#in other news I wrote a letter just now and now my hands are stained green with ink which is fun | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burningcheese-merchant · 2 months ago

Note

yandere cheese drabbles? 🤲

Merry Crimmus to you all, my gift is more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese things today

Can't think of a story title atm, buuutttttt here is a story nevertheless 😘

Tucked under a cut because this AU is still fucked lol

"I hate you."

How long has it been since she wrote that? How long ago did she take her seat beside her desk, pull out this paper, and bring her pen to it, only for nothing but those three words to bleed out of the ink?

Sucking in a sharp breath and steeling herself, Golden Cheese at last forced her hand to move again.

"I hate you. I loathe you. You are a sick, miserable, disgusting monster. It is only by the grace of the gods that you still live, and this world shall be a brighter, happier place when you no longer do."

There. That was one thought out of the way. Given life in the waking world. Now she just needed to keep going.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you torment me this way? What have I done to deserve it?"

She paused, briefly considering adding "If you utter even a single word about the Soul Jam, I'll rip yours out of your chest and grind it into a fine powder", but decided against it and continued.

"How can you inflict such untold suffering onto others? Onto complete strangers? How many lives have you ended? How many families have you torn apart? How many hopes and dreams have you cleaved in two with that axe? And for what? For me? When I never asked or wanted you to? What in cheese's name is wrong with you?"

She stopped again, peeking over her shoulder at the shelf by her bed - the one hiding the locked metal door, leading to... her collection. A shiver crept up her spine when she realized that the shelf was slightly ajar; she hadn't taken good enough care to close it all the way after leaving earlier that day...

"And on top of it all, you burden me with these... with these so-called gifts," she wrote when she turned back to face her little work-in-progress. "These tokens of... what? Your affection? You call this affection? You think handing a woman the blood and viscera of your hapless victims is how you win her heart? What parasite burrowed into your brain and took control of your senses to make you think this way?

"You sicken me, Burning Spice. Well and truly. You are selfish, wicked and unfathomably cruel. You are a blight on all mankind. You are hardly a step above a rabid animal. I should have put you down and spared us all of this chaos ages ago."

She stopped and set the pen down. Her eyes bore into the last sentence she wrote, unblinking. Dragging along each word, back and forth, over and over again for what may as well have been an eternity.

She should have killed him already. He should be long dead. She should have saved the world as well as herself by now.

But...

... Shaking her head, she moved the letter aside and grabbed another piece of paper. That train of thought is done. Time for another one.

"You curse me, Burning Spice. Not only with your presence, not only with your words, not only with your heinous actions... You curse me with the aftermath of it all, as well. I alone am burdened with the end results of all of your lovesick rampages. I have a closet full of severed heads because of you! Innocent men and women who have been denied their lives and their dignity to satisfy your sick infatuation with me! I struggle each and every day to find their names and identities so I may return them to their loved ones, in an act of penance on both of our parts, because I am as much of a sinner as you for even having them!!!"

She always had blood to wipe off of her hands every time she went into that room. That precious ichor, now cold and sticky, staining her delicate, flawless skin as she carefully tended to the new additions and tidied up the old ones. Every single time.

Not a single head ever left that room. She did all the work of uncovering who these poor, unfortunate souls were, and then... left it at that. Left those souls trapped in limbo. In that cold closet, behind that cold metal door. Never to see the light of day again.

Every visit inside that little den of sin only made the excuses she comforted herself with grow weaker and weaker.

"I don't understand you. I have tried, and tried, and tried with all of my might, to no avail whatsoever. Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this? What do you stand to gain? Is this really how you wanted to live your miserable life?"

Wait.

... Who was she writing this to?

She shook her head again - harder this time - and set the letter aside, on top of the first. No more. Next thought.

"I hardly sleep anymore. I'm haunted by the things you do. The things I do. The things I DON'T do. Why have you done this to me? Why won't you stop?"

... No. No more. Into the pile. Next thought.

"You-" Her hand was starting to tremble, smudging the ink. Another deep breath and an attempt to still herself kept her moving along. "You don't hurt children. You listen to me only this one time, for this one instance. How kind of you. How sweet. How thoughtful. Why you do it, I don't know; all life seems the same to you. Just a sea of useless little flesh automatons for you to toy with and crush as you see fit. Why do you obey the line I draw? Why does it matter? Is this the one shred of conscience that yet remains within the black hole your soul resides in?"

No more. She can't think of children. It didn't matter that Burning Spice listened to her and didn't harm them; the mere possibility was too much. Too horrible. Next thought.

"You drive me mad. You never leave my mind. Front, back, the spaces between. You consume my thoughts. Your image has been engraved into the insides of my eyelids. I even DREAM of you now, so oppressive is the hold you have over me. I can't bear it. The guilt. The shame. You curse me."

Next.

"It's a waste. You're a waste. Your entire life is a waste. You could've been someone worthwhile. Someone who made this world more bearable. You have the power, you have the means. Yet you always choose yourself. You were a hero once upon a time, there's no reason you cannot be one again. What a waste."

Next.

"Or were you not? You were never truly a hero, were you? You did it for the praise. For the gold and jewels. For the scores of people chanting your name, building statues in your honor. Selfishness. Arrogance. You're a thief. A coward. A fool."

Who- no, who is this? Who is this for, again?

"I hate you. I HATE YOU. I WANT TO KILL YOU. I WISH TO SEE THE LIGHT IN YOUR DEVIL'S EYES DIM AS I END YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. YOUR FEELINGS MEAN NOTHING. YOU ARE SICK! DERANGED! THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED WAS YOURSELF, AND EVERY COURSE OF ACTION YOU TAKE ONLY SERVES TO PROVE IT MORE AND MORE!"

Her hands were trembling violently now. Ink splotches stained the pages. Deep, dark dots. Jagged streaks. Small, delicate fingerprints hovering above certain words.

"I want you."

Same as the very first letter, Golden Cheese stopped and stared down at the page with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so. Your voice shoots through my ears and drills into my skull each time you speak. I never want you to stop talking. Why do you ever stop talking?"

His voice. That deep baritone that went from silky smooth to hot and rough effortlessly. Did he do it just to get to her? To rile her up? Did he know what his voice did to her?

It was working.

"Did your eyes always look the way they do? Is the fire within them ever-burning? Were they taken from a demon and given to you the day you were born? Why do I still feel them raking over me, consuming me, even long after we've parted ways? Why do you always seek to set me ablaze?"

"It's a waste. Really. A waste. You're a good-looking man. You could've lived a normal life. You could've found a nice girl and-"

And? And? And what?

"You could've used that face and voice and those eyes of yours to charm someone and-"

And? Why can't she finish the thought? Why did her heart pound against her ribcage so hard it ached every time she tried?

"You you would you could have you could've been a normal reasonable good man and had a wife and children-"

She took the page and crumpled it, tossing it at the wall.

"I want you. I want your voice in my ears. I want your eyes devouring me. I want to hold your face in my hands. I want you to give me another one of those hellish grins of yours. I want to feel you sink your teeth into me. I want to taste your lips. I want to feel your tongue caress mine. I want to feel your hot breath in my mouth, on my skin. I want your hands on me. All over me. I want you to touch me. You've told me about all the things you want to do to me- do it. Do them. I'm sick of waiting and so are you. Why do you tease us both like this? Do it. Touch me. Taste me. Break my bones. Break my bed. Praise me, call me a goddess, worship me. Worship me like you have been all this time. Tell me you love me. Tell me you adore me. That you'll die without me. That you'll slaughter us all for my sake. Do it. DO IT. Praise me, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, just fuck me, Burning Spice, PLEASE-"

No. No, no, no. Not this. She can't say any of this. She can't. SHE CAN'T.

"YOU'RE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME NOW. IS THIS NOT THE LEAST YOU OWE ME FOR WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU'RE MINE! MINE! YOUR TROPHIES ARE MINE! YOUR BODY IS MINE! YOUR HEART IS MINE! ALL MINE! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN CONSIDER DOING ANY OF THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE!"

"YOU'RE MINE"

"YOU'RE ALL MINE"

"I HATE YOU"

She slammed her fists down onto the desk with such force that cracks formed in their wake. Out of the chair, away from the desk, out of her bedroom she went. Rushing down the hall. All but throwing herself out the nearest door. Taking off into the sky with a quickness that made her wings ache.

So absorbed in her failed therapy session was she, that she never noticed that the eyes of the marble snake adorning the decorative tree Burning Spice had given her had been glowing the entire time. Nor did she know that he himself, that object of her ire and her sick affection, was lounging on his throne, watching her fall apart with that devil's grin she loved so much.

----------------

Hope this is good. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. New installment in the Accidental Yandere AU, there shall be more soon. Happy Crimmus 🎄

#cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #cookie run au #I don't have a name for this AU yet lol I'll think of something eventually #suggestive

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jul-27 · 2 months ago

Text

I write this as a song hums through my headphones, each note stirring memories I’ve tried to lay to rest. It guides my hand to capture the weight of these final days of the year. As 2025 approaches, I return to the subject of love—not the kind that blooms gently, but the kind that cuts too deeply to ignore. It’s a love that tightens my chest, knots my throat, and draws tears that stain the pages of this letter.

A letter to myself. A letter to you. A letter to us.

It feels foolish, doesn’t it? To imagine these words might ever find their way to you. Or perhaps they will. Perhaps they’ll arrive too late to matter. Maybe. That word alone unravels me. It’s the maybes, the what ifs, the endless unknowns—they consume me, gnawing at my mind and leaving me restless. They haunt me, stealing my nights and searching for you in the empty corners of my home.

518 days. That’s how long it’s been since I last wrote to you, since I tore my heart open and handed it to you with trembling hands. I spilled my truth, bare and unguarded. And after all this time, I still ache for just one final conversation. My head falls into my hands, my body folds in defeat. I lost. I lost you.

Disappointment drapes over me. I’ve been maddeningly blind, chasing shadows of something that no longer exists. How could I have been so naive? So stubbornly delusional, clinging to something that slipped through my fingers like sand? I wander through the wreckage of my memories, hoping to catch the scent of you, to feel you in the wind. But you’re gone. And I must face it now: my heart still calls your name, but yours no longer answers.

You’ve healed in ways I have not. While you sprint toward new horizons, I’m stranded here, drowning in a past that refuses to let me go. I’ve spent too long clutching at a story I thought was unwritten. I’ve kept the book open, but now I must close it.

When I speak of you, they say my eyes light up. But they don’t see the sadness beneath, the weight of a love I’ve carried alone. My eyes gloss over as I lie in bed, locked in a battle between heart and mind, knowing I’m losing to both. I love you. I loved you.

But I can’t survive the myth of you any longer—the version I clung to, the image of you that only lives in my dreams. You’re a soul tie that binds me in barbed wire, and I’ve been bleeding out for far too long.

518 days ago, I swore to let you go. I lied. But as this year ends and a new one dawns, I must finally break free.

This song, the one playing now, feels like us. Like two souls reaching for each other, knowing they’ll never truly meet again. But the truth will always remain: I once prayed that man would be you.

You know who you are.

This is the last time I write of you.

#mine

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justporo · 6 months ago

Text

A Scorching Letter

Brimsterton | A Staevstarion Regency AU

PREVIOUS PART | MASTERLIST | AO3

A/N: Yes hello, I know I haven't posted something I wrote in quite a while. Let's just say I've been busy, but mostly behind the scenes. This however I had written quite a while ago (end of June I think) and I need to get back into the saddle again with posting. So here we are, another trip into Regency AU with @velnna's beloved Staeve (thanks as always for letting me stick him in a costume) and Astarion. Picking off where we left off after the chaise longue incident.

Summary: With a lot mixed feelings after what almost happened between them, a scorching letter is written that reveals genuine truths and brilliant emotions. But the response might not have been what either of them had hoped for...

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve Wordcount: 5,1k Warnings: light implied nsfw

-----

Hands hastily tore open an envelope. On it, in elegant cursive handwriting that couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but Astarion’s, a name was written, boldly and with gold ink even: Staeve Brimstone.

Shivering fingers took several pages from the torn away paper and unfolded them. Immediately, it was visible that the letter had been written with a plethora of intense emotions: some parts seemed barely readable as if the pen had scarcely made its way across the paper in hesitancy. Others were quite obviously written with such vigour, that the sheets were almost torn and stained with blots of ink from a pen that had been pressed too harshly and hastily onto the paper - way too eager to get out the words.

The hands holding onto the letter kept trembling as the letter was studied. It read:

“My dearly beloved Staeve,

It seems we’ve gotten ourselves in quite the compromising position, haven’t we?Apparently, we do have a knack for this kind of thing, don’t you agree? It is nothing new for either of us, truly. How often have we gotten in trouble for something over the years? Quite frankly it might be a big part of the reason why my parents will finally be sending me off to the continent. I figure they fear what two - now grown - young men could get themselves into. And wouldn’t they be right?

A million times have we conspired together. A million plans. A million times it was us against the world. Together.

To our own surprise we haven’t always been discovered. But then again too often than we would have hoped. And yet we have always gotten out of a cornered situation.

This time it is different though.

I take it your sister hasn’t taken notice of what has happened that night. Or it might be that she doesn’t care - I was never able to read her well. And I do not dare to push her on the matter.

What could have happened had we been discovered in that moment? Truly discovered?

But to be quite frank that isn’t what I am concerned with. Not if I am being honest with myself.

You know I am a man of few regrets, Staeve. But I do regret having left like I did that fateful night. My mind kept whispering malicious things to me while my chest was burning, set ablaze by you and your lips. My heart was prepared to scream it all from the rooftops. But yet my anxious mind had me flee like lest we be found out.

But yet my heart keeps burning, the flames impossible to smother. I promise you I’ve tried. Only to find them flickering higher, brighter, hotter, whenever I tried.

And it has been hard to calm it for even just a moment since that fateful night on that chaise longue.

In the end, it has won over my mind even quicker than I thought as I still feel my chest burn with every single beat of my yearning heart. This is what my mind has been toiling with. This and the enticing idea of what would have happened had we not been disturbed, this impossible game of “what if”.

Would we have lost ourselves within each other, unravelled by our hands and touches. Would we have been void of words with only our bodies to speak the yet unspoken? Would we have gone all the way into oblivion together torn and then reformed together. And all to only be unravelled again and again until there had been nothing left but strings?

Strings we might have been able to have knitted into something new, something thoroughly intertwined?

Only the heavens may know.”

The words at the end of this page were thin; anxiously so. The author’s worries and fears clear already by how the words seemed to trail off at the bottom. In hopes perhaps, that they could just be shaken off the page lest they fall on deaf ears.

The next fresh page though started with bold writing again, even bolder than before. The written words proud, tall and unashamed:

“But I do know this: at night I lay unable to sleep with that blistering desire inside of me, slowly scorching me from the inside out. And when the heat becomes near unbearable, I lay there with nothing but the moon as a witness, touching myself while imagining - hoping - it was you. My hands wandering down over my own body and finding pleasure so easily and quickly - so intense - as they stroke and caress. Simply because it is you in my mind. The thought of you nearly enough to lose myself time and again.

I know I am a sinner for this, for my thoughts and my actions. But could a sin truly feel this heavenly? If this is what hell feels like, I will let it take me, gladly. I would welcome doom with open arms for just my actions, but truly, I’d much rather be doomed together with you, Staeve.

The feeling of your mouth on mine has been imprinted on me. I cannot forget it. I will die with the memory of your soft lips on mine on my mind as the last breath leaves my earthly body.

You've touched me a thousand times - a hug, a tap, a taunt - but not like this. Never like this. Not with that enticing intention, not with that need: giving, pleasing but also taking - possibly all of me. And if I’m being true and honest to myself: I would give you all of myself - body, mind and soul. You may take it all!

Do you feel the same? Because even writing this letter I feel how restless my fingers are, how they itch to touch you again as well, how they need to feel you again: your lithe body, the skin of your face, your silken hair.

I just want to feel the warmth of you again, enveloping me, your body moving against mine as we fall together, endlessly.

And when your hands know me by heart, I want to feel your mouth all over my skin, tasting me before swallowing my confessions to you directly from my very own lips and tongue.

I want you to know me as deeply as no one has before. I fear no one else could ever understand me like you do anyways. And I hope, dearly, this is what you want too. I surely know it’s what I want with you: knowing you inside and out, better than myself.

Back in that moment it surely felt like that.

But memories are fleeting, fickle little things. Already I am questioning if I really saw the same yearning in your eyes I keep feeling in my very soul. But then again, it's not like this only transpired yesterday, hasn't it? Hasn’t this all been brewing for what feels like an eternity?”

Up until this paragraph the writing had been bold, the elegant cursive letters leaning so far it was easily distinguishable that they had been written without pause. Words that had been too powerful to not let out.

But those next ones were more hesitant again. The pen had been pressed down to start many a time and then hastily taken off again, judging by how several blots and scratches of ink clouded the first letter of the next sentence.

But in the end even these words had found their way - either way:

“I reckon you know the feeling in the atmosphere before a thunderstorm approaches - when the tension is so dense it makes your hairs rise up. When the whole world seems to hold its breath, awaiting the inevitable.

Aren’t we just like that? Awaiting what deep down we have known for so long?

Aren’t we inevitable?

How long have we been like this? In that terrible limbo of potential and not yet made resolution?

Only for it to unload in but a blink of an eye, lightning hitting us both, scorching us through and through, down to our furthest depths - setting us brightly ablaze where light has never even reached before.

There is no way in which we could ever proceed, pretending as if we both haven’t been changed forever in this moment, changed at our innermost core - wouldn’t you agree?

At times I fear that all it would have taken was that one night. One night of scorching flames to then see the fire smothered. This - us - nothing but a quick intermezzo, a short crescendo that is quickly muffled and not to be heard again.

But whenever I think I’ve forgotten about this, about you, for a just moment, there it is again: the thought of you, impossible to get out of my head.

You are always there with me, Staeve, with every breath and every step.

You didn’t just light a candle inside of me, you started a wildfire.

And I welcome it - with all the heat, all the power, all the destruction it might bring but also the all encompassing warmth it might spend. I welcome it to be consumed by it!”

Before the final words of the letter there was generous space left. Quite obviously the author felt the need to let his final words take up room. The final conclusion to the letter read:

“I am in love with you, Staeve Brimstone.

I am in love with you - and looking back it feels like I have always been in love with you. From the moment I first laid eyes upon you up to the my last moments on this earth.

And even more than that: I need you. I fear I cannot live without you.

And even though it might be selfish - but we both know that I am -: I hope you need me too.

I hope to love you, Staeve, forevermore. And if I’m fortunate enough, that you will love me too.

Forever yours,

Astarion”

As eyes ran over the last page, the hands holding the letter had begun to tremble. They were gripping the paper so hard by now that knuckles showed white.

Then when the end had been reached they were shaking so much no word could have been made out anymore. The grip was crinkling up the paper now. Up until the pages were deliberately being crumpled angrily, pressed into a ball of paper, letters and emotions alike forced into an indiscernible mess.

With a few steps only, the way was made to the lit fireplace and the pages were given to the flames. The fire eagerly licked at the papers, ate it up until there was nothing left of the words and the long suppressed feelings they had finally expressed.

~~~

The Brimstone family had sat down for dinner. Or at least for their approximation of it. Viscount and Viscountess Brimstone were idly enjoying their dinner talking a bit of business, politics and gossip. Meanwhile, their son Staeve was more enticed by the workings of a small golden mechanical beetle his father had brought him as a souvenir from one of his business trips than by the meagre meal of roasted pork and vegetables he’d thrown onto his plate as more of an afterthought. The sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled up to his elbows as he had discarded his doublet long ago to be able to move better and one of his suspenders threatened to give up on its job as it was dropping off his shoulder in his hunched over position. He had wholly reengineered what dinner time meant for him, much to the grievance of his parents. But dozens of tries to change first the boy’s and then the young man’s behaviour had failed. So at some point they had given up as long as he knew to behave when guests were over and was still honouring the family gathering times.

That usually meant that he was at least present during family dinner times, physically at least. But he’d only eat later, once it had all gotten cold. And then would sneak into the kitchen to grab seconds when he would have realised once more that tinkering around didn’t sate his bodily hunger. At least not enough.

His mother had long given up on trying to teach Staeve manners. When he had been a child she had been sure he would grow out of it. But once she had realised that his quirks had only been growing with him, she’d come to realise that it was for the best to just leave him be and hope for the best.

Only occasionally did she still try to enforce his older sister Nita as a role model to him. It never worked.

So, as Staeve was fumbling with his current project and his parents were lost in conversation, his sister Nita - void of any option to make dinner time pass any faster with her parents talking and her brother with his mind elsewhere - moved around some asparagus on her gold rimmed plate and wished she could’ve found an excuse to go eat with her younger siblings in the kitchen. Even they would have been a more ample entertainment discussing their playtime or perhaps their current tutor lessons.

That was until she thought of a way of hopefully grabbing Staeve’s attention for more than a fleeting moment.

“So, Staeve, have you found something to do yet, something to cope?”

Her brother’s tuft of green hair lifted shortly from where it had been bent over the small, intricately built beetle and some similarly delicate tool with which Staeve meant to dismantle the small object - thereby probably irreparably destroying it.

But the younger Brimstone shortly looked at his sister in irritation. Then his gaze snapped back to his hands and his workings and he began tinkering again.

“What?”

Nita rolled her eyes. “You know you are supposed to use full sentences, right?”

“Whoever has the time for that?”

“Ah see, he does speak in full sentences.”

Staeve grunted at his sister’s sarcasm but didn’t reward her with another glance.

Nita tried again.

“So have you?”

“I don’t think that was a full sentence.”

She was about ready to throw her fork at him, hoping it would drive the audacity right out of him - or at least take an eye. For a moment she debated just letting the silence draw out. But honestly she hadn’t been the one starting to be petty.

“You know, Staeve, I really get why even Astarion has decided to suddenly leave town when you’re being such a prick!” Nita almost shouted. That even had caught her parents’ attention now who immediately scolded her for her unladylike demeanour and choice of words.

She pouted, annoyed at how she had been the one being called out now instead of her brother.

And when she turned her head around again to throw him an angry glare she suddenly found she had finally caught his attention. Maybe even a bit too much of it because Staeve was now staring at her, eyes wide, face void of colour.

“What do you mean Astarion is leaving?”

Nita was about to snap at him again. But something in her brother’s gaze and his sudden stillness made her abandon the thought immediately.

“Didn’t- didn’t he tell you? I thought you always knew everything about each other.”

Immediately hurt flashed through Staeve’s teal eyes, too irritated to even try to hide it.

“Leaving when? Why?” Staeve’s voice was nothing more but a croak. A strand of hair had fallen into his eyes. He didn’t even bother pushing it out of his face.

Suddenly Nita felt unsure of what to do. Unsettled by her brother’s sudden burst of emotions. The only thing she came up with was snapping at him again.

“The Grand Tour, you idiot, what else.”

Staeve’s eyes widened even more. He set the small golden beetle and his tool down with a distinct thud, so hard, it even made their parents become silent and turn to their children in irritation.

“When?” Staeve simply followed up again. His words were terribly silent all of a sudden. Nita didn’t have it in her anymore to try and purposefully try and upset her brother. She threw a glance at the big mechanical clock - one of the few Staeve hadn’t disassembled yet: “I think right about now. They’re probably going to travel all through the night to catch a ship in the morning at one of the great harbours.”

Staeve didn’t wait for Nita to finish her sentence. He jumped up, almost making his chair fall over, staring at the clock. Their parents’ heads swivelled around trying to understand the cause of the commotion. But their son was already storming out of the room, not even sparing their scolding and quizzical looks another thought.

Immediately, Staeve made his way through the manor and down to the stables. As he rushed along servants, through a plethora of rooms and finally got outside, he realised that the weather was about to turn: an early summer evening threatening to bring a foreshadowing of yet far away autumn. The oncoming storm, announcing itself with distant thunder and dramatically darkening clouds, though, only felt like a fitting backdrop for what was brewing inside of him.

Questions filled Staeve’s mind as he made his way, and worries - and memories.

Every moment for the last couple of weeks since that fateful night had he basically been thinking about what happened. It only ever took him a split second to conjure up the scene again in his head: the last couple of breaths in which he had stared into Astarion’s eyes and how it had felt like he could see through them right to the bottom of his friend’s heart, the burning feeling of Astarion’s lips against his own and this desiring ache within him, physically and emotionally, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out.

He had been so sure Astarion had felt the same. And hadn’t his friend been the one looking up at him with such pleading in his crimson eyes, lips already parted in anticipation before they had met halfway?

But maybe Staeve was remembering it all wrong. He certainly must be. Why else would his lifelong companion leave him now unannounced?

Loads of feelings were forming up inside his chest, waiting to burst - like thunder after lightning had struck in the far off distance.

Staeve made his way to the stables to grab Freckle while his mind was somewhere completely else. He didn’t even stop to put a saddle or reins on her. A terrible premonition told him he hadn’t any time to waste. And the mare was used to being ridden like this, after all they were a well-practised team.

The young Brimstone led his horse outside and immediately felt raindrops seeping through his thin linen shirt and trousers. He couldn’t have cared less. Wasting no more time he jumped onto his mare’s back and with a click of his tongue and soft nudge from his boots they were off in a dash, cutting through the oncoming rain.

As Staeve thundered down the small trodden out road from the Brimstone estate towards the Ancuníns’ residence the rain turned from just a trickle to a pour - the kind that would turn grasslands into swamps for a good while after and dust roads into murky rivers. His mind was racing at an even more outrageous speed as the gigantic manor of his friend’s family came into view.

Lifting his head while holding onto Freckle’s mane as the horse felt his owner’s urgency and gave him her all, Staeve searched for the familiar sight of that one particular window with a light on inside, hoping it would betray his sister’s words. The one where Astarion often already had been peeking out of in wait for his companion to come by. The one where they had sat countless of times, talking, laughing, smoking some stolen cigars and choking on the burning smoke when they had been only boys.

But the lights were off.

And Staeve’s fears turned into all encompassing panic as he closed in on the giant building as he didn’t dare to let himself hope anymore. The rain around him had him fully drenched by now, his loose shirt clinging wetly to his body. Already he felt hot tears adding to the uncomfortably cold rain running down his face.

When he finally came around the manor, he found nothing but an ill-fated stable hand rushing through the downpour, perhaps tasked with a few last things before being allowed to flee the bad weather. Not even hesitating Staeve rode up right next to him making the poor boy shriek and stumble back from the horse making the gravel fly with a sliding stop.

“Astarion Ancunín?” he only managed to scream against the rain.

The boy just stared up at him, obviously too startled at the sight of Staeve like this. He probably looked like a madman. And he felt like one: not properly dressed, drenched to the bone on his equally aggregated steed. Even more so the more time he spent chasing down a man in this storm who so obviously tried to get away from him without him knowing.

But he needed to see him, at least a final time. One more try.

“The Duke’s son?” Staeve shouted again at the stable hand. And finally the boy seemed to have recovered from his stupor.

“Left. With his father the Duke, in the fancy carriage,” the answer came back, shouted against another thunder in the distance - the heart of the storm was coming closer.

Staeve’s chest clenched. Freckle became nervous beneath him. Even a well trained horse like her didn’t want to be out longer than needed in this weather. But just a moment more.

“When?” he screamed.

“Dunno exactly, couple of minutes, just when the storm started.”

Staeve needn’t hear more. Time was of the essence now. He spurred on his horse once more and left the befuddled boy behind who even forgot to finally rush inside and instead stared after Staeve racing off again.

The roads were already muddy, an endless amount of puddles strewn across them while Staeve made the decision to go for the hill overlooking the Ancunín lands, the one with the weeping willow. There he’d be able to see how far out they were already on the country road leading away from town.

But when he arrived at the foot of said hill and dashed on with Freckle, his horse slipped and almost took a tumble. And since his or his horse’s broken neck surely wouldn’t make him be any faster, Staeve slid off his mare’s back and continued on foot.

The rain kept pouring onto him as he rushed up the hill, his booted feet sinking into the wet ground. Several times he almost took a tumble when his boots sank in too deep. Illustrious curses that would have made his mother blush and his father scold him, left Staeve’s lips as he ran up the grassy hill as fast as possible, barely able to see anything anymore with the rain slashing his face. He didn’t even notice how the freezing cold crept into his body, his limbs, how his fingers began to become stiff. His whole body was shaking, as much from the cold and the wet, as from the feelings still burning inside his chest - the only thing still spending a bit of warmth.

Staeve reached the top of the hill and the weeping willow atop of it - honouring its name as rain kept dripping generously off its tendrils. Trying to wipe at least some of the rain out of his face and panting heavily from running, Staeve’s eyes flew along the road leading out of town, willing the carriage to be there, so he’d know he could still catch them. Or at least a glimpse, of him. To at least wave a last goodbye. Because he didn’t know when - if - his friend would ever return.

And he spotted the carriage. Right there, at the very end of what Staeve could make out. Just before it disappeared around a final turn of the road - and out of sight.

~~~

Inside the carriage Astarion was craning his neck only a little to see Ancunín manor slowly disappear behind the lazily sloping hills of the countryside as the wagon rattled along the road leading away from town. Now the ancient weeping willow was the last familiar landmark before the road would lead them along faceless fields and forests rushing past them, only there to be forgotten again in an instance. The storm was doing its part to make Astarion’s last impression of his home even more dull: clouds and the rain almost washing all of the colours out of this final sight.

This might very well have been the only time in his life when his heart actually ached at the thought of leaving home - or rather him.

Only a few weeks ago had he hoped to spend an incredible last summer with Staeve, his childhood friend. Especially as he had been sure of something new budding between them, something that could have meant them being more than companions possibly. Something that either might have been honestly terrified to explore. They could have gone down this road together.

But it seemed that instead of choosing this final adventure and what treasures and secrets might have been ahead, Staeve had chosen utter and complete silence. To his letter as much as his departure. Astarion had been unable to figure out what to make of it.

However, wasn’t the absence of an answer a response of its own?

Questions, regrets, fear and hurt were all swirling around inside of Astarion’s chest as he feigned indifference staring out the small window the rain kept drumming on. He was covering most of his face with his hand turned away from the other passenger in hopes it would make him look bored and hide his frown - and more than anything, the tears burning dangerously in the corners of his eyes.

Writing that letter, taking a leap of faith had taken nearly all of his courage.

When that kiss had happened after that invaded soiree, it had been easy. Fueled by the evening, laughter and lots of liquid courage it had been easy to fall into Staeve’s arms. It had been easy to be open about what had been building up inside of him for so long.

But writing this letter stone cold sober had been near impossible: opening up about everything that, all his life, he had been taught to keep hidden behind his orderly closed button border, tugged away behind a starched collar closed so firmly it made one choke. Admitting to desires that would make him a wretched sinner in the eyes of his family and society. And finally confessing his feelings to his lifelong friend, risking everything they’ve had. It had been taxing, hard, painful.

And in the end, apparently, he had paid the price.

In front of him, the Duke Ancunín kept talking about their travelling plans while Astarion could feel his heart get torn into pieces the further away from home they travelled. A piece of it begging to be allowed to stay.

“Son, it is a great honour that Monsignore Constantin will take you in for a few extra weeks as his disciple. He is very strict but he is the best,” the Duke repeated his words in a sharper tone when he noticed his son not paying attention. “He will make an upright man out of you, Astarion, I know it.”

“Oh, will he? I can barely wait,” Astarion replied with bitter sarcasm in his voice. His father, in response, was near boiling with anger at his son’s insolent behaviour.

“He has his methods, son, you will see. He will let none of your nonsense slip, I will make sure of it!” The Duke’s words cracked like a whip. But the young man didn’t care, his eyes were still trained on the outside, on the weeping willow becoming smaller in the distance. He didn’t honour his father’s wrath with another response.

The carriage filled with nothing but the sound of drumming rain and thunder rolling ever closer. When the older Ancunín apparently realised his anger would get him nowhere he tried a different route of grasping his son’s attention.

“Hasn’t the young Brimstone come to say his goodbyes to you, my son? Is that why you keep brooding?”

Astarion’s gaze snapped to his father, immediately betraying that he had spoken the truth. He felt how his brows drew together as pain flared up in his chest even more. Trying to get it back under control quickly he looked back outside the window as the carriage shook along the road in worsening conditions.

But his father had cracked right open what had been bothering him and finally Astarion gave up on trying to hide. What did it matter now anyways? The cards had been dealt.

The young Ancunín let his hands fall into his lap but kept looking outside as he felt how the tears in his eyes threatened to become overbearing.

“He hasn’t actually,” Astarion admitted. “In fact, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Not since I’ve sent him a letter a while ago,” he continued, voice flat and emotionless.

“A letter? How uncommon for the two of you,” the Duke threw in with a tinge of irony coating his words like bile. In a knee jerk reaction Astarion’s crimson gaze burned in anger at his father’s vile words. But in the end he wasn’t wrong. The young noble resorted to throwing a last glance upon the willow up on the hill.

“Come to think of it though, my son, I do remember seeing the letter,” the Duke rambled on. “And I remember handing it over to the butler so it may get delivered quickly.” Astarion turned away a little further once more from his father as he felt his composure threatening to break fully. “A difference of opinions maybe?,” his father finished.

Astarion didn’t see the slight tilt of the corners of his father’s mouth as he let the words roll off his tongue, not hiding his distaste for the young Brimstone.

The young Ancunín only could feel the final nail being put into the coffin with his father’s final words. His last string of hope he had been holding onto snapped in two just like that.

“Possibly,” Astarion simply replied, kneading his hands in his lap, emotions threatening to overwhelm him fully.

“Maybe even more than that,” he added after a while as he finally let his gaze fall from the last sight of his hometown.

Had he averted his eyes just a moment later he would have made out the figure of a dark-skinned, green-haired young man appearing beneath the weeping willow in the storm. But like this, thunder cracked as the carriage took a turn and Astarion’s home and his lifelong friend went out of sight.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #staeve #astarion x staeve #bg3 #brimsterton #staevstarion #regency AU

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alyssas-personal-diary · 2 months ago

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windows

(tw for a mention of self harm) summary: Dean Winchester was not a creep. Dean Winchester was looking out for Sam and if he got hard while watching his brother slice himself open, so be it.

everytime i go to school i just think to myself ‘none of these people know im a freak and write about incest.’ and frankly, i don’t think anyone would ever guess that when looking at me

anyways, i feel like i’ve only been posting moodboards recently, here’s another one shot :3 this one kind of references my last post but you obv don’t need to have seen that to get this (also stanford era btw!!! fav era idgaf!!!!) (also sam is NAWT with jess. sorry.)

(reminder you can find a collection of my wincest oneshots here: Wincest Oneshots - alyssaspersonaldiary - Supernatural (TV 2005) [Archive of Our Own])

Dean Winchester was not a creep. He was not a stalker, not a creeper, not a leerer. He was just watching out for his brother. If anyone could be defined as a creep, it would be dad. It was his idea to look for Sam in the first place.

Things weren’t supposed to get this far. Sam talked to Dean occasionally, gave a call on holidays and sent cards about his adventures. Dean knew Sam lied in every single one of those letters after getting accustomed to watching Sam’s routine but he’d never call Sam out.

When Dean dropped Sam off at the train station, the first thing he noticed when he got back into Baby was the knife in the glove compartment gone. Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew where the knife went, knew Sam slipped it into his bag when Dean was distracted or something. He just couldn’t figure out why. Sam could’ve asked for anything else, a shirt, a hoodie, boxers, a ring, anything else of Dean’s. But he stole the knife.

He stole Dean’s knife and now Dean sat outside Sam’s apartment, looking in, one hand palming his pants and the other buried in a stack of papers, a subconscious ask for a slit to be formed, a break in the skin. Dean watched with morbid curiosity as the blade went in through one side and out the other, the handle slick and wet in the light glow of Sam’s apartment.

Dean Winchester was not an obsessive stalker, nor was he a poet. A bin atop his tapes held all the letters he never sent, held the sharp papers, stained on the edges with a deep maroon and a droplet of something he couldn’t quite name.

Dean Winchester was not a poet, he didn’t word vomit onto a paper, never wrote essays that made his hand ache for hours after, never journaled, never, never, never. Dean Winchester was a horny bastard and he couldn’t deny the heat in his stomach as he watched his baby pull the knife-his knife- out and dig around inside, couldn’t deny the way bile rose in his throat, almost matching the way his cock rose in his jeans.

Dean Winchester was not a dirty man. He, in fact, didn’t stay in the parking spot until the lights went out and his cock was raw and red in his pants, still buttoned and zipped. He didn’t stay to watch Sam dig his knife-was it even his anymore? or did it belong to Sam now, tainted with blood?-into soft flesh, didn’t strain his ears as if he had a chance of hearing the wet squelch of blood and muscle and fat seeping out the wound as Sam dug inside the new slit as if searching something out.

No, Dean Winchester was not a creep. He was not a stalker, not a bastard, not a poet, not a leerer. Dean Winchester was looking out for Sam and if he got hard while watching his brother slice himself open, so be it.

#spn #supernatural #wincest #dean winchester #samdean #sam and dean #dean and sam #deansam #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #oneshot #stanford era #weirdcest #i think

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carabalism · 2 years ago

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in another life

pairing(s) carl grimes x fem!reader (platonic)

synopsis carl and y/n were best friends right from the start and they would die best friends too.

warning(s) death, angst, hurt no comfort

masterlist

a/n sorry this is actually kinda sad But oopsie (to the requests IM SO SORRY i will get to them)

“i had a feeling that you’d be too clingy to let me die alone,” carl’s laugh quickly turned into a wheeze as he felt his lungs tighten in his chest.

“please, you’re the one who’s always stealing my thunder,” y/n chuckled dryly, her hand reaching out to hold carl’s. they first met on a deserted highway moments before he lost his first friend in the apocalypse: sophia. god gave him a new friend that day just to snatch the other one away.

“yeah?” carl turned his head to look over at y/n. her face had lost its usual colour and vibrancy, the change was almost startling. carl wondered how he looked for a moment, did he look worse than her? was she okay?

“mhm,” y/n hummed turning to look back at him. they were both leaning their weight against the wall behind them, far too exhausted to sit up by themselves. carl and y/n had both been bit.

“i wish we had more time,” carl sighed, his gaze falling to his lap.

“everybody wishes they had more time, carl,” y/n laughed, leaning her head back, “don’t be so cliché.”

“cliché? you even know what that means?” carl’s breath was laboured, but he wanted to postpone his death for a few minutes. y/n and him never had much time to talk anymore, why not talk during their last moments.

“yeah,” y/n rolled her eyes, “the prison didn’t exactly have the best books, so i read a dictionary like five times.”

“you’re such a liar,” carl scoffed, shaking his head.

“you are being an imbecile,” y/n laughed softly, her hand twitching in carl’s, “that means stupid person.”

“if you had kids they would’ve been so damn annoying,” carl groaned as he readjusted himself against the wall, “so annoying.”

“your kids would’ve been losers,” y/n grinned, she could almost picture what his and enid’s kids would’ve looked like, “my kids would’ve kicked your kids asses.”

“i’d beat your kids asses then.”

“i’d beat your ass then.” y/n retorted.

the girl started to cough and when she pulled her hand away from her mouth, her hand was stained with red. the reality that one of them may turn before the other hit both of them in an instant.

“if i turn-“ y/n was interrupted by carl.

“stop it.” his voice was stern, but she could hear the pain in it.

“carl…” y/n sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder, “it’s gonna be one of us.”

“let’s just talk more?” carl’s voice was weak and fragile, he almost sounded the same way he did when y/n first met him. like a little boy.

“sure,” y/n breathed out, nodding despite the action causing her to feel nauseous, “what do you wanna talk about?”

“would you have had kids?” carl asked. there wasn’t much he wanted to talk about, but it felt like there was almost too much to talk about.

“nah,” y/n’s laugh was wheezy, it burned her chest to even laugh, “i’m more of a cool aunt, don’t you think?”

“yeah, you are,” carl chuckled, nodding his head slowly.

“did you want kids?” y/n asked.

“not now, but… i think i would’ve liked to.” carl hummed after he spoke, almost like he was contemplating it. what a sad thing for a dying boy to think about the life he could’ve had.

“your kids would’ve been cool, i lied earlier,” y/n shrugged, “a dad with a cool hat ‘n eyepatch? you’re kidding me, they’d be awesome.”

“what happens when i have two kids and only one hat?” carl joked, a sad smile on his face.

“pick your favourite, i don’t know,” y/n grinned, but as she sat in silence for a few seconds her smile faded. her body felt weak to the point it ached to even exist, but she didn’t want to leave carl so soon. she didn’t want him to be alone.

“i wrote you a letter,” carl confessed, his head lowered again, “i wrote everyone letters actually, i wrote one for you too though… but i didn’t expect you to be here with me.”

“what’d it say?” carl’s heart broke at the sound of her voice. she clearly had very limited time left and it brought a tear to his eye.

“i wrote,” he sighed, his hand reaching up his hip, hovering over his gun, “what i wrote was.. i’m grateful to have grown up with you.. and that i hoped you never felt lonely again, even after i’m gone… i love you, y/n.. you’re my best friend.. i asked you to tell judith about mom, tyreese, glenn, beth and hershel…”

“hope you told someone else to do that..” y/n rasped out, chuckling slightly.

“we’ll see each other again.” carl pulled his gun out and rested it on his lap, his fingers twitching against the cool metal.

“in another life?” y/n whispered, her eyes shutting as her chest rose and fell for the last time.

“in another life.”

#carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader platonic #twd x teen!reader

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sw33t-d1vine · 1 year ago

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I LOVE YOU SO.

W. AFTON x GN!READER

— cw : angst… hanahaki disease, its angst sorry LOL , no comfort , sorry not sorry , TAKES PLACE IN HIGHSCHOOL , clara mentioned

— word count , 683

— a/n : hey guys this is an early valentines day post ^_^ maybe i’ll do a second part if i feel like it but enjoy this ;3 .

・Enjoy what you read ? come join my discord server to see sneak peaks and chat with me and other friends ! Link in my pinned post :)

— William Afton didn’t love you.

William Afton loved someone else.

You were only his friend. Thats what he saw you as, just a friend.

He liked a girl, Clara. You didn’t blame him for falling for her, she was gorgeous. She was like an angel who fell from heaven, blonde, curly hair and these pretty green eyes.

You, you were nothing compared to her. You knew you weren’t ugly, but, compared to her? Gosh, next to her you looked like a homeless.

You wished William looked at you like how he looked at her.

Valentines was coming up, the one time a year where you can ask your crush out, or do something sweet for your partner and buy them gifts, bring them out to dinner and share a moment between each other.

You wanted to ask William out, feeling quite bold today. You wrote a letter to give to him, the paper nicely folded and tucked into an envelope that you held.

You round the corner, heart thumping against your chest as your thoughts run crazy through your head. Maybe you did have a chance with him. Maybe, if you got to him before he got to Clara, you could ask him out on a date. Your chances were low, but you still wanted to try and at least let him know how you felt.

As you fiddle with the envelope in your hand, you look up, stopping in your track. There stood, William Afton and Clara, sharing a kiss. She held what seemed to be roses, and a stuffed animal. Just peeking out of the bouquet was an envelope, with “To Clara” written on it.

Fuck.

He got to her before you could make it.

You turn, leaving before the two could see you and heading out of the building. Your chest felt tight, an ache at your heart. You should’ve known he wouldn’t even dare think of you like that, not when his eyes were focused only on the girl he liked. You shouldn’t be acting like this, it was obvious this would happen, and yet, you wanted to scream and cry.

You grasped at your shirt, tugging at it as you breathed heavily. It felt like something was stuck in your throat, chest burning. It really felt like your heart just cracked.

And right then and there, you choked and gasped, hunching over and coughing. Whatever you felt in your throat, it went away. You blinked your eyes, looking down at the ground.

Pedals and blood right in front of you. You squeezed your shirt tighter, knowing what was happening.

This wasn’t new. Well, to you it was, but for other millions of people, it wasn’t.

Hanahaki was an illness anyone could get, caused by heartbreak. You felt it coming, you knew it’d happen.. and now the only way to get rid of it is to either have surgery, or for William to actually love you back.

But, surgery would mean your love for William would be gone. You wouldn’t feel for him anymore. You didn’t want that. You couldn’t do that.

You close your eyes and suck in a breath. You weren’t sure what to do. You could hide this sickness and carry on with your life, die by this illness. Or, you could do something about it and get rid of it.

It was a hard choice. You didn’t want your feelings for William to go, but you didn’t want to die early because of a sickness from heartbreak.

Eventually, you decided that maybe you should do nothing. Hide this sickness from anyone and carry on as Williams friend. Watch him by the sidelines as he gave his attention to Clara. Watch as he gave her everything, and gave you nothing. If it made him happy, then you won’t ruin it. You couldn’t ever do that.

You coughed again, red pedals falling from your mouth and onto the ground. You wipe your lips stained with blood, looking down at the envelope in hand.

No point in giving this to him now.

William Afton would never love you.

#william afton #fnaf #springtrap #five nights at freddys #fnaf william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #springtrap x reader #five nights at freddy's #— W. Afton ✮⋆˙#Spotify

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mrs-murder-daddy · 2 years ago

Note

hello! I'm very much enjoying your Little Women-inspired Band of Brothers fic so far. two of my favorite stories combined, and I love the way you've done it so far with introducing the four sisters. also, childhood friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes and I'm really looking forward to seeing more of Vivian/Donnie 🥰💕

if you're still looking for requests, I do adore Don Malarkey, George Luz, and Joe Toye (your choice) - maybe something to do with fake dating for New Year's 🥳 (or another holiday of your preference), or something angsty with a happy ending, if that's more up your alley? thank you!

Hello hello sorry for disappearing for a while there! My mental health took a dive and then uni took over my life and my mental health crumbled like a paper bridge.

Some things: The longer fic will be here shortly I promise! I'm sorry this is so short, I'm just trying to get back in the swing of things now that I have a month-long break from uni. I tried to make this gender-neutral please let me know if I’ve missed something! I’ve also given Reader a sister for plot reasons but she is referred to by a nickname.

And thank you for your kind words about Little Women (chapter 3 coming ASAP)

Just a Boy Standing in Front of a Girl

George Luz x Reader

Obviously you hoped this day was coming. The war is over. You're going home. What you weren't expecting was having to leave George. You lived on complete opposite sides of the United States, and you weren't *together* per se. You were just friends. And friends say goodbye before leaving.

"Ey! There's my favourite medic!" He bounded up to you like a giddy child, searching your face to gauge if you heard the news.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he wrapped his around your waist.

"We're going home Georgie!"

He smiled brightly, "We're going home! What's the first thing you're gonna do?"

You pulled back, "Oh, I don't know actually. Maybe go see my sister."

"Not your ma?"

"My mother has been begging me to come home and marry some socialite for months now. Giggles is the only one in my family who's actually written to see if I'm okay."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Should I be expecting a wedding invitation?" His tone was joking, but you could see on his face the prospect worried him.

"Nope." You smiled softly. "Not for a long time."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know yet." You sighed through your nose. "But come on Georgie quit being a cold fish! Let's celebrate!"

He laughed as you took his hand and led him to your friends. Now was the time for fun.

George gave you his address and made you promise to write as much as you could. Sometimes the letters were short and sharp, updating each other on your lives. Sometimes they were long and heartfelt.

This latest letter he could have sworn there were tear stains on the paper.

Your mother had gotten suspicious of all your activity. She pressured you to find out just what was going on. You had to lie. She would never have approved of you corresponding with someone at this frequency if you weren't dating.

You panicked. You told her half-truths. You met George years ago at training, fell in love but kept it professional until you got home, and now you were separated by distance.

She gave a doubtful hum and offered to invite him to Giggles' birthday. A girl only turns 21 once after all.

You cried as you wrote to George, asking for forgiveness for throwing him under the bus. He simply replied that there was no need. He was excited to meet Giggles and see what all the fuss was about in your hometown.

You huffed a sad little laugh when he signed off 'the best lover on the East Coast.'

This was going to be... interesting.

It's hard to see him again, not only for the memories you would always associate with him, but also because he seemed happier. Some annoying part of your brain tells you he's happier without you. The grin on his face and the strong arms wrapped around you say otherwise.

Lord you have missed George. But he's missed you more.

You have this glow about you, and he knows that despite the pressures from your mother, you are happy. And when he meets Giggles he understands. She is sunshine in a pinafore. He feels his own mood lift, thankful that you have such a light in your life.

Dinner is a difficult affair, George seems to lay the PDA on thick. Your mother stares him down like a spider. Giggles teases you both to no end. You're halfway through a bottle of your favourite drink just to keep yourself occupied.

Giggles cracks open her first bottle of champagne and drags you into the kitchen to 'help her pour.'

She rounds on you, holding your wrists so she can lean in. "What was that?!"

You're taken aback, "What do you mean?"

"For two people who aren't actually dating, you sure look like you are."

You gasp and pull her as far away from the dining room as you can. "Giggles! What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on! I can see from a mile away you two would make each other so happy!"

"That's not the point! How do you know we're not really together?"

Your sister smiles sheepishly, "I may have looked through your letters- But! But! Hear me out. You two are meant for each other."

She actually pours some champagne, leaving you to your thoughts.

It's only later when George goes outside for a smoke that you can finally talk to him. Your mother had a little too much giggle juice and was sound asleep in her room. Your sister made herself scarce with a wink.

You steal the cigarette from his lips, take a drag and put it back. A habit from deep in the Ardennes forest.

He huffs a laugh and takes his own drag.

"I... I have something to tell you. And I need to get it all out first or I never will."

He nods a little apprehensively.

"I don't want this to be fake. I think I actually love you, not in the way I love Joe or Babe or any of those guys. I'm for real, long-haul, scary in love with you."

He begins to laugh.

Your heart is about to fall out of your ass.

Why is he laughing?

He stops, his face dropping when he sees your expression.

"Sweetheart, when you wrote to me, asking me to come here I went out and bought a ring." When your eyes widen, he reassures you. "I'm not proposing yet, I just need you to know I'm serious."

You smile brightly. He does too.

You look at his lips. He does too.

You lean forward. He does too.

And when your lips finally collide, a loud cheering erupts behind the the glass of the back door.

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fanfic #george luz x reader

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loosesodamarble · 2 years ago

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My beloved

Josele,

Though I know it's something I can never have, nor anything you should burden yourself with, I do love you. That very confession has been haunting me for years. Not for what it is, but who speaks it out. Because you deserve so much better than my wretched being, someone who is not tainted with the blood of their brother; someone whose hands are not tainted by the blood of any.

I know I have no right to love you. I never had that right. Never. Not even before you and my brother joined hands with the intention to wed. But even less after those, poisonous accusations I spoke to you in my own stead. For those words, I should have spoken out to myself. And yet I spoke them to you, the one I hold dearest. You're the one good thing in my life, even if I can only watch you from afar; these shadows that should encase me sooner.

I know I have no right to love you, and yet... here I am, loving you anyhow.

My only solace with this confession is that you'll never read these words. You'll never know of this confession. Because...

Because.

Though it hurts now, it would be worse, would I tell you. Your life was always meant to be one of light and laughter. And I know that it s dark now. But soon it shall be better. As one who resides in the shadows, I can promise you, that your soul is not meant for this life.

So, I love you, by doing the one good thing I still can do to you: let you go. This is how I love you, the only way in which I have the right to attempt to love you.

Though you shall never read these lines, I must ask for forgiveness. It is selfish of me to put them down onto paper, and not just swallow them as what they are.

I love you, Josele.

I wish you nothing but joy, smiles and laughter, after this darkness subsides. And it will subside, even if I'd have to pull it from you with my own, two, sinner's hands.

- With love, Nacht

Finding Words

Summary: The words that were never said are brought to Josele and she has her own words to say back. Genre: hurt/comfort (kind of but straightforward romance or angst didn't quite work) Word count: ~1300

..........

Josele read the letter once. Twice. Again and again, she took in the ink that curled into writing.

Each and every word was so gentle, she could feel it. She could hear the words being spoken by the man who wrote them. Though they were years old, by the way the paper had aged, the words were brand new to Josele.

Josele read the letter over and over. Until she was sure she had the words permanently imprinted into her mind and etched into her heart. The letter… It made her heart ache. But also dance. What a strange yet powerful sensation, one that Josele wanted to keep and treasure. Her vision began to blur from gathering tears. Josele pressed the paper to her chest before her tears could fall on it and stain the words thereon.

"Lady Josele! Has reading the letter upset you?" Gimodelo asked as he, and the rest of Nacht’s devils, floated around her shoulders.

“We’re sorry for making you cry!” Walgner squeaked.

“No, no.” She shook her head as she spoke. “I’m fine, you guys.”

Josele looked at the four devils. They watched her with worried faces. How kind they were despite the world they came from and the lives they lived.

“The letter is wonderful. Are there any more?” Josele asked softly. “Letters like this, I mean.”

Gimodelo, Plumede, Slotos, and Walgner shared looks between themselves before looking back at Josele. The feline devil floated forward.

“This was the only letter that the Master refused to send you,” she answered. “All others reached you without complication.”

Josele nodded.

Nacht’s letters from when he was acting as a spy in Spade. They came every now and again. They were barebone in content, describing how Nacht survived in Spade and searched for all the information that might be hidden there regarding devils and curses. Rarely did he ever write about his feelings. And if it ever did, it was to voice frustration at the dead ends he looked into or disgust at the way the Zogratis family treated the citizens.

But this letter. The one that Josele had never read before that day. It was so full of Nacht’s heart, full of his love. A love which was also weighed down by sorrow and guilt when he wrote it.

“All of you… Thank you.” Josele wiped her tears away. “For letting me have this.” She petted each devil on their small head. “I’m going to find Nacht now. I…” She took another look at the letter. “I ought to give him a reply.”

“We shall see you when that happens, then,” Slotos said with a nod.

The devils sank into Josele’s shadow, on their way back to the man they were contracted to.

Left on her own, Josele read the letter one last time.

Nacht had told her that he’d harbored affection for her since their youth. Explained to her that he didn’t feel worthy of her. Yet there was a greater sadness in the letter.

His proclamation that he intended to let her go. To let his love remain hidden away from her, forever unreciprocated. He would’ve resigned himself to watching her from afar if it meant protecting her from harm that he never intended to inflict, but harm that he believed would come about if he allowed himself to hold her close.

If Nacht had done that however, truly buried his feelings… Then Josele would never have been saved.

Her heart would’ve truly remained locked away. Possibly forever.

Josele tilted her head back and took deep breaths.

No. I can’t allow myself to think about that, she scolded herself. Because the life she lived in the present, with her heart once again connected to those she cherishes, was reality. I won’t consider what would’ve happened if Almatra had won.

After freeing her mind from such a heavy thought, Josele left her room.

As she walked, her mind swirled. She had said she’d give Nacht a reply. But what would she even say? She was never that good with speeches. And she didn’t want to give one to Nacht. She simply wanted to say something to answer his withheld confession.

Something to reassure him that his feelings then, and his feelings now, were alright. More than alright really.

But what to say exactly?

“I always loved you”? No, he already knew that. “Don’t be sorry for loving me”? That felt too selfish to say. “You were never in the wrong”? Also not a good idea; though she’d long since forgiven Nacht, his accusation had still hurt. The distance of their hearts had hurt.

Josele stopped in front of a door. Nacht, having become more adjusted to his role as vice captain, was frequently holed away in his office, tending to matters that Yami was too busy—or more often too lazy—to see to himself. She knocked on the door and Nacht’s voice answered her, “Come in.” She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Although the Bulls rarely came to bother Nacht when he was at his desk, she wanted as much privacy for herself and him as could be afforded.

“What brings you to my office today?” Nacht asked. “Official business or were you missing me?”

Their eyes met across the distance between the door and his desk. It was only a few steps but even a few months ago, that small gap would’ve felt like a chasm. But now, Josele could cross the distance with ease.

And so she did.

“What if I thought you might be missing me?” Josele asked back with a teasing grin. She stopped in front of Nacht’s desk. “But actually, I came for something else.”

Josele held out the letter, which she had held behind her back up until that point.

Nacht’s eyes stared at the sheet of paper in confusion before recognition dawned on his face. Recognition and fear.

“Where did you—?”

“The devils gave it to me.”

Nacht’s body tensed and his head turned to the side.

“You… were never meant to see that.”

“I knew that. You said so yourself in the letter.”

Josele glanced down at the letter. But her eyes quickly returned to Nacht. His face had gone pale. Like he’d seen a ghost. Or like he’d become one.

“Nacht.” Josele reached out and placed her hand on his. “Look at me, honey… Please?”

Hesitantly, Nacht raised his eyes. No tears. But the way he seemed ready to look away again… How his lips were pressed together in a thin line… The sound of his heartbeat weakening…

“Thank you for writing the letter,” Josele whispered.

At first, the words felt clumsy, almost silly, as they spilled past her lips. But seeing Nacht’s eyes widen and his shoulders relax at them, she knew they were right.

Josele stroked the back of Nacht’s hand and went on, “Even if you never meant to send it, I have it now. It’s written so beautifully. And so… I’m going to cherish it. Is that alright?”

Nacht’s lips parted, a breath taken in.

“… Why?”

“To remind me of how much you love me.” Josele grinned at Nacht. “You were so far away and yet you didn’t stop thinking of me…”

“I went so far for your sake after all,” Nacht muttered. He turned his hand beneath Josele’s so he could hold it.

“Thank you. Again.” Josele leaned over and pressed her lips to Nacht’s. It was a brief kiss. But sweet. Oh so sweet. She pulled away, but only enough so she could see all of Nacht’s handsomeness. “Because of you, the joy and smiles you wished for me are now in reach.”

“You’re welcome,” Nacht said, smiling.

“Nacht, my shadow prince…”

“I love you, Josele,” Nacht whispered, beating Josele to the words on the tip of her tongue.

Josele’s face warmed up. To hear the proclamation so plainly from Nacht made her heart skip.

“I love you too, Nacht,” she whispered back.

She hoped such words of affection would continue to be said so easily.

#black clover #black clover fanfic #nacht faust #josele canty #black clover oc #nacsele #gimodelo #plumede #slotos #walgner #soda's ocs #questions from the ask box

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thotsforvillainrights · 3 years ago

Note

I just wrote fancy for someone and it awoke my love for calligraphy can I please get snippet reactions of dealers choice of characters getting a handmade love letter written with fancy pens in hand written fonts/cursive? I'll probably come back on this asking for specific characters until I just get all those suckers down

(I’ll do 3 since it was my lucky number since kindergarten! Let’s give some characters I think deserve it.)

~Trumpet/Pops/Stain get a Love Letter~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

~Trumpet~

-I headcanon him as being a really gushy type of guy when he falls in love. As usual I of course think he falls hard and fast but that’s beside the point. Anyway, he’s a big softy for his partner and I think maybe a hopeless romantic. When you present him with a handwritten beautiful letter like that, how is he not supposed to go crazy over it??? He probably takes your favorite scented spray that reminds him of you and sprays the paper lightly. Then he folds it up and keeps it within the inner pockets of his suits. He looks at it all through the day. He does it when he’s stressed, when he needs motivation when going onto the stage, when he feels lonely, when he’s feeling frisky, literally any time of the day. It’s the little piece of you that he can have through the day when you’re not there. Not to mention the fact that he shows it to everyone else around him. It’s nothing new since he does that every day anyway. Cute texts? Show it to the others. Little trinkets? Show it to the others. Selfies? Show it to the others (as long as they’re not naughty ones). They never get a break from hearing about you. The letter will probably be their downfall lol.

~Pops~

-He doesn’t need much to feel loved but it’s always lovely to get gifts from you. His favorite right now is the letter you wrote for him. I think it’s not just the letter but the thought of it. He knows you took your time to make something like this. The lettering, the font, the lines, it was appeasing to the eyes of anyone that could see it. He was sentimental about most things and this was no different. He actually ended up framing it and placing it on his desk so he could admire it throughout the day. He tried to pick up the technique so maybe he could write you one too but it just didn’t work. His hands tended to shake when he focused them too long on something. His work was sloppy and honestly it was nothing compared to you. If you want to make his heart flutter, cherish it like he cherishes your letter. Tell him you love it (even if it kinda looks funny). Pay real close attention to the way he poured his heart out on that paper. It’s rare to find a soulmate like this in the world.

~Stain~

-He’d never had anyone write him a love letter before. Hell, he’d never fallen in love before either. If you haven’t noticed, he’s not conventionally attractive to most people. His attitude and his appearance scared most away. You were different. You got underneath his skin easily and next thing he knew, he’d fallen for you. He wasn’t very romantic at all but that was just fine with you since he tended to show his love in other ways. When you presented that letter to him, he just kinda shut down and stared at it. Not only was it written elegantly to the point he thought you’d printed it out. Then he took the time to read just what you’d written. He gripped the paper tightly in one hand and quickly pulled you into a hug. He was hoping you wouldn’t see him blushing since it was EXTEMELY rare that he did it. He wont tell you but I’m sure he also keeps it with him sometimes. He’s got to find a way to make you feel as loved that you make him feel soon. It’s his mission for the rest of the year and so on.

#this was such a sweet ask #i loved the idea #akaguro chizome #hero killer stain #koku hanabata #trumpet bnha #pops #bnha pops #Headcanon #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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lovely-oh-so-lovelyyui · 2 years ago

Note

~ Kinda Outta Luck - Character trying to change their ways for their new s/o

Sai’rish

“She was bored, and beautiful and easily enamoured or cool and cut-throat”

Why should she?

No seriously let’s break it down, she has been alive for years longer than most people’s promises of love have lasted. She is beautiful, merciful, and attentive as a lover.

Yes, she enjoys companionship, she enjoys sharing and creating bonds with others, one of the things that have always plagued her is how some people stay frozen in a certain place in their stories, gathering dust, unable to escape.

She enjoys changing, yes. But not for another being. She reads old letters she wrote and smiles in fondness, of course, she does, there is no one she trusts more than herself.

The discovery of herself is something more capturing then all else.

The closest she has come to the belief in a higher being has been in the fact that she wakes up each day, from dusk to dawn what she does is for herself in the coming years and to cherish the person who she was. There is no one more trustworthy than her.

Not everyone will love her, but this does not mean she needs everyone to love her. She doesn’t think love is some big ever-changing thing.

It’s so obviously the small things, some people wear the same earnings every day, that is love, cherishing something, holding it close, ageing beside it. Love is found shoved into the small nooks of creation, and she enjoys discovering love.

If it suits her so be it, what a fascinating thing that all she can do is believe her s/o is on the same page as her, and continue to stand by their side.

She could try and change, and fix what others find disagreeable but it would be nothing more than trying to shed one’s skin and fit yourself into another.

Now, what could that accomplish aside from great amounts of discomfort, stumbling like a baby deer into this character you’ve set out to be?

Sarfaraz

“I am not attractive, so I made up for my lack of beauty with loud kindness and a forced jovial nature”

He just loves love, he likes how it makes him tingle, and his whole self becomes alive. He needs to love, he needs to be able to have a purpose. He likes the rose tints and the way it motivates him.

Breaking himself into pieces to become someone his new s/o can love isn’t really that alien.

He knows he is flawed, he’s aware of how demanding he can be but it’s addictive to him. Which is why he also knows he is the problem.

He learns how to do all these things for his s/o. If they like art, he makes them little sketches of them, if they like certain books he piles them up on his desk from the library, if they have a favourite dish he makes batches of said food and shares the food to see how their face lights up.

But he never discloses how long it took him to make a sketch he was satisfied with, how many rubbed-out sketches decorated his books, or how many pieces of paper were thrown away in the process. He tries to read books and he tries to listen to music, but he learns he cannot. There is a heaviness in his limbs he cannot erase, he reads the wiki summaries, makes annotations, remembers their smile and continues working into the night. He tries to force interest but he cannot because he is in love with an ideal.

And it makes him hollow and so miserable; he wants to love, he wants to prove he isn’t completely rotten. He knows these people deserve something genuine, something that is warm and pure. They’re all so astounding he knows they will find people that are competent and aren’t compliant to the voices in their heads. But he hopes they remember the stepping stone that is him.

So he is enamoured by another, and envy turns into awe, in his mission to become a loving human being he chases those he idealises and he realises he is a bad person. He will give whatever they ask, aside from himself. Those pieces of his heart stay safely tucked in the crumbled tear-stained tissues of the past.

He will not hand over any part of himself but he vows to service his s/o for whatever they need.

He says he stopped smoking, so he buys a new cologne to cover the scent of smoke, they don’t like his glasses, he gets bruises from the walls he didn’t see that week, and they wish he took more care of himself, he tells them about how he’s started doing these self - help guides, he spends more hours deciphering his ceilings.

He lies, he is this bigger than life’s presence. He needs to be everything they need lest they leave.

He is too overbearing, so he stops looking for love.

All he needs is being wanted, being needed, he doesn’t care if the touches make him nauseous, if he prays to his God, begging weeping till his voice is sore to fix him.

If he can change himself just right. If he can find the combination that works. He too can be loved.

#diabolik lovers #diahell #dl oc #diabolik lovers oc #sarfaraz #sai'rish #ask #lana asks

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thebiggestfan1 · 4 years ago

Text

Are you in town? - Matthew Tkachuk (part 1)

part two here

part three here

word count: 1860 words

TW: language, angst (?)

let me know if you want part two, I’m somehow still not sure

...

It was so hot that day. The movers were already gone, the place feeling empty without all the furniture. In a few hours, you'd be long gone, flying far away from Chesterfield.

Some small part of you felt sorry for selling your parents' house - the house you spent your whole childhood living in. But they moved out a few years ago and told you many times they didn't mind at all selling it.

Wiping the sweat off of your eyebrows you made your way through the blooming garden, trying to memorize every little detail. You remembered climbing this tree, you remembered the hole in the fence you made so the neighbour's dog could come play with you, you remembered the time capsule you and Matt buried here when you were fifteen.

Until now, you completely forgot about that. Even though you two didn't talk after he got drafted, it'd be a good idea to meet again since you might never see him again. You might be moving to Calgary but that city was so big it'd be a miracle to meet Matthew somewhere.

So you scrolled through your phone, praying he didn't change his number after all those years as you dialed it.

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up.

"Yes?"

Matthew's voice was so different since the last time you talked.

"Hey Matt, this is Y/N, I'm moving out today and I thought we could dig up the time capsule we buried at my place as kids before I leave. Are you in town?" It was off-season so you might get lucky.

"You are moving out already? But yeah, I can meet you in an hour if you have the time."

"Yes, I'll still be here, don't worry."

"Okay..." There was a moment of awkward silence, neither of you knew how to break it. Was it a bad idea? Of course you wouldn't be as good friends as you once were. But you didn't know it would be this... weird. He didn't say goodbye back when he left to Calgary and didn't answer to any of your calls or messages. What were you thinking? That he wanted to see you?

"So, where are you moving to?" Matt finally continued, making the conversation more bareable.

"Calgary, they offered me an amazing job there."

"Really? I've been there for a few years."

"I heard." Not from you, was what you didn't say. It seemed like he'd heard it nonetheless.

Silence. You hated how distant you've grown - once, a long time ago, you were best friends. You went together to kindergarden and since then you've been the best of best friends. But even after all you went through, you didn't know what to say.

"Nevermind, I have to get going. I'll be at your place at three, okay?"

"Okay. I'll meet you there."

As you hung up, sadness enveloped you. Maybe you shouldn't have called. Maybe it'd be better to never meet Matt again, to remember only the good old times.

But he might be already on his way and you wanted to say a proper goodbye before going far, far away.

You loved him once, you recalled. It broke your heart when he left without looking back.

It irritated you that you couldn't do the same as easily.

...

"Y/N?" a now familiar voice called, the sound of closing car doors echoing through the silent street.

Matt looked same as he did four years ago and still totally different. It was like staring at a stranger you could swear you've already seen before. The curly, those pretty grey-blue eyes and the crooked smile you remembered and thought about too often. He got taller and more mascular over the time he played hockey professionally.

"Hey," you said nervously, tucking your slightly trembling hands into the pockets of your shorts.

Again, that uncomfortable silence took place.

"How long is it?" Since you've last seen each other. Since he'd ignored your calls and messages. Since he'd left you crying as he left this town - as he left you.

"Five years," you said.

Regret flashed in those pretty eyes as he took you in. Did you look to him the same as you did the last time he saw you?

"I'm sorry I didn't call." That was it? After five fucking years of silence, this was his apology for everything. This was a mistake. You didn't think it through when you called him today. Just now you started remembering all the things he's done to you.

"That doesn't make it hurt less, does it?" You whipped around, going to the line of fruit trees where you left the two shovels you borrowed from the neighbour.

Matt's hand slightly gripped your elbow, stopping you in your tracks.

"I know that I made a bunch of wrong decisions before I left."

"I've been trying for 6 months to reach you before giving up completely. And you? You've been living the best version of your life anyone could ever imagine."

"That's not true and you know it." Matthew said and you wanted to leave right then, forget this stupid meeting.

"I do not." you hissed, trying to calm down your rising temper.

Matt sighed, not wanting to argue over this. So he made his way to the tree line, picked one shovel from the ground and started digging where he remembered the time capsule was.

You didn't help him dig it up. You were too lost in memories, clinging to the past as you thought of younger version of Matt.

The clang of metal on metal attracted your attention back to him. He grunted as he pulled up the metal box and laid it on the grass.

You ducked low next to him, dusting off the dirt of the box. It was an old, weirdly dented thing. Your eyes laid on the lock and you nearly sighed in annoyance just when Matt grabbed at his necklace, the key dangling from it. When you two buried the capsule, each of you got a key made for it. You had yours somewhere in the boxes that had already been shipped to your new apartment and Matt's... he didn't forget. He kept it through the years, guarding it and not losing it as you expected.

You didn't say anything, just patiently waited for him to open the box.

There was a letter inside, along with a bunch of things you thought of as long forgotten. Your bracelets of friendship, the colors faded already; a puck with which you and Matthew played your first hockey game together when you were six; so many polaroid photos with your faces on them; USB with a playlist you two always danced to.

Your eyes watered - how were you supposed to say goodbye to all of this?

Silently, you looked over all of the photos - you and Matt in the rink with small hockey sticks and skates, you and Matt sticking out your tongues colored blue with slushies, you and Matt, you and Matt, you and Matt...

Then Matthew's hand found yours, your fingers automatically intertwining with his. You started crying, first silently but then the sobs shook with your whole body.

"Come here," he murmured, hugging you. His body was so soft and warm, as if begging you to lean into his touch.

"How- how could you leave this all behind?" you mumbled between the sobs.

"It's not leaving if you don't say goodbye." Matt said, his fingers playing with yours.

"Then you are a fucking coward, Matthew."

Silence. He didn't argue with you on that, so you must have been right.

You stopped crying after a while, checking your watch while wiping your nose.

Shit. It was so late already - you had to call an uber to get you to the airport in the next hour or you'd be super late.

"I'll have to go," you said quietly, but Matt interrupted you.

"You are right," he tucked on the edge of his shirt, clearly nervous. He was nervous. "I was a coward. I thought that if I didn't say goodbye to you as I left, it'd hurt less. I was wrong and I was a fucking coward for not picking up your calls or replying to your messages because it would make it so real - that I was leaving and probably never coming back. But I want to make it all right again, I want to be a part of your life - if you will let me."

You thought about his offer and still, you couldn't answer. You weren't sure about letting him into your heart just for him to storm out again without a goodbye, leaving you behind, broken.

"Can I at least take you to the airport?" To that, you nodded, picking up the time capsule, putting all the items back in. Then you gave back the lent shovels to your neighbour and with a last glance at your house, you got into Matt's car.

...

On the way to the airport Matt played the playlist from the USB that was in the time capsule and the nostalgy hit you hard.

You remembered the lyrics, the melody; you remembered everything.

The drive was too short and you started panicking as the engine stopped.

Matthew helped you with your suitcase and went inside with you. The two of you stopped at the first gate.

"Here," he said, giving you a piece of paper. "It's my adress. Hopefully, you won't live so far away, so we could meet there if you wanted to."

You tucked it in your pocket without a word.

"Also, take this. I wrote it in ninth grade so don't think much of it. But I want you to read it, Y/N."

It was the letter from the time capsule, with your name on the blank envelope.

"I will." you promised.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward this time.

"I'll let you know my decision about what you said earlier. I just... I need some time."

Matt noded, giving you the space you so desperately needed.

"So, until we meet again - goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Matt."

...

The plane took off and you finally had the time to read the letter he gave you.

You immediately recognised his scrambled handwriting and you smiled at how messy it was before you started reading.

Dear Y/N,

I'm writing this in case I leave. Dad has been telling me for some time already that if I'll get drafted, I'll have to leave. He also said that if I'll be smart, I will never look back at my past.

I don't want you to be my past. I want you to be my present and my future.

He said I'll meet a lot of girls but I know that none of them is going to be like you.

So, I promise you, I will never say goodbye to you.

I love you,

Matt

With trembling fingers, you pulled out your phone, the tears already staining the screen.

That's why he never said goodbye. Because of this stupid letter and his stupid promise.

The phone rang once before he picked it up.

"Y/N? What is it?"

A ragged breath escaped you and you laughed and cried at the same time.

"I don't want you to be my past. I want you to be my present and my future."

"Oh, that was cheesy, wasn't it-"

"No, you dumbass. That's my answer."

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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bloodwrittenballad · 4 years ago

Text

Favorite Crime | Kaz Brekker

Summary: Inspired by Favorite Crime by Olivia Rodrigo!

Warnings: Death, unrequited love, angst, injuries and blood, my bad writing.

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“Know that I loved you so bad

I let you treat me like that

I was your willing accomplice, honey.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you joined the crows. You knew there would be an endless amount of blood stained on your hands, that you’d have a target on your back at all times. More importantly, you knew you’d die young because of it.

But regardless, you joined. You joined for him. For Kaz...

You shouldn’t have been so foolish to let your feelings for him determine your choice, shouldn’t have let yourself fall so fast and helplessly in love with someone that would never love you back.

However you couldn’t help it, even if you were only another expendable accomplice to his crimes.

“And I watched as you fled the scene

Doe-eyed as you buried me

One heart broke, four hands bloody.”

It happened so fast. One moment Kaz was right by your side, the next he was fleeing the scene to aid Inej in her battle against a few men, leaving you alone to fend for yourself.

They were big. Much bigger than you. It wasn’t a fair fight, and a sinking feeling in your stomach told you it wouldn’t end well. You tried your best though, throwing punches and your knifes, defending yourself with kicks.

Soon you began to tire out, there was only so much you could do against them on your own. Everyone else was busy fighting off their own opponents, but they had backup. Like Kaz and Inej.

Your eyes wondered to the two of them, watching as they worked flawlessly together, flowing so naturally in their movements to defend the other.

You wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t sting to see. You also wouldn’t lie and say it was a fatally stupid and foolish mistake to let your feelings for him get away again, especially in the midst of the chaos that ensued around you.

Because before you knew it, a knife had impaled your stomach, an outcome to your distraction. You let out a scream so piercing and loud, it was almost deafening.

Immediately time seemed to freeze, and once again your eyes drifted to Kaz, except this time he was looking back at you. His eyes were wide, almost doe like, almost as if he saw your death already and was preparing to bury you.

Your heart broke at the look on his face, so filled with guilt and surprise, like he blamed himself for your own stupidity. Then his jaw clenched and his changed into anger as he stared at your bloody hands, clenching the wound on your stomach, before they drifted to the bloody hands of the man who stabbed you.

If looks could kill, the nameless man standing across from you would be six feet under. But Kaz’ glare wasn’t enough to murder him, his gun however was. And with a loud shot that whizzed by you and straight into his skull, the man was dead at your feet.

That was all you remembered happening before the black dots that had been swimming in your vision finally let the darkness claim you.

You used me as an alibi

I crossed my heart as you crossed the line

And I defended you to all my friends

It took months for you to fully heal from the stab wound, and in that time Kaz refused to let you do anything.

Instead you were his alibi. Anytime he was questioned about his whereabouts when he was planning or doing crimes, he would always just say he was back at the Slat taking care of you.

In reality he hardly glanced at you.

It really hurt. Still you crossed your heart and prayed he’d come around, talk to you... but he never did. All he did was cross lines and lie.

The other Crows could see how badly it affected you, and they tried to help by offering to talk to Kaz, but you refused. You defended him, put on a fake smile and said it didn’t bother you.

In truth however, it was killing you.

And you knew if you didn’t get out, get away from this soon, get away from him, that you would end up being killed for real.

And now every time a siren sounds

I wondеr if you're around

'Cause you know that I'd do it all again

You left the group a few weeks ago.

It wasn’t easy. Saints it was the hardest decision you ever had to make, but it was for the best. For everyone.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though, or that you didn’t miss them. You did. Especially Kaz.

Every night as you would lay in bed wide awake, still not comfortable in your new apartment, you’d listen to the sounds of the city. Every bell that rang, every gunshot, every shout from drunken gamblers reminded you of him.

Sometimes it felt like he was around in those moments, like he was checking in on you.

You knew he wasn’t, though.

He let you go so easily, so why would he bother ever coming around again? Part of that hurt you, but you knew it was for the best. Because truth is, if he had come to you, you feared you’d be pulled back to him and do it all over again.

“It's bittersweet to think about the damage that we’d do

'Cause I was goin' down, but I was doin' it with you

Yeah, everything we broke and all the trouble that we made

But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

Oh, look what we became.”

It’s been months now since you left. Not just in terms of the group, but Ketterdam all together.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, not when everything reminded you of Kaz.

It was too hard, too bittersweet to think about him and all the memories you had.

Loving him was like a sinking ship, and though you used to swear you’d never mind going down, as long as it was with him, you knew you couldn’t continue like this. Especially since he was no longer by your side to go down with.

You wrote them all letters before you left, you even have delivered them to each person in the group, all except for Kaz of course.

You couldn’t stand to be around him, not if you couldn’t jokingly tell him you hate him with a smile on your face, like you always used to do after you had arguments or went through a rough patch together.

So you gave Inej his letter, and made her promise not to give it to him until you were gone.

And then just like that, you turned and disappeared into the night, your new beginning awaiting.

Your new beginning that wouldn’t contain crime, or pain, or unrequited feelings.

A fresh start at life that didn’t have the bastard if the barrel in it.

Oh, the things I did

Just so I could call you minе

The things you did

Well, I hope I was your favorite

As time went on, you slowly healed from all the pain and anger. You no longer held feelings for him, no longer felt resentment either like you had when you first moved to the beautiful countryside.

Instead you were happy, for the first time in a long time. You found someone who loved you and gave you all you wanted in life, someone you could call “mine” with absolute surety, unlike how you couldn’t with Kaz, even after all the things you did in an attempt to be able to call him yours.

But it was okay now, because you had someone you could say that to now.

You hoped he did too, you hoped he found someone that would put up with the things he did and that they made him happy.

That’s all you wanted for him, even after everything.

Deep down he would always be your favorite person, your favorite crime... and a part of you hoped maybe you were his favorite too.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine

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bl00dgutsgl0ry · 4 years ago

Text

You Shouldn’t Touch What’s Not Yours

Pairing - Diluc and Childe x Reader (separate of course).

Warnings - Violence, implied bullying/harassment/assault, very very mild gore.

Other Comments - I’ve wrote so much for Childe that I thought I should probably throw someone else into the mix, so why not put in my second favorite white boy Diluc hehe. (♡-_-♡) I can’t help but write angst for my babies but I promise I have some lighter fluffier stuff on the way (￣ω￣;). I also tried to make these a little shorter since I was writing for two characters this time hehe.

~ Childe ~

The day was set up to be so good. Childe had been quite busy with his usual Harbinger duties, but he had finally been able to score a couple days off and decided he wanted to plan out a romantic sequence of evenings. He had spent so much time and effort making everything perfect. Childe most definitely not frugal in any terms of the word, but he managed to surprise himself with how much Mora he had spent for just two days. Of course just the luck for him, a wrench had to be thrown into the mix.

You had been having a tough couple of weeks trying to deal with a rather difficult man who had commissioned you from the Adventurers guild. After you had informed him that you were unable to complete his commission, he had decided to make your life a living hell; constantly throwing insults at you and almost getting physical with you on a couple of occasions.

Now of course when you had received message from Childe that he was going to be “home” for a couple of days, you were absolutely floored. You missed him greatly and you were finally going to have someone to distract you from the awful harassment; but this also meant that you were going to have to figure out a way of hiding the obvious toll it took on you.

There were dark bags underneath your once gleeful eyes, from the loss of sleep due to worrying about this man and his whereabouts. There were also a couple of bruises left on your knees from stumbling when running away from your aggressor; though those could easily be written off as injuries from the Hilichurls or Treasure Hoarders.

On the day of Childe’s arrival he had expected to be greeted with a beaming (y/n), and a great big hug, maybe even a passionate kiss. But what he was greeted with, was the shell of his significant other. Today was the worst possible day for him to see you, as you had just gotten out of a physical altercation with the usual suspect. There were clear tear stains, you had dirt and scrapes all over you, and he even dared to go as far as give you a bloody nose.

You gave Childe a lifeless smile that couldn’t even reach your eyes, before heading straight into your apartment and closing the door; not waiting for Childe. Not only was he outraged and your actions and appearance, the way you were acting clearly alluded to this abuse lasting for a while. Why didn’t you say anything about it to him, send him a message? He could’ve sent over Fatui agents to take care of the cockroach. Of course his outrage was misplaced, is was not your fault; he knew this. He needed to get to the roots of this little weed.

It took a little bit of digging, but once Childe found the source of your issues it was over. This man had never been more blind sighted with rage, than when he made eye contact with the piece of shit who dared to lay a hand on you or speak to you at all.

Childe was very careful about only showing you the good side of him, at least for now as your relationship with him was still too new; so gods did it feel good to really beat the shit out of this guy.

“Hey you! Did you commission an adventurer by the name of (y/n) by any chance?” Childe new better than to suddenly go in swinging, by the slight off chance that this may have been the wrong man.

“Huh? Oh yeah, or at least I tried. The useless little shit couldn’t get it done though, so I do not recommend them at all.” Ah yes, the flash of red in Childe’s vision confirmed it all. How dare they speak ill of you, and even worse touch something that belonged to him.

“Bad news comrade, you should never touch something that isn’t yours.” There was an evil glint in Childe’s now dark eyes as he suddenly swung at the man. He didn’t really care if others say, he decided it was good to make an example out of this jerk.

By the end of everything, Childe was spattered with blood, not to mention how awful his fists looked. Though that doesn’t even begin to cover what the other man looked like. To call him a bloody mess was an understatement, and the copper headed man wasn’t exactly sure if the man was even breathing anymore though of course he didn’t exactly care either.

With that, Childe cleaned himself up before heading back to your residence. He guessed he would just have to extend his stay with you for a few more days to make up for what this scum bag did. He would be damned if he left without seeing that playful glint return to your eyes.

~ Diluc ~

Diluc was an incredibly busy man, so he never got to see you much except for the rare occasions that you would stop by the winery if you were say in the area. So when he made the executive decision to leave work early and surprise you at home, he was more than a little shocked to see you getting yelled at by one of the Knights of Favonius.

He knew you had always been a little more on the soft and sensitive side, which made him love you even more. You were the polar opposite to him in that regard, so a switch flipped in him when his eyes met your tearful ones.

“Excuse me what happens to be the problem here?” Diluc’s strides were large and quick, trying to get between you and the dreadful knight as quickly as possible. It was clear that this Knight was not normally on patrol inside of Mondstadt, or on patrol anywhere for that matter as he seemed to be pretty new. Even if Diluc despised all of them, he knew almost every single one of them.

“Well, this one right here clearly doesn’t understand the laws of gliding, as they clearly do not have a gliding license-”

“I’ve been trying to tell you I have a license I must’ve just forgotten it! You can ask Amber she’s the one that did my test!” You were quick to explain yourself once again, accidentally cutting off the knight.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me!” The knight reached around Diluc to push your shoulder, to which Diluc quickly shoved him back causing him to fall backwards.

“Don’t fucking touch them. I’ll have you know, I know your Acting Grand Master quite well it would take no time at all to send her a letter of how poor you are at your job. You’re clearly new here, so i hope you enjoy getting your job stripped away as fast as you ‘earned’ it; if you could even say that.” The color completely drained from the knight’s face and they went to stand back up and quickly jogged away. With that Diluc quickly turned around to face you.

“(Y/n) are you okay? Have you been hurt? I swear you should never trust any of the Knights they all-” Diluc was rambling, you’d never seen him this frantic before. It was almost kind of cute how he was almost as shaken up as you were as he looked you over for any injuries, even the smallest scrape.

“Diluc, I am okay. Thank you for helping me.” On of Diluc’s gloved hands came up to cup your cheek as he brushed away the last few tears on your face with his thumb. Relief visibly flooded over him, before quickly going back to his usual stoic self.

“Well, I am glad I just happened to take the rest of the day off. This wasn’t exactly the way I was planning of surprising you with that but oh well.” A smile immediately lit up your face, causing Diluc’s to flush a light pink.

“Really?! That’s great I’m so excited! Wait... So are you really going to tell Acting Grand Master Jean about him?” Diluc let out a low chuckle.

“I just might. I haven’t visited her office in quite some time either so I guess this does give me another excuse to take another day off from the tavern. And besides, a guy like him has no place in the Knights, he would’ve turned out to be a cocky power hungry fool. Now shall we get going?”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagine #genshin imagine #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin diluc #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia #childe #genshin imapct diluc #diluc #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia imagine #childe x reader #childe imagine #diluc x reader #diluc imagine

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