a small smile. “If I thought about her that way.”

It’s a confession that Vincent has already figured out. “You still think highly of her. It makes sense.”

“She was my best friend for three years.” he shakes his head, smiling. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. When I thought about a future with her, everything seemed so intuitive. Like all the problems that could come up would be things we’d already know how to work through.”

The waiter stops by their table to ask them for their choice in refreshments. Yves greets him with a polite smile—one that Vincent finds no holes in—and asks for one of the drinks on the cocktail menu. Vincent picks something at random, to match.

“Sorry,” Yves says, after the waiter leaves. “I didn’t mean to get into such a depressing tangent. We don’t have to talk about my ex. I’ll give you time to actually look over the menu.”

Vincent says, “You don’t have to apologize. I won’t take long.” He opens the menu—it is nice, he thinks, that all the food and drink is included in the cruise fare which he didn’t have to pay for—makes a mental list of all the items which look interesting, and stack ranks them in his head. Then he shuts the menu and sets it off to the edge of the table, so the waiter won’t have to lean over to pick it up.

He feels, without looking, that Yves is watching him.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re very efficient.”

Vincent meets his eyes from across the table. Yves has his own menu open, too, but he’s pretty sure Yves has been waiting for him. “You decided more quickly than I did.”

“I cheated and looked up the menu beforehand,” Yves says. “I didn’t want to subject you to my indecisiveness.”

This makes sense to Vincent—as does the early knock on his door. “You were looking forward to eating here.”

“With a hot stranger,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Yes.”

The compliment is unexpected. It settles something inside of him, something nervous and wanting, though Yves says it offhandedly enough that Vincent thinks he probably shouldn’t take it to heart. He raises an eyebrow. “Am I still a stranger? We’ve exchanged names.”

Yves laughs. “I guess we can be acquaintances, then.”

The waiter arrives with their cocktails—Yves’s has a sprig of lavender near the rim, and Vincent’s has a dried orange slice and a stem of mint—and sets them down in the middle of the table. They place their orders.

After the waiter leaves, Vincent shifts his cocktail a little closer to him. He’s not much of a drinker, but his drink of choice is usually on the sweeter side.

“Does it live up to your expectations?” Yves asks.

“The drink?”

“The cruise.”

“I don’t know if I had many expectations to begin with,” Vincent says. “The ship is bigger than I thought it would be. I’m still finding my way around.”

“Have you explored everything already?”

“Not everything.” Vincent thinks through his morning. “I walked around the shopping center, and then the fourth floor plaza.” he says. “I stopped by the theater, too, though I didn’t sit down for a show.”

He thinks, distantly, that perhaps the ship’s amenities are getting wasted on him—during his walk through the shopping center, he’d briefly thought about bringing gifts back for his coworkers and ultimately decided that if he’s going to do any shopping, it should probably be on his last day here, not his second. “I went up to the deck to see the pools. There were more distinct pools than I imagined—I had assumed they’d all be connected.”

“Did you go swimming?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you just walked around all twelve of the pools,” Yves says, incredulous, “without ever getting in?”

Vincent can see how this fact could potentially be off-putting. “The pools were all pretty crowded. I decided it’d be more symbolic if the first time I change into a swimsuit is tomorrow, after we dock.”

It isn’t entirely the truth. Truthfully—and he thinks this might be worse—he’d been more preoccupied with taking pictures of everything—nicely framed shots of the different pools, the different entrances of the shopping center, the crowds gathered around the theater for the midday show—half so he can have something to show his coworkers when he gets back to work (and thus, dispel any accusations of his own ungratefulness around winning) and half so he can have something to send back to his family (particularly Ji-Sung, who he thinks will get a kick out of seeing all of the amenities).

“You’re really serious about this,” Yves says, looking strangely amused. “Are the vacations you go on always so structured?”

Vincent says, “something like that. The cruise is not the main attraction, anyway.”

“For some people, it is.”

“For the same people who make it a mission to take a swim in all twelve of the pools, maybe,” Vincent says, and Yves smiles.

Yves, as it turns out, is an easy person to talk to. Vincent finds out that he doesn’t get seasick—or carsick, for that matter—but that he feels a little claustrophobic if he doesn’t go up to the deck (“to remind me that we’re actually still making progress towards some destination,” he says. “That way, I don’t feel as though I’m trapped in some giant feat of human engineering.”) He finds out that Yves has two siblings, both of them younger; that most of his extended family lives in france; that he likes vacationing in warm places; that the next time he steps foot onto a cruise, it will probably be with his younger sister and his younger brother. That he’d been working late for three weeks in a row to make this trip happen; that it feels a little wrong, now, to have nothing pressing to do.

It turns out to be a nice night, after all.

—

Firsts.

The cologne is an offhanded purchase.

It’s not something Vincent thinks much about when he picks it up. It’s on the third day that he purchases it, after he holds too long of a conversation with the sales assistant—who seems to have an uncanny ability for translating whatever it is he says into one recommendation, and another, and another—to feel like he can walk away unguiltily. In the end, he settles with a tall, sleek bottle with a wooden cap. The cap is lined in gold—to suggest that this is a classy choice, presumably—to match the serif lettering on the front, which says Wood & Flame.

It’s not something he intends on using, either—that is, until Yves messages him, dinner? And then, a moment later: feeling kind of lazy tonight. Mb we can order in

Vincent texts back, Sure. Let’s order in. 6:30?

Yves’s response is immediate. You haven’t been to my room yet, right? I can host :)

It doesn’t mean anything, Vincent thinks, that the dress shirt he picks out is the newest one he owns, that he spends time ironing the creases out of it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, when he lingers longer than usual in front of the bathroom mirror, suddenly apprehensive. Yves is asking him out of friendly camaraderie, and nothing more. He runs another hand through his hair, catches himself, lowers it. Fixes his tie, straightens his collar, finds himself having to fix it again.

With a hot stranger, Yves had said, as if it was nothing. So offhandedly it seemed almost like it didn’t even matter—a throwaway comment, maybe.

The cologne is an afterthought—he spritzes some on his wrists, and then, upon further thought, sprays some in behind his ears. It’s probably not going to be noticeable anyways, unless Yves gets close enough, which is unlikely. The scent of it is somewhat mild, understated—that had been one of the factors which had led him to pick it up in the first place—even when he lifts his wrist to his face, it’s not nearly as obvious as he expects it to be.

The bottle is large enough that it seems as though it will never run out—the liquid in it seems to be at the same level as before, even though he feels like he’s been generous enough in his application of it. He’s starting to think he won’t have enough occasions to wear it to.

Perhaps he will get some mileage out of this purchase tonight. Or perhaps, optimistically, this bottle will last him the rest of his life, he’ll never have to shop for cologne again in his lifetime. If he thinks about it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a financially bad investment.

—

Through his walk down the long, narrow hallway, and up two flights of stairs, Vincent prepares himself for the moment when Yves opens the door.

He’s still caught off guard, though, when the door swings open. Yves is dressed in a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—the shirt is loose-fitting, but the way the fabric tightens around his arms does not do a good job of obscuring the muscle definition underneath—and well-fitted khaki chinos. His light brown hair is tied up in its usual low ponytail, but the strands which were too short to secure are tucked behind his ear.

“You made it!” He grins—it’s the kind of charming smile that completely overtakes his features—and steps aside to let Vincent in. “Now you can compare how different the rooms are three floors up.”

Vincent looks past him, at the arrangement of the room. “It looks like the same elements have undergone a few different transformations,” he says. “The wall art in this room looks more like it’s trying to remind you what you’re here for.”

Yves follows his gaze to the large landscape painting which hangs in the living room, to the right of the TV. It’s a watercolor drawing of waves crashing onto a white sand beach, except it’s drawn in a way that the waves closer to shore are saturated and dazzling, and the waves further from the shore fade out in color into the horizon. There’s faint detailing of buildings in the distance, too. Vincent is pretty sure it’s supposed to be the shoreline of Nassau, which they’re set to dock at two days from now.

“Huh,” Yves says. “It’s sort of like it’s taunting me. What’s in yours?”

“Mostly abstract art,” Vincent says. “Aside from that, a photograph of a conch shell, up close. There’s also a photograph of a ship out at sea, with no land in sight.”

Yves laughs. “That’s pretty ironic. I heard that lower floors are better for seasickness. It would probably suck to be seasick, and then when you look up you’re forced to look at some sailboat in the middle of nowhere. Super on-the-nose.”

Vincent smiles. “It’s probably a good reality check.” he presses closer in to leave his jacket—which he is realizing now that he doesn’t need, but which he brought with him just in case, on the occasion that their evening culminates in a night-time walk on the deck—folded on Yves’s couch. “Were you thinking of ordering room service?”

“Yep,” Yves says. “I think everything on there is complimentary except for the wine. Do you need the room service menu?”

“I took a look at it already,” Vincent says. “I recalled that a certain someone does his research early.”

Yves looks briefly taken aback. Then he laughs. “You caught me. I totally did look at it beforehand. Though I was ready to act indecisive if you needed more time.”

“Very gentlemanly,” Vincent says. “Should we call in?”

Yves ends up calling for room service, on both of their behalf. (“That sounds really good,” he says, when Vincent recites his order to him. “It was probably my second choice.” “You can try some when it comes,” Vincent says.) He orders wine, too, to share, and waves off Vincent’s offer to split the cost.

After that, they settle on the living room couch. Yves says: “I’m thinking we can put something on while we wait for dinner to arrive? But probably not something you care about too much, because I might talk over it.” he passes the remote over to Vincent.

Vincent flips through the channels. There’s some sitcom which is playing which seems somewhat suitable, up until one of the couples gets into a sincere-seeming argument onscreen and Vincent thinks that, considering Yves’s semi-recent breakup, maybe everything with romance should be quietly vetoed. He eventually settles on one of those reality TV shows where people have to partake in increasingly difficult obstacle courses in order to not get eliminated.

“These are always fun,” Yves says. “You know about hysterical strength? I’ve always wondered if being nervous on these kinds of shows helps you or hurts you.”

He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his eyes. Vincent looks over at him with a frown.

“Are you tired?”

“No,” Yves says. He blinks, and then sniffles—if Vincent isn’t mistaken, his eyes are a little watery.

“Bored of the competition already?”

“Not at all. I think these kinds of shows are manufactured so that you can’t get bored.”

“There’s probably an optimal amount of nervousness,” Vincent says, “to answer your question. I’ve found that to be true with public speaking.”

“Huh,” Yves says. “Does your work require a lot of public speaking?”

“Not particularly. Mostly internal presentations, occasionally a conference.” He looks over at Yves. “If you weren’t tired before, talking about my work is going to make you tired for sure.”

Yves laughs. “No way. I love hearing about other people’s work.”

“It’s not very life or death. There are no obstacle courses. Just a lot of regression analysis.”

Yves blinks at him. “Do you work in business, by any chance?”

Vincent nods. “I’m a quantitative analyst.”

“Huh,” Yves says, contemplative. “I heard it’s very competitive.” He sniffles again, quietly enough that it almost goes unheard. “You must be good at math.”

“A small subset of math,” Vincent says. “What do you work in?”

“Wealth management. It’s a little more client-centric, so I had to plan pretty far ahead to take time off for thihh-!” The inhale is sharp, unexpected. They’re sitting close enough to each other that Vincent can feel Yves stiffen beside him, can feel the sharp upwards stutter of his shoulders as his breath hitches again. “hHeh-!” He pivots away from Vincent, burying his face into his elbow—polite, Vincent thinks—and then, after a long, torturous moment, loses the fight to a loud, vocal, “HhHEh-IIDZschH-iEEw!”

Vincent wills himself not to look. “Bless you,” he says, staring straight ahead. Onscreen, a contestant loses her balance on a high mounted totem and drops straight down into the water, much to the dismay of her teammates. It is a wholly ineffective means of distraction.

Yves’s sneeze—like Yves—is painfully Vincent’s type.

“Ugh,” Yves says, sniffling again. He lowers his elbow slowly. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You said you had to plan far ahead to take time off,” Vincent says. It’s no small miracle that he remembers this.

“Right, yeah,” Yves says, and launches into a story about the hoops he’d had to jump through to make sure all the clients he was assigned to would have their needs accounted for.

“That’s a lot of work for a week’s absence,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “Yeah. Sometimes the pickier clients really hate the idea of not getting round-the-clock attention. I’m— hh-! hHEH-!” He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his nose, though the look of ticklish irritation doesn’t quite leave his expression—Vincent really shouldn’t have looked. After a moment, he lowers his hand, takes in another uncertain breath, as if he’s still testing the waters. “Ugh, I lost it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. This must be distracting for you.”

Distracting is an understatement. “Don’t worry about it,” Vincent says. “Is it worse during tax season?”

“Oh, yeah. No one in their right mind really takes off during tax season, snf-! It’s not like, officially against any rules, but it’s pretty openly acknowledged as one of those suggestions that’s not actually very optional. That doesn’t affect you guys as much, does it?”

“No,” Vincent says. “My free time is mostly dependent on project deadlines.”

“The ticket you won happened to not conflict with any of those?”

“I brought my work laptop with me,” Vincent says, a little sheepishly.

Yves’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“It’s not like I’m working long hours,” Vincent says. “Just some catch-up work, here and there. I don’t want there to be any surprises when I get back.”

“Always putting out fires,” Yves says, shaking his head. “It’s probably good that you won the—” He reaches over to lay a hand on Vincent’s arm—presumably as a comforting gesture—only he wrenches away at the last second. “The— Hheh-! Hh… hHEH-!” There’s another brief pause, as though whatever is affecting him has left him stranded again on the precipice of a sneeze. For a moment, Vincent prepares himself mentally for another false start.

But then Yves takes in another sharp, ticklish breath, and it turns out to be enough to set him over the edge. “hh’hEHh’iITSSSCHh-EEw!”

The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist to meet the crook of a hastily-raised arm. It’s just as attractive as the first, if not more—Vincent can hear his voice in the ending syllable, can hear the ticklish desperation in the release. Yves keeps his face buried in his elbow for a moment longer, sniffling wetly.

It takes everything in Vincent to not visibly shiver. What are the chances, really, that the attractive stranger-slash-acquaintance he’s having dinner with—someone who, when this cruise is over, he probably will never see again—just happens to have a sneeze which happens to be perfectly aligned with his tastes?

“Bless you again,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine,” Yves says, with another sniffle, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t think I’m getting sick. I was fine earlier.”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Yves says. “No seasonal allergies. Nothing pet-wise, either.”

Vincent tries, and fails, to think of what else might be causing this. The cabins seem too clean, too well-ventilated, to be dusty. There are no flowers anywhere in sight. Is Yves coming down with something, then? But he’d said I don’t think I’m getting sick, with the certainty of someone who probably isn’t.

“Let me know if you start feeling worse,” Vincent says.

Yves smiles at him. “I will. I’m really fine, I promise. It’s just—” he reaches up with a hand to rub his nose. A distant look crosses his expression for a moment—as though he’s warring against the need to do something about it—before his breathing levels off. “—tickish, snf! Not unpleasant.”

The sneezing doesn’t stop. Yves, for the most part, proceeds as though he’s completely unaffected by it—he’s no quieter than usual. It’s as though every time he feels the need to sneeze, he is intent on ignoring it until the need is too pressing to ignore. When that happens, he turns away just in time, except for a couple close calls when he misjudges and instead doubles forward with a sneeze directed into his lap, sniffling afterwards.

Vincent blesses him intermittently, but otherwise offers up no comment. Yves apologizes sheepishly, after the fourth or fifth sneeze, for interrupting the show. Vincent doesn’t tell him that he probably couldn’t care less about the show. Truthfully, he has no clue what’s going on onscreen anymore—obstacle course shows are interesting, but not that interesting.

Dinner arrives not too long after. Vincent can barely focus on the seafood pasta he’s ordered, though he offers Yves a bite, as promised. Yves unfolds one of the napkins room service leaves for them and blows his nose quietly into it. He sniffles afterwards—as though his nose is properly running, now—and resumes talking as usual.

Vincent crosses his legs, does his best to ignore the heat radiating below his stomach. This is really bad timing. The entire inexplicable setup—the fact that they’re sitting so close to each other; the fact that he can physically feel Yves tense beside him, rigid with anticipation, his shoulders jolting upwards with every inhale—is honestly nothing short of torturous.

It’s worse, too, that Vincent can see the ticklish irritation in Yves’s features—the crease of his eyebrows, the fluttering eyelashes, the sharp, uncontrolled gasp—before he wrenches forward with another desperate sneeze. It’s always a full-body endeavor—something that snaps him forward at the waist, leaves him bent over, a little breathless, sniffling wetly.

It absolutely doesn’t help that the underside of Yves’s nose is slightly flushed red, now, from the unusual attention—perhaps this is to be expected, seeing as Yves keeps rubbing it. More than once, Vincent contemplates asking to use Yves’s bathroom, and subsequently, well, getting rid of the problem at hand. Yves has no idea what this is all doing to him. After all, how would he know?

It’s only when they’re almost done with dinner that it clicks.

“Hold on,” Vincent says. Yves had said he wasn’t allergic to anything, but there’s a first time for everything, right? Particularly, there’s always a first time exposure to allergens. That first time might come later in life for those that are less commonplace.

It seems glaringly obvious, in hindsight. Yves hadn’t been sniffling when he’d opened the door for Vincent, had he? From the way he’d reacted to the first sneeze, it didn’t seem like this has been going on for long.

But of course. He’d been so focused on the environment that he hadn’t considered it. There’s only one thing Vincent did tonight which was pointedly out of the ordinary.

The realization leaves him feeling suddenly cold.

“Yves.” Vincent flinches away. “I think I know what’s causing this.”

Yves pauses. “What is it?”

“I’m wearing new cologne,” he says. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I didn’t think much of it when I was applying it.” He feels a little like an asshole, now that they’re discussing it. It wasn’t his intention to leave Yves suffering. He hadn’t known. But still, the fact that they’ve been sitting in such close proximity this whole time definitely hasn’t helped.

The last thing he wants to do right now is look at Yves, but he forces himself to, anyway—wrenches his gaze upwards until he meets Yves’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve made the connection earlier.”

Yves blinks at him. He doesn’t seem as upset about this as Vincent thinks he should be—strangely, he doesn’t seem upset at all. “Are you saying you think I’m allergic?”

“Allergic, or sensitive, yes,” Vincent says, frowning. “In any case, I take full responsibility. I should probably just—”

“Wait,” Yves says, reaching out with a hand to latch onto Vincent’s wrist. “I haven’t been allergic to anything before.”

“It’s probably not something common,” Vincent says, wondering if he should pull away.

“You applied it to your wrists?” Yves asks.

Vincent nods, a little stiffly. He doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. It feels like Yves’s fingertips are burning holes into his arm.

Everything that happens after happens in a flash. Yves tightens his grip around Vincent’s wrist, pulls it gently towards him, and leans down to take a long, indulgent inhale.

Vincent feels all of the blood drain from his face. He rounds on Yves, wide-eyed. “What are you—?”

The reaction is almost immediate. Yves drops Vincent’s arm as if he’s been scalded. He shuts his eyes, barely turns to the side in time for a harsh, “hhEHH’iiDZZSHH-iEW!”

The sneeze is so forceful he coughs a little afterwards, his eyes watering. His shoulders jerk upwards again, his nose twitching. “hHEH… HEHH… hehH’IITSSCHh-EEW! Ugh… coughcough, you’re right, it’s defidetely… hHEH—!!”

Vincent can only watch, frozen in place, as Yves jerks forward again, burying his nose into his sleeve. “IHHHh’DZschH-IIEW! Snf-!” He lowers his arm slightly—Vincent can see him scrunching his nose up, trying to rid himself of what must be the worst tickle he’s been faced with all night. That thought sends a wave of electricity down Vincent’s spine. “Hh-hHeh-! Definitely the cologne that’s… hh-! that’s… hEHH… setting me… hh… HhEH’IDDzShHH-IIEW!! —off, snf, f-fuck… hh-Hehh-hhEHH’IITTSHhh-IIEEW!” The sneeze explodes from him, barely contained, snapping his entire body forward with the sheer intensity. Yves barely manages a breath in between before he’s doubling over with another: “IIIiDDDzSCHHh-YyiEW!”

Vincent swallows hard. He’s, well, so turned on that he can barely speak. It feels a little like the heat he feels—more of a full-body-flush, at this point—might actually melt the clothes off of his arms. “Bless you.” It’s remarkable that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

He stands, heads over to the coffee table to retrieve a small box of tissues. Takes in a deep breath.

When he gets back to the couch, Yves has cupped both his hands over his nose and mouth. Vincent tilts the opening of the tissue box towards him without comment.

“Thadks,” Yves says, with a laugh. He takes a handful and blows his nose. “I needed those. That was probably ndot the best idea, in hindsight.”

Understatement of the fucking century. Vincent stares at him, disbelieving. “Your first idea after learning you’re allergic to something is to test it out?”

“Scientific rigor, and whatnot,” Yves says. “I had to be sure. Like I said, I’ve never actually been allergic to something before. This was quite the… hHeh-!” He raises the handful of tissues back up to his face, his gaze going unfocused. “Just a sec—hh… hH… hHEH’IIDZSCHh-IIEW! snf!”

“Bless you,” Vincent says. “I guess this answered your question, then.” Yves laughs. “It definitely did.”

“I think you—” Vincent places the tissue box—which is at risk of falling off the edge of the couch—directly into Yves’s lap. “—should take this.” He takes a cautious step backwards. “And I should go take a long shower back in my room.”

Yves looks up at him, still a little teary-eyed. “It doesn’t bother me that much,” he says earnestly. “It’s just sneezing. I don’t mind it.” Just sneezing. Vincent shakes his head.

Yves stills, his expression probing. “Unless…” His voice comes out a little softer, now. Uncertain. “...Unless it bothers you?”

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Not in the sense that Yves means it, at least.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Vincent says. “But I’ve been in your situation before, so I know what it feels like. I… know it isn’t pleasant.”

This information seems to surprise Yves. “You’ve experienced this before too?”

Vincent nods. “Every spring, more or less. I’m allergic to tree pollen.” His face feels hot from the admission—it feels strangely inappropriate to be admitting this, but then again, it’s not as though he’s bringing it up out of nowhere. “You can imagine that’s harder to avoid than a singular kind of cologne.”

Yves’s eyes widen. “That sounds terribly - hhEH-! hH… HEHh’iITSHH-iIEWW! snf-! terribly incodvenient. I can’t imagine having to deal with this feeling for an edtire season.”

“It is. That’s why I don’t want to subject you to this for longer than I have to.” He steps past Yves to grab his jacket from the couch, which he ties around his waist. It will be better for both of them if he leaves now. “I really should shower and get changed. Your symptoms are not going to get better if I stick around.”

Yves seems to be coming around to this. “Sorry to have to end things off early,” he says, frowning. “You came all the way here.”

“It was barely a walk,�� Vincent says. “And this wouldn’t have happened if not for me. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yves says, with a laugh. “It was an illuminating experience. I’ll see you, then?”

The possibility is so fleeting that Vincent almost dismisses it. Could Yves really be disappointed?

“I have some Claritin back in my room,” Vincent says, trying his luck, though a part of him recognizes that this kind of confidence is categorically unlike him. “We can resume our night when you can get through two sentences without having to sneeze.” And after Vincent takes care of something else, and preferably spends enough time in his room flipping through boring travel pamphlets and sensational catalogues to get his mind out of the gutter, so he can face Yves again with some semblance of normalcy. “...If you still want to.”

Yves brightens.

“Of course,” he says, with sincerity. “I’ll look forward to it.”

#sneeze kink #snz kink #sneeze fic #snz fic #ocpromptexchange #😭 to be honest it was sort of relief to write an au fic... i felt a little less like i was betraying whatever i wrote in canon :')#i feel a slight need to apologize for the fact that there's a time skip in the middle of this (+ a few missing scenes in between);#i'm not sure how much vanilla interaction people would want to read? (this fic is probably already pushing the limits 😭)#anyways. i have wanted to write kink vincent for awhile 🙏#not sure if this does him justice (or if this is even spicy at all 😭)#a part of me feels compelled to scrap this and write something spicier. but i really need to banish this from my drafts #so i hope someone enjoys 🥲#yvverse #au yvverse #kink vincent #my fic #p.s. thank you dearly to the prompter (whoever you are) 😭 i feel so honored to have received such thoughtful prompts and good ideas 🙇‍♀️#the real au is the suddencolds who wrote an allergy fic hahah haha because she never... okay sorry i am hitting post

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