#little vexing about the distance

[raeathnos]

.

[randomsuggesteduseername]

waking up with nerdy college steve after a hookup

—MASTERLIST

The sheets feel soft on your skin, uncharacteristically so for the uni beds, and as you open your eyes it’s confirmed that you didn’t make it home last night. Lazily, you let your head turn to the side, the light from the wall-length window almost blinding you as you try to accustom from the previous darkness of your eyelids. He’s sleeping, you notice as much from the rhythmic rise and fall of his back, your eyes exploring shamelessly the expanse of his skin littered in moles and twin pairs of four indents on his shoulder blades. They’re still somewhat red, a gentle reminder of the previous night.

Rolling on your stomach, you keep yourself up on your elbows as you tilt your head curiously, who knew Steve could look this peaceful? You’ve only known him as that boy from sociology you happened to lock eyes with a few times. The first thing you had noticed about him were his perfect eyes and the little stray chestnut strand which was curling down from his forehead all the way to his pretty brown eyes. So wide, framed by black lashes with just the right upwards curl to give him that Bambi look which had you thinking about him for an embarrassing amount of time.

You’d seen the way girls were fawning over him, how he’d politely reject them and try to keep his distance. It made you think he was taken, but how could he be not, those eyes were like gentle traps. Traps in which you fell head first without warning. You’re not in love with him, no…you don’t think you are, but you’re not indifferent to him either which is somewhat vexing.

He’s waking up, a deeper breath and a grumpy sigh fall from his lips first, the scruffing of his pillow audible as he nuzzles deeper into the comfort of the silk. He has his own apartment, daddy’s money is your best guess, which is surprising since he doesn’t have anything in common with the rich douchebags which always make their presence known by flashing their wealth left and right. He’s so different in his own way, which is why you’re surprised that you managed to make it into his bed last night, you suppose Tina’s vodka spiked punch might’ve loosened him up.

You watch him as he sits up, a cute frown resting between his brows as he supports himself with a hand against the mattress before he looks around, spotting you beside him, still wearing his polo from the previous night. It was the closest garment you could grab from the floor.

“Morning…” His voice is deeper than usual, sleep still lingering on him and his features. “You’re still here,” he says as if it’s a miracle, his pink-ish lips pulling up at the corners in a pretty smile.

“Would you rather that I leave?” Questioning teasingly, you hum at the soft pout falling onto his lips, making you shake your head and sigh, reaching a hand to ruffle his already messy hair. “Relax, bambi, I’m just joking.” Sitting yourself up, you climb onto his lap as he leans back against the headboard and gazes up at you, the slightly sleepy look in his eyes making your stomach squeeze.

Slinging your arms around his neck, you let out a hum and push one hand up into his hair, silky strands slipping smoothly through your fingers as you watch his eyes flutter shut and lean back into your touch. You suddenly want him again. Bad.

You thought that last night was enough for you to get him out of your system, but once again, looking at those soft lips, you wish they’d be doing something else right now. Giving his lips a chaste peck, you feel his hands pressing onto your waist with a featherlight pressure, grounding himself in the moment as if just the softest touch of your lips has him floating. Pulling back slightly to watch him, you notice the leftover lipstick marks smeared onto his skin, the reddish tint at the corner of his lips, over his jaw and stretching down to his neck and collarbone.

Tutting gently, you smile to yourself, letting your fingers push his hair back from his forehead before you lean in and stop just a hair’s width away from his lips, your eyes falling shut as you hum and squeeze the back of his neck. “You know, Bambi…” Shifting on his thighs, “there’s something about you driving me crazy.” you tilt your head and before he can think of a response, your lips are on his, lazily kissing him as you shift closer and nip on his lip. His breath fans over your cheek, hands tightening slightly onto your waist as he gets worked up, your kiss turning more heated and rushed. You pant, pulling back, surprised as he leans in and continues mouthing sloppily at your neck.

Offering him the whole expanse of your neck to play with, your eyes stay shut as you feel the accidental scrape of his front teeth against the side of your neck, making you moan and grip at his shoulder, your other hand tugging onto his hair as a reassuring gesture that he's doing well.. His skin is warm against yours despite the shudder which runs through him at the sharp feeling of you tugging onto his hair. He loves it, the type of pain which fuels his fire.

He doesn’t dare to go further, settling for some open mouthed kisses onto your neck, his hands having found the courage to slip under your shirt, which is actually his, but he knows that if you want he’ll let you leave with it. Warm palms spread over your back, you grip his throat and push him back from your skin, his expression mimicking one of a puppy whose toy has been snatched away.

Your lips settling onto his jaw, you suck a mark on the underside of it which makes him jolt, struggling to keep still as you turn his skin a rose colour, finishing it up with a nip. Chuckling at his soft jolt, you murmur a soft praise and pull back to admire his blissed out face, lips parted slightly, eyes shut and his cheeks a matching shade with the mark on his neck.

Sighing deeply, you roll off and lay back, legs parting suggestively as you motion for him to come lay with you with a subtle tilt of your head, watching as his grin widens while he moves to lay between your legs, keeping himself up with the help of his elbows sinking into the mattress as you notice the soft squint in his brows. Blindly reaching a hand to the nightstand, you grab his frames and gently prop them up onto his nose, smiling softly. “There,” Swiping his hair away once again, you smile as he thanks you, his thin frames making his eyes seem just a bit bigger, the nickname ‘Bambi’ even more fitting for him now.

Smiling as his cheeks seem to tint a bit at your gesture, you gently trace his glasses, tucking some longer hairs behind his ear before you settle your hand at the back of his neck, squeezing. “Now,” Trailing off, tone warm, yet holding a certain amount of teasing. “it’s 9, we still have time. So we can have sex, go out for some breakfast and then maybe go to sociology?” Proposing the schedule, his lips part, seemingly focusing on just the first part of the sentence to which he agrees with a dumb nod.

He’s gone to heaven, he thinks. Nothing can convince him otherwise as you kiss him again, ridding him of any coherent thought.

[soobnny]

cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

+

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

+

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

+

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

+

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

+

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

+

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

+

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

[fagsystem]

As an ambulatory wheelchair user I have so many thoughts about how people draw/write disabled!Scar. This is sort of a guide/insight from a disabled person about writing/drawing disabled people.

Specifically in regards to wheelchair users.

Do not get me wrong, this fandom is genuinely probably the best group of people I have ever seen when it comes to drawing wheelchairs. I do not believe I have ever seen Scar fanart where he is in a completely unusable, horrible, hospital chair. It is so clear people have taken the time and energy to research into wheelchairs and I love it. I am in no way saying stop that.

I just think people could maybe put a little bit more consideration into him being disabled beyond visual appearance.

I saw a really amazing artwork of SL!Scar and he is in a sports chair. Which is really cool, in many ways, as it shows some thought being put into the setting. If I were in combat, I would in fact like to not be knocked from my chair or have my chair tipped over.

Yet, you have very limited mobility in a sports chair. It is, by design, made to prevent you from tipping over. Which means that you are incapable of going over bumps, really, let alone natural terrain.

Just in general, there really is not any wheelchair that exists in our world that would allow wheelchair users to exist in a setting like the life series.

So, I have some ideas:

- Horses. Hands down my biggest suggestion. Especially with Secret Life they fit in very well with the setting, everyone uses them, and it fits the bill perfectly for what he would need. Especially considering Scar is an archer, it makes a lot of sense for him to be on horseback. It suits him and his style of fighting so well.

- Some sort of redstone power chair. There are all sorts of ways you could design something like this. Perhaps with pistons that push down against the ground, allowing for jumps. Perhaps just a series of pistions functioning as like a bunch of little spider legs. There are a lot of things you can do with that, you can get very creative.

- For my Vex!Scar lovers, you could have magic be used as a mobility aid. Perhaps a magic wheelchair, or perhaps a magic exoskeleton.

And with all of the ideas, considering how they fit into the setting really changes everything. What are the strengths? What are the draw backs?

With horses, they are strong and fast and agile. But they are big, it is hard to fit into small spaces, and they can be killed.

With some sort of redstone chair, I feel as though it would make sense for it to be robust and strong. Depending on how it is constructed, something fast and agile or perhaps something a bit slower and more clunky. Is it loud? How would stealth work in something like that?

When it comes to any sort of magic you do not want it to fix the disability. It is a mobility aid like any other. Not perfect, not the same as not being disabled, just another tool with its own unique draw backs. Perhaps magic is draining or it takes concentration. Would he tire quicker than others? Would he require food quicker than others? Is it possible for him to lose focus on it in a stressful situation, leaving him stuck until he can calm himself down?

Other things to consider are really specifically the setting as well as what disability you are giving him.

I feel as though on Hermitcraft an option like a redstone chair just makes a lot of sense. Multiple redstone chairs, even, all constructed differently for different uses. Such as ones for building. How does long distance travel work with the chair and how you lore your setting? Is it something he can put in his inventory? Is it something he remains in when using an elytra? Does that have any draw backs, such as being slower or needing more rockets or being less coordinated in the air?

I feel as though in the life series a mix of vex magic and horses makes a lot of sense. The magic is good for small spaces and short trips and emergencies, but it is too tiring to travel across the map with and too much effort to maintain when he needs to concentrate on battles. That would be where the horse comes into play.

As for what disability, well, it truly depends. Most of my rambles here have been based upon paraplegia, because I often times see people making him an ambulatory wheelchair user just because they do not know what to do otherwise.

Not that making him an ambulatory wheelchair user is a bad thing by any means. I am one and I adore reading stories like that. It is just a bit clear that a lot of you are quite lost as to how to navigate hurdles disabled people face, so you make it so he can walk over those hurdles. Which, once again, I am not shaming you for! This post is just to show there are other options

But in the case of him being an ambulatory wheelchair user: why is he one?

Mobilities aids are disabling unless you need them. You cannot access spaces or you do not have hands free or any number of things. What to the Scar you are writing makes using mobility aids helpful instead of a hindrance? What times are they more trouble than help, and what cost is there for not using it?

A good example is if Scar can walk around short distances with minimal difficulty/drawback, but long distances are painful or physically not possible.

Look into different disabilities and consider it. A lot of people tend to default to chronic pain because that tends to be quite a common one across a lot of disabled people, but there are a lot more different reasons why.

It could also be that he is very slow because of his disabilities. I have muscle weakness sometimes because of my FND, and it is like moving through sludge whenever I try and move.

It could also be that the mobility aids are a preventative measure. He does not need to use his wheelchair, unless he has done too much walking and then his body refuses to support his weight. He does not need to use his wheelchair, but when he does not he is a lot more likely to dislocate something and then yeah he can't walk. He does not need to use his wheelchair, but he is a fall risk especially after a lot of walking or running. Him being in his wheelchair prevents him from falling! (And if he's a fall risk, maybe he's strapped in too!)

I just have so many thoughts and I wanted to share them.

I see so many of you putting in effort already and it warms my heart. It is why I feel comfortable enough to make this post, because clearly you all care a lot about representing disabled people well.

:]

If you have read this far thank you so much. Let me know what you think or if you have any questions.

Edit: I made a rough redstone wheelchair design. It is one of the few reblogs that has comments, if you filter for that you should be able to find it. If not, reply to the post and I can send you the link to it. :]

[slut4thebroken]

A Taste for Fear

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x reader

Summary | He’s a vampire obsessed with fear. What more do I need to say?

Warnings | Technically non-con, but like there’s no smut yet, fear play, hunter/prey, gun?, idk

Words | 700+

Notes | I’m actually so exited for this concept because I’ve never seen it done before🤭 and yes I’m 100% going to make a part 2 <<3

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 10: hunter/prey + fear play

Becoming a vampire was one of the best things to ever happen to Jonathan. The abilities, heightened senses, the powers… There was hardly a negative aspect about it. 

He loved being able to smell fear, but his all time favorite thing was being able to taste it. The difference wasn’t too drastic, but he strongly preferred inducing fear before feeding. Plus, it wasn’t like it was very hard. All it took was just a glimpse of his red eyes or fangs for his victim to be practically paralyzed with fear.

He wasn’t originally planning on feeding tonight, but he could smell you from across the street and he just couldn’t resist. He could tell you were already on edge, no doubt due to walking the streets of Gotham at night as a woman. When you turned down an alley, he practically grinned— Of course a pretty thing like you would be stupid enough to go down a dark alley all alone.

He wanted to draw out the chase, intensify your fear, so he made his presence known. He kept a safe distance, but he knew you heard his footsteps when your heart started beating a little faster in your chest. As you reached in your purse, he could already smell the lead before you even pulled out the small revolver. He chuckled quietly to himself at that, but pretended to be oblivious. 

You turned a corner and a few seconds later he did the same, but paused when he saw you standing still, pointing the gun at him. 

“Why are you following me?” You asked, voice trembling almost as much as your hands. 

“Following you?” He asked innocently, tilting his head. As he continued stalking closer, you adjusted your grip on the gun and staggered back a few steps. “Easy there, sweetheart.” You immediately scowled at the patronizing tone and pet name. 

“Stop walking.” You ordered sternly— adorably. He humored you and slowed to a stop.  

“I’m trying to get somewhere.” He said, glancing past you to indicate the direction he ‘needed to go.’ You faltered, then started walking backwards, this time at an angle, closer to the wall so he could pass you. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on you and resumed moving closer. 

“Stop! I'll shoot!” The way you tried to sound threatening was almost endearing, but he could smell the sweat beading on your forehead. He said nothing and continued, making you stagger back even more, gasping when you hit the wall. “I’m serious!” Your heart was beating wildly in your chest and your breathing was quickly becoming ragged. 

When he was only a foot away, you squeezed your eyes shut and pulled the trigger, flinching at the loud sound of the gun. He froze and raised his brows, vexed by your audacity. You finally opened your eyes and he could see the moment your face paled in realization. He snatched the gun from your hand violently and threw it across the alley without ever breaking eye contact. 

“This was a new suit.” He said dryly. 

You opened and closed your mouth, struggling to find words when you still didn’t completely understand what just happened. “I,” your throat closed up when you tried to speak and he stepped even closer, his body barely an inch away now. When you still couldn’t speak, he tilted his head questioningly. 

Your bottom lip started to quiver as tears brimmed in your eyes, making his cock throb within the confines of his pants. He lifted his hand to brush the back of his finger over your cheek and you flinched away with a quiet sob, closing your eyes. You were trembling like a leaf and he cooed with fake sympathy, using his thumb to drag over your bottom lip. 

“Oh, I know… Poor thing, you must be so scared.” You let out a choked sob and pressed yourself firmly against the wall, trying uselessly to get some distance. His gaze was drawn to your neck and he could practically see the blood rushing through your veins. “You smell divine, my dear.” He purred, his voice already thick with arousal. You bit your lip, trying hard to repress your sobs as your heart thumped loudly in your chest. Honestly, you looked like you were about to start hyperventilating. 

“Now, I was taught not to play with my food before eating it… But personally, I think it tastes even sweeter, laced with fear.” He murmured, reluctantly drawing his gaze away from your neck. He took a step back and you didn’t move, but your eyes slowly fluttered open. “Run.” 

“What?” You choked out, your voice barely audible. 

“Run.” He grinned predatorily, finally showing off his fangs. “You better hope I don’t catch you.”

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND ALHAITHAM

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband alhaitham headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fluff, crack??, [ex]plicit, fem! reader, just a sprinkle of possessiveness but not detailed, kaveh is a paid actor in this

ex! husband alhaitham who will transparently accept your decision to the divorce, in defiance of his own individualistic judgment about your commitment. Truthfully, and as far as one can tell, he was anything else but delighted by it, yet he was aware that he couldn't force such decision out of you, quite bothersome— he thinks.

ex! husband alhaitham who will come off as decidedly snotty in the first couple instances of your next meet ups, but when you propose the rational idea of keeping a distance between each other he will blatantly refuse it and assure you that he still considers you as his best friend regardless of the vexing circumstances of your failed relationship.

ex! husband alhaitham who you undisputedly trust when he guarantees you that he's over the entire situation just as much as you were, no, he in fact did not think you both would get back together but it was a logical process to look after a 'friend', so he doesn't understand your sense of reluctance at first. Yes, again, you're free to do whatever you want as long as you both continue to harvest a flourishing friendship.

ex! husband alhaitham who will keep a sprinkling of his own belongings in your home even after he moved back into his old house— he will always assure you that he's going to get them, really, once he's free from working but he never does. It's a secret (and beneficial) way of forcing you to see random possessions that will remind you of him.

ex! husband alhaitham who still pays things regarding your entire house, even though he isn't living there anymore— though he wants to do it regardless. When you proceed to tell him that it's okay, you got it covered and you can't be dependable on him forever he's warily accepting it but will then silently outlay several bills behind your person without ever telling you— because it's really not a big deal and he doesn't understand why you're making it one.

ex! husband alhaitham who will quiz kaveh more often now after your divorce to stealthily find out about your latest happenings or if you've bumped into another relationship thus far. In the early stages, your friend kaveh wasn't pleased about aiding your ex in this taxing scheme, but in the fullness of time he will be exceptionally beguiled into thinking it's to assure you're doing okay after the divorce.

ex! husband alhaitham who had the splendid idea to meet up for dinner (or lunch) at your once shared house periodically, giving no additional elaboration to it— as he put it, it's to fortify your innocent cordial bond, without having any ulterior motives behind the sudden urge.

ex! husband alhaitham who will ridicule every budding relationship (or friendship) that would embark into your space but he'd do it dubiously respectful as well as passive aggressive so you initially won't catch onto it. Whenever someone would claim to know a particular fact about you, ex! husband alhaitham would beg to differ and instead, correct them.

once you're asking ex! husband alhaitham to tone it down a little— otherwise some might think you're still a couple or rekindling, he's retracting the question to you and ask if you're really okay with someone spreading misinformation about you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will downrightly tell you that no matter the coeval occurrences, you are still his person and that he frankly isn't interested in dating or pursuing someone else, he'd rather just focus on work and live a comfortable life with you by his side, he didn't care if you're his friend or spouse.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be— for once, at loss of words when you're telling him to stop making it so challenging, that there was a reason you have decided to call it quits and that he's only making it more difficult for you to fully move on. And the moment he'd perceive that he'd ask you what you meant by 'fully move on'. have you not entirely moved on yet?

ex! husband alhaitham who will take a step closer to you now, yet leaving enough space in between your bodies to not unanticipatedly overwhelm you when his eyes slowly blink over yours, demanding the truth. On how his breathing was quickening, you knew there was something he did not show you or was meant for you to be seen.

ex! husband alhaitham whose skin will be covered in goosebumps the moment you place your hand on top of his chest, right above his pounding heart. He's watching you closely and not once, averting his gaze from you. You do not talk, neither does he— it's as if you both had left it to your bodies to speak.

ex! husband alhaitham who couldn't hold himself back anymore and drew your face towards his with your chin tugged in between his thumb and pointer finger, placing a fine kiss on your sweet lips— he immediately registered just how much he missed the trifling touch of you, or the comfort your glow would convey on his, as if you were touching his hidden soul through nothing but a amiable trace.

ex! husband alhaitham who will deepen the kiss, heaving as to try to catch his own breath when you push your tongue past his lips, toying with his wetness with your arms tightly enclosed around his neck. Somehow, everything you knew had become muddled and dimmed, it's all the more difficult to let go when it came to someone like him.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kindly shush you with a chime of sweet, quick kisses while pulling you towards your once shared room, assuring you that whatever will happen after this moment, you'd get through it together— as a team.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be more animated than any other days you both had been intimate with each other, from someone who was commonly laid back in the process of it all, he now wanted to see and witness it on his skin, soul and touch. It was excruciating to catch onto his fondles and meet ups, how needful the both of you had gotten from the warm kisses.

ex! husband alhaitham who'd gently push you on top of the mattress and skillfully kick your legs apart with his knees to dwell amidst your thighs. The moment he's entirely on top of you, you had already intuited his stiffened cock beating within the confinements of his pants. He's grinding himself into you— appearing almost feral by how nasty and unyielding he was, but you loved it, because you have missed him so very much.

ex! husband alhaitham who will spoil you the whole night as to show what you willingly gave up— he wants to make sure it's engraved in your body, the trace of his soft lips, the loud darts of his tongue, the warm slurps of his mouth drilling past your folds to collect the slick that was only meant for him to taste and treasure.

ex! husband alhaitham who will decorate the inside of your thighs with gentle nibs and bite marks because at this point the control over his own emotions and needs have been kindly dwindling away. He can't recognize himself whenever he's intimate with you, whenever he's on the brink of release, it feels like he arrived where he should be, in a comfortable space with the love of his life.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kiss from your clit up to your lower stomach— smooching your belly twice, then prod his tongue out and lap all to your collarbone until finding solace on your neck, guzzling on the skin simultaneously to hovering his tip over your entrance. When he perceives your legs automatically spread farther and wrap around him— as you always did prior to the divorce, it will make him lose his mind.

ex! husband alhaitham who will set a unmanageable maddening tempo, in order for him to gape into your face and see all the sweet reactions coming from his thick cock fitting so perfectly inside of you. He notices the twitch in your brows, the gentle cradle of your lips— in a sweet pout, or how your eyes are huddling together but feebly trying to open up and see him, to thank him through nothing but your expressions.

ex! husband alhaitham whose head will suddenly feel heavy and if it wasn't for it resting against your forehead, he'd be sure it'll flop into your neck on how passionate the surroundings have gotten. He's readjusting himself and pulling your legs up so he could easily push them into your chest, his muscles were tensed and you noticed how controlled his breathing was, he's glowing and appeared majestic in front of you.

ex! husband alhaitham who would, in any other circumstances, have troubles talking about his feelings, mouth a fragile 'I love you' and making sure you see it. When he notices your eyes widen at it he's certain you know that, fuck, the entire divorce has been eating him up from the very within, if you discard of him, he wouldn't know how to react, what to do or if he's supposed to just walk away from you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will pick up the tempo on his hips the moment you return the sentence to him, when you tell him that you still love him, that you shouldn't have gone so far as to break off this marriage, but instead work more on the reappearing problems which were encountered in your marriage.

ex! husband alhaitham who senses the warm tears bubble out from the outer corners of your glassy eyes and who's swiftly sweeping them away with his thumb, leaning close until every warm exhale of his breathing coats your plump lips.

ex! husband alhaitham who before releasing his white seed in you, pauses the tumbling mess on your soiled cunt and buries himself deep to the hilt, leaving you to whine at the fullness of his heavy cock in you, begging him to mess you up with his cum.

ex! husband alhaitham who watches you in a concentrated manner— within a logical approach, because you belonged to him, he never saw it in any other form, even after all he still saw you as such, his spouse, the person he called upon whenever he was in need of company.

ex husband series.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[xxblairexxss]

We’ll be fine

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.7k

Requested!

Relationships aren’t all sunshines and rainbows. Charles and you were trying so hard to maintain this long distance relationships but everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Was it the miscommunication, the lack of reassurance or was it because of your job?

The FaceTime’s outgoing ringtone blasted through your Macbook’s speaker, giving you a jolt, though you had bern waiting for it for the past 30 minutes.

"God, I miss you so much, baby."

The sight of your boyfriend in red, all sweaty, made you all giddy like a high school teenager. "Hi, boyfriend! Congratulations on the P3!" He went on to talk about the race and everything you had missed for not being able to join him this weekend while you rested your chin on your palm whilst listening to him.

"No way! You saw the same cut board again? Was it from the same person?" You asked; your work-related stuff was long forgotten.

"I'm not sure about that, but it freaked me out a little bit seeing my face that big over and over."

You cackled. He had propped his phone against his stuff, so you got a good look at him while he sorted out things before the press conference. It made you feel as if you were there with him.

This was the first time in a while that you didn’t get into an argument during a 10-minute video call. A few weeks ago, as frequent as it was, Charles and you would always get into an argument, sometimes one that lasted for days. It was all because of your new job and the upcoming summer break.

When you first got the offer, you could see Charles wasn’t too elated about it. It didn’t mean he was unhappy to see you step up into another chapter of your life. He was so ecstatic that he even prepared a small celebration and gifts to celebrate it. For the whole week after you told him about your promotion, that was all he ever talked about.

"I’m so proud of you."

"My hardworking girl"

"You deserved it so much".

Those were the words he kept on showering you with, like a mantra.

But those words eventually turned into fatalistic, forcing you to accept the culpability of the constant disagreement in the relationship.

"Not this again, Y/N."

"I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you."

"I’m doing this for us too!"

"Am I the only one who gives a fuck about this relationship?"

Being able to talk to him and seeing him all smile with eyes full of accolades and longing for the touch from you erased all of the tainted spots.

That was until he called you again that night. When you told him about your upcoming project was when he blew up all over again. You saw it coming. Even before you picked up the call, before you had arranged those words in your head.

"What do you mean you can’t join me next week? Y/N, it’s my summer break. Don’t you want to spend some time together?"

You covered your face with your hands, internally screaming. He always acted as if you had a choice to reject every offer that the company had arranged for you. As if you didn’t care about this relationship as much as he did. "They asked me to take over the project. I can’t say no."

"I haven’t seen you in weeks." He muttered.

"I wanted to see you too, Charles, but..."

"Don’t say that." He heckled. You saw him roll his eyes, moving away from the camera. "Don’t say shit like that just to make me feel better. I know you don’t actually mean any of it."

"Charles, I really wanted to see you but I can’t say no!" You yelled out, desperately trying to make him see things from your point of view.

"Bullshit." He sniggered.

"What?"

"What if I tell you, Oh, I missed you so much, I can’t wait to see you, then chose to spend the weekend with my friends after saying all that? It sounds bullshit to you, isn’t it?" He shook his head, as if what you said vexed him even more. 

“I wasn’t spending the weekend with my friends. I’m working! It’s a different case.” You argued back, feeling unfair from his reactions.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

"Already? But I thought we could talk some more. I wanted to hear your story, I wanted to tell you about happen to me on my way to work this morning.." Your pleas were ignored as he stayed silent, looking as if he were so ready to click the end call button. "It’s okay then. Good night. I love you.”

The call ended. Well, he ended the call without saying it back.

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The summer break came around. Just like any other year, Charles would spend a week with his friends and the other week with his family. You would always join him, but not this year.

You have seen videos and pictures of his friends laughing, teasing each other, and filming funny videos here and there while you were stuck in your office.

Charles would still text you; he would wish you good morning and good night; he would ask you if you had eaten and if you needed him to arrange a food delivery for you; but he never spoke about the summer break anymore. In one way, it just felt like he had erased the words from his mind. Though you still saw pictures and videos of him on his yacht, riding his jet ski, you never asked him about it—basically anything that involved the break—because you just didn’t want to get into another fit of disagreement and his failure to see your situation.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"What are you having for dinner, baby? I can’t see." He was in his bed, barely keeping himself awake after the full-blown activities in the sea today while you were just getting ready to eat your dinner.

"I’m having sushi!" His eyes widen at the huge selection when you tilted the plate of sushi.

"That’s a lot! You got carried away with the menu again, didn’t you?"

"Yeah.." Your lips were pressed in a thin line, shoulder-sloping like a child who got into trouble.

"Can you actually finish that, love?"

"Obviously no! I’ll figure out a way to not waste any of this." Picking a salmon out of 20 more selections on the plate, you dipped the end into the small plate of soy sauce and devoured one, smiling at the fresh, delectable taste.

"You know I can’t finish them for you. I’m like thousands of miles away." Charles was propping his chin on his hand, forcing himself to stay awake.

"I know. I miss you a lot." You covered your mouth, holding your laugh, when his chin slipped off his palm and he nearly slammed his head against the pillow. "You know you can go to sleep, right? I am fine eating dinner on my own."

"No, I want to stay awake and watch my girlfriend eat her sushi."

You stuck out your tongue and scrunched your nose, making him chuckle. "Which one should I try next?" You moved the phone a little so he could get a full view of the plate again.

"Try the scallop one, baby. It looks good."

You picked the one he chose with your chopstick and ate it up, letting out a squeal of excitement when the taste activated your taste buds. "It’s so good! You would have liked this one."

Charles eventually fell asleep before you could finish your so called eating show. He fell asleep hugging the pillow, which acted as your replacement because he always had trouble sleeping without you. He even asked you to leave a travel-size perfume of yours the next time you came home, just so it felt much more pragmatic in his mind.

Unknowingly to him, you had requested leave from absence home earlier this week, and it was just approved by your supervisor today. It was only for a week, but at least you could see your boyfriend and spend time with him this summer.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles came home, and he was confounded by how tidy his apartment looked. The pile of clothes he had set aside in the laundry room to be washed was gone, and the washing machine was on as it was counting down to 15 minutes, rotating and spinning his clothes. He had left the house quite in a hurry this morning, so he expected it to be out of place, just like how he left it.

"Surprise!"

He sprang back, his head hitting the wall when you jumped out from behind the door as he was about to walk in, causing him to bend down, his hand holding the crown of his head.

"Oh my God! I’m so sorry!" You chortled, covering your mouth from the loud thud sound as you hugged him.

"Ow, I think I got a concussion, baby." He buried his face against your neck as you cradled him like a child. "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?"

"I wanted to give you a surprise! And a concussion." You stroked his hair, barely able to breathe from the tight grip around your waist.

"God, I missed you so, so much." He planted a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade up to your jawline and ended it on your lips, only pulling away when both of you were out of breath. "I missed you, baby."

"I missed you more. I’m all yours, love. No more hugging pillows!" You snaked your arms around his neck, giggling when you felt his lips on your nose.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Y/N, baby, no. I just changed!"

You saw a perfect opportunity when he was standing at the edge of the yacht, seemingly to be in very deep thoughts, so you dashed into him, making him lose his balance as he grabbed you by your arm and pulled you with him back into the water.

"Why do you have to do that?!" You cried out, splashing the water on him with a frown.

"Oh, are you mad at me? Really, baby?" He laughed and lead you back to the yacht as it started getting a bit chilly. You still refused to talk to him, even when he wrapped you in a new towel and engulfed you in a hug. He, however, found the whole situation funny. "Okay, baby, I’m sorry for pulling you into the water. I should have been the only one cold in the sea. " Charles finally surrendered when you seemed to be so in persistent with your sulking attempt.

Rolling your eyes, you fell into a fit of laughter as you threw yourself on him, making him lay down with you on the lounge seats. "I’m just kidding!" You cupped his cheeks and brushed your lips on his. "You are so cute!"

"You make me the happiest man in the world." He caressed your cheeks while you braced yourself on his body. Everything was just so perfect you never wanted this moment to end. Just getting lost in those green eyes gave you a vivid view of the beautiful landscapes. The way you felt his soft, loving touch on your face, trailing the structure of your face tucked on your heart, just when you thought you couldn’t fell in love with this man even more.

"I love you so much, baby." He mumbled, drumming his fingers on your chin, which made you chuckle.

"I love you even more, love."

"Let’s stay like this for a little while. I missed having you in my arms." He leaned his head back on the seats, wishing for the time to stop because everything—literally everything—was just so perfect for him.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Baby?"

"Yeah?" Charles came to the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you still had your eyes on your tea, stirring it after you put a spoonful of sugar.

"Mom wished you could join the family’s vacation next week. Is there any way you can extend your leave?"

"I’m so sorry, love, but I need to be at the office by next week." Since you were working on a new project at the moment, it was difficult for you to be absent even more when you already got a week off though you knew right away you would have to pull an all-nighter once you touchdown tomorrow just to go through all those unreplied emails.

"Y/N, please. For me," He held your hand, which was circled around the mug. “For us.”

"Charles, this isn’t about us. You know—"

"Here we go again. I’m the only one who has to tolerate, give in, and follow your schedule. Y/N, this relationship isn’t about you all alone." His voice was louder now, half shouting as he left the kitchen.

"Yes, I know, Charles. I know! You are not the only one who has to ride the wave right now. You are not the only one giving in. I had been with you in every race that I could though I had to constantly fly back and forth. I have told you I was required to be at the office even more now that we’re working on a new project. Once it is all done and sorted out, my schedule will be more manageable. A couple of months is all I ask! I’m so tired of explaining this over and over, but you still keep on thinking I am being selfish in this matter. I am mentally and emotionally drained every single day! I spent hours in the office, coming home, expecting my boyfriend to be my comfort, but you kept on shouting and cursing at me." Your cup of tea was long forgotten as you trudged along his steps to the living room. "I took a leave for one week, hoping it would make you happy, but it is still not enough for you. I don’t know what you want me to do!"

"No one forced you to take the job, Y/N. You have no right to complain about that. I told you numerous times that I can always support you financially." You grabbed his wrists, tugging on them harshly to make him face you.

"That’s not how it works, Charles! I don’t want you to support me with your money. Just because I want and love this job doesn’t mean I can’t get tired of it. I’m a human with a capability to an extent. I just want you to be there for me when I need you." Charles looked away, hands clenched into a fist, when you started choking back tears.

"I feel like you are more scared to lose your precious job than you are losing me, Y/N. It’s more important than me, isn’t it? Your job." He snickered, his head shaking at how absurd this whole argument was.

"I got fired for leaving abruptly during my meeting because you got into a crash. I stayed with you for days, taking care of you, ignoring every call and text from my boss because you were all I could think about, and I could go insane if I wasn’t by your side, waiting for you to wake up. I had to build my career back up. Yes, this is my dream job, but I would drop everything again for you, and you know that too." You harshly wiped another trail of tears on your cheeks. You just wanted to rip your hair out because he kept on turning this back to you, as if you never sacrificed anything for him.

"Are you trying to blame me because you got fired? Is that what you meant? Y/N, that was on you!" Charles hollered, making you flinch as he pointed his finger at your face.

"That’s not it! If something happened to me and you left your race for me, would you blame me for that? No, you wouldn’t! Because there’s no one to blame! That’s what I—" Your words came to a pause when you saw him simpered. "Are you—Charles, what’s with that smile?" Your grip on his arm tightens to get his attention. "Are you saying you wouldn’t leave your career for me? Charles!" He tried to walk away, and you grabbed his shirt, yanking it. "Don’t just walk away! Answer me!" You pulled on his shirt again. "Charles!"

"Don’t ask me that! You and I are not the same, Y/N. Our career, our way of thinking, it’s just not the same."

It hurt. It hurt because you thought you meant a lot to him. You didn’t even want him to choose either one, but the fact that he acted as if your career and his weren’t on the same level shredded your heart to pieces. It was as if your career were nothing compared to his. Sure, it wasn’t one where people paid thousands to see; it wasn’t a career where you got paid hundreds of thousands, even millions, per year, but he, out of all people, knew how hard you worked for it, so you never expected him to disparage your career in front of your face.

"I don’t think I’m the one being selfish right now." He saw you walk past him into the bedroom with your head dropped. It was your last night before you had to fly back tomorrow, and he had ruined everything again. You had actually planned to bake cookies together just so the two of you could spend more time together for the last night, but the whole apartment is cold now, and there was no other sound except your irregular sob.

He stayed up, placing all those ingredients for cookies that you had arranged on the kitchen counter back to where it was. You were so excited to try the new cookie cutter, and he felt so bad for blowing up again.

"Y/N?"

You tugged on the cover, half hiding your face when you heard him walk in. It might not be as convincing as it was, but you held your sob, trying to control your shoulders from shaking too much, so it seemed as if you were already asleep since you didn’t want to talk to him. Not anymore. You were so tired. You would have packed and left right away if only you could, but you knew he would block your moves, holding you back and you didn’t want that to happen because you would have given in again. What you thought was a bad attempt was still able to convince him that you were asleep.

"Good night." He slanted over and pecked at your cheek before getting under the cover and facing the other way. He knew he didn’t deserve to hug nor touch you after making you cry yourself to sleep.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles woke up, frowning, when a shaft of sunlight sipping through the curtain hit his face. "Baby, the sun is blinding me again." He mumbled and shifted to your side of the bed to hide his face against your neck, but all he could feel was a chilly, cold space. "Baby?" He called out a little louder and still didn’t get any response. "Y/N—" He was stunned when he realised your phone, hair tie, and your stuffs on the dressing table were gone. "Fuck!" The fatigue and drowsiness were gone in a blink as he threw the duvet off, feeling himself getting warm even though the AC was frigid.

"Y/N," He went through every room, and all of your clothes were gone. It was as if you were never here for the whole week. “No, no, no, no.”

Your phone was off when he tried to call, and none of his text messages went through. He even went to the airport because he knew your flight was 4 hours away, and he spent hours walking around to look for you, but to no avail. He would have kept you in his arms if he knew last night would be the last time he saw you.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Y/N! How are you? Oh my God!" Carla’s eyes widened. Just like any other day, Carla, Arthur’s girlfriend, would ring you just to update you on your life. You met her years ago when she and Arthur started dating, and ever since then, it had been like having a new baby sister. She was also the only one who knew your new phone number. And like always, you guys would talk for hours about everything, and though she never came here to New York, she was basically familiar with your apartment. This time around, you just didn’t happen to be in the apartment when you picked up the call. You were in the hospital, head wrapped up in a bandage, and your hand was as stiff as a rock from the hand cast. "What happened to you?" She yelled out.

"I got into an accident last night. No, two days ago. It wasn’t that bad, though." She rolled her eyes, finding it hard to believe when you winced from the pain as you tried to play it all cool.

"How did you get into an accident? That looks really bad, Y/N! You should tell Charles!"

Charles. It’s been nearly a month since the last time you left his apartment without confronting him. You remember staring at him that night while he slept, like a creep, thinking if you were making the right choice and decided there was no point staying in a relationship where you and him never see things at the same level. You changed your phone number because you knew he would spam your calls, and you knew the moment you heard his voice, pleading and begging you to forgive him, you would crawl your way back to him.

"No, don’t tell him. You promised me you wouldn’t tell anything to him or Arthur. I don’t know if you can call it an accident, but I lost my balance and fell down the stairs at the office. It wasn’t that bad, but I do need a few stitches on my forehead."

"That’s so bad! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Just so you know, if he finds out that I knew about this and didn’t tell him, you need to back me up. How long do you have to be at the hospital? Are you okay all alone?"

"Yeah! I’m completely fine on my own. I will be discharged tomorrow!" The hand cast was actually quite heavy, and it was hard for you to do things on your own, but you’ll manage.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Why are you laughing?"

Clara put her phone away from her face, still giggling at the picture that you sent to her. It was a picture of you trying to make a thumbs up with your broken hand because she wanted proof that you had safely arrived at your apartment.

"Oh, it was Y/N!" She chuckled, turning her phone back to show her boyfriend the picture. "Look!"

Arthur blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that at all. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, um—"

"What’s wrong?" Charles intervened, his eyes now on the couple.

Before Clara could make up a lie, her boyfriend was quick on his act. "Y/N. She was covered in bandages. Is that a bandage? Yeah, it is. Oh, it’s a hand cast." Arthur confirmed it himself after double-checking the picture on his girlfriend’s phone.

"What?" Charles furrowed his brows and took Clara’s phone from her hand. "What happened to her? Why didn’t you tell me about this?"

"She told me not to tell you. But she’s fine! Well, she said she’s fine." Clara stated, seeing how the older guy started heading out with only a few of his stuffs.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, chasing after his brother.

"I’m going to see her."

"What? You mean right now?" The younger one yelled out. "Has my brother gone mad?"

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"One second!"

You ran from your room, anticipating another delivery from your window shopping gone wrong, and you ended up with 10 parcels that was supposed to arrive by today.

"Hi! You can just put the box here. I— oh,"

Charles was stunned. You were in a short with an oversized jumper, your hair tied up in a messy bun with your bangs pinned back where he could see the stitches right above your brows.

"Can I—can I come in?" His questioned, dragging you back into reality.

"My house is a mess." That was a bad one. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse, and he was still waiting, evidently disregarding whatever you just said. "Fine, come in. Do you want a drink? Coffee?"

"It’s okay. I’m all good."

"Coffee then." You felt his gaze on the back of your head as you grabbed a mug. The airtight instant coffee jar had to be the most difficult thing to open in one hand, even though you had the front part of your elbow circled around the jar. "Can I just get you water?" His laughter made your cheeks red.

"I’m okay, precious. There’s no need for that." He then marched to stand in front of you, hand cupped on your cheeks as he tilted your head to see the stitches. "What happened?"

"I fell. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much." He was gazing at you, and you could feel the wall you built starting to quiver, so you took a step back.

Charles missed you. He missed you a lot. He knew you would have back away, but it never occurred to him that it would hurt this much to see the woman he loved pull in one’s horns with him. "I—,"

"You can’t do this to me." You cut him off, mumbling with your eyes looking down on your hands. "You can’t come here and touch me, forcing me to fall back and jump on you after the way you treated me."

"I came here to apologise." His voice became a whisper, barely audible to you.

"You have apologised for the million times, but I still got blamed for my career, for choosing to be my own person. Everything I do will always be seen as a selfish act by you. I can never make you happy, Charles."

"You have always made me happy, Y/N. Not my career, not my fame. It was wrong for me to say that, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage your choice, your career, or your life. I know you are not living your life as my girlfriend alone; you have your own dreams. I just got so—" He inhaled, looking away, unable to finish his words.

"Charles.."

He felt your cold hand on his, softly tugging it to get his attention and make him look at you.

"I just— I got so used to having you in my life every second before you moved away.” He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold in his tears. "I got so frustrated because I came home and it was cold. I was so used to hearing your voice the second I stepped into the house, so used to you screaming my name when you greet me as if you haven’t seen me for years. You moved away so sudden, and it felt so lonely. I am happy for you, Y/N. I am so happy when you tell me about your days at work. I fell in love all over again when I saw the way your eyes were glistening when you talked about your new, dream job, but I wanted you to be with me. It just felt so distant. I am the selfish one all this time. I’m sorry."

You were a crying mess. You had never seen him this broken before. When you accepted your job offer email, you were so perturbed that you would have a hard time living thousands of miles away from your boyfriend, but it never once occurred to you that he would get the short end of the stick. Instead of saying anything, you cradled his head against your neck.

Charles’ arms went around your waist as he buried his head in your neck, replenishing his longing to have you in his arms for weeks. It had been so long since he held you, taking all that you were, everything he ever needed.

"It is not a bad thing to not be able to see each other every day." You mumbled, pulling away to cup on his cheeks. "It is sad, of course, but having you to miss is a privilege to me."

"I never want to lose you, Y/N."

"We just need more patience, understanding, and trust, Charles. I need you to understand me." His hands went on your back as you rested your head on his chest.

"Can you give us another chance?" He felt it was impossible to hide the slight quaver in his voice, too anxious for the worst thing to come. "I truly understand if you don’t want to because—"

"I’m staying." You leaned away and beamed, stroking your thumb against his cheek. "As long as you’re trying, we are trying, and I’ll stay. We’ll be fine."

“I know I said it otherwise but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come running to you if something happened. You are my life, Y/N.” 

You leaned into his hand, drowning yourself with his touch. “We both need to work on our communication skill. You suck at it.” 

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “Yeah, I am so bad it also costs me my happiness.”

“Can you stay here and keep me accompany for a couple of days?” You just couldn’t let him go today so you had to be self-obsessed today if it got him to be with you for at least another day.

“Of course, baby. Though I might need to buy some new clothes because this,” He extended his arms. “This is all I have.”

“You come here with just these?” There wasn’t any luggage, anything that made it seemed as if he were planning to come and visit you.

“Yeah, I came in a rush when I saw the picture you sent to Clara.”

“You are so silly. I only broke my hand!” He laughed along when you lifted up your hand cast, as if it was something normal to break your hand on a random Thursday.

“Only broke your hand? Only? Really, love. You even got stitches.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

what a pretty flower.

the single morning glory stands out, fresh spring sunlight accentuating its indigo hue, glimmering like a shooting star just behind the chain-link fence. in the peripheral of your vision, it almost seems to glow; solitary and ephemeral, as if coaxing you into stepping closer.

and you can’t resist its call.

suguru blinks, a little dazed, when he feels your hand slip from his. the warmth of your intertwined fingers follows closely behind, and the loss of contact leaves him feeling slightly vexed, replaced by the gentle chill of the air.

he doesn’t get an explanation, either. attention entirely fixed on that mesmerizing indigo blur, you don’t say a thing — and with an eager kind of giddiness, you skip over to the fence, ready to fish it out.

suguru just sighs, mildly amused.

it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. if you see something that captures your attention, suguru has come to learn that you’ll drop just about anything to go get a closer look. does it exasperate him, ever so slightly? sure. the involuntary twitch of his fingers reveals as much, almost as if coaxing him into waltzing over and grabbing your hand again.

but suguru is a patient man. especially when it comes to you. and, above all else — any habit of yours is endearing to him, even ones that include you leaving his side for a moment or two.

so he simply watches over you from afar, knowing you’ll return on your own; with your jacket tucked between his arm and his torso, a can of cold, too-sweet coffee in hand. suguru hasn’t put his lips on the aluminium in about five minutes, saving whatever’s left for the inevitable moment you start whining for just one tiny sip, please?

(he’ll roll his eyes, and tell you not to drink yours so quickly next time, but still hand it to you with a smile he’ll make sure you don’t see.)

suguru’s gaze is unspeakably fond, as he idly admires how the sunshine wraps you in its embrace. you almost seem to sparkle, in his vision, like a butterfly dancing in the wind — fluttering just barely out of reach, too fragile to touch. too beautiful to sully with human hands. maybe it's a tad dramatic, but suguru couldn't care less.

the air is warm, full of life. cicadas chirp from afar. within his veins, his blood buzzes with joy and cheap caffeine, and everything smells like spring. like something new, something delightful. something that makes him think of you.

suguru watches as you crouch down, watches how your nimble fingers struggle to fit through the narrow gaps of the chain-link fence. he can’t see the little frown that tugs at your lips, and he can’t hear your little muttered grumbles — but he can somehow feel your frustration, all the same. something about the way you ducked your head just now, the way your fingers tap against your bended knee.

but then, finally, your valiant efforts bear fruit. with a number of failed attempts that you’d rather not mention, you manage to pluck the small flower, bringing it to your side of the fence without too much of a fuss. suguru doesn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes must be bright, lips curled up into a victorious smile. one that always makes him feel a little weak in the knees.

dusting pollen and tiny pieces of grass off your knees, you stand up straight, wasting no time in turning on your heel and making your way back to his side — with the precious morning glory in tow. 

suguru waits, patiently, for you to return to him. 

when you do, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak; you part your lips before he can give you the usual raise of his eyebrow, soft tilt of his head, teasing inquiry of did you see something nice, sweetheart? all he can do is lean a little closer, making sure he hears every word your lovely voice graces him with. seeking the feeling of your breath against his skin, the warmth of your body when it’s tucked into his side.

(but he can’t get too greedy. so suguru keeps his distance, eyes rich with affection, looking at you like you’re the first flower blooming out of spring.)

and you speak, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, eyes shining with something giddy and honeyed — all too eager to see your idea through, the idea that crossed your mind the moment you laid eyes on the little flower.

”suguru,” you smile, sweet and excited. ”lean down.”

a blink, and a questioning look sent your way. your boyfriend shoots you a lazy smile, paired with a raise of his eyebrow that you’ve come to associate with him and his love.

despite the vague confusion painted on his features, suguru obeys your command without hesitation. always so willing to indulge you. he bends forward, compliantly, until he’s at eye level with you — face just a little too close for comfort, dark hazel eyes staring into yours in a way he knows flusters you terribly.

the butterflies in your stomach erupt at the intimate proximity, wings tickling your ribcage like soft petals sputtering after being rooted up from the ground — but you don’t allow yourself to falter.

(it’s a little tough, though. he looks so pretty, with the spring breeze caressing his cheek, soft streaks of sunlight falling over the contours of his handsome face. so, so pretty.

but there’s something that would make him look even prettier.)

so, with a gentleness that never fails to have suguru’s heartbeat hitching in his throat, your palm goes to smooth along his jaw. his eyes never leave your face, gazing intently at the way you press your lips together in concentration, barely resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you. patient, as he waits for you to be finished.

it’s a tender motion: the pads of your fingers against his sunkissed skin, tucking the little flower behind his ear, its stem resting between his soft, silky locks. the indigo colour blends together well with his black hair, like a shooting star blooming in the night sky.

you lean back to admire your work.

”hmmm...”

suguru bites back a chuckle, at the intense contemplation etched onto your features. seemingly very deep in thought, you furrow your brows and absentmindedly stroke your chin — studying him with a serious expression, a tilt of your head and narrowed eyes, as if you’re an art dealer examining a painting on display. 

(you’re so silly, he thinks. the thought is positively overflowing with fondness.)

finally, you seem to reach some kind of conclusion; and your eyes soften, crumbling a little at the corners, painted over with something suguru can’t quite place. whatever it is, he suddenly finds it a little harder to breathe — all that love crammed into the confines of his chest, clogging up his throat. your eyes crinkle when you smile, oh so sweetly, burrowing your way deeper into his heart.

(you’re already in so deep he doubts he could ever dig you out.)

”yeah,” you exhale, a little breathless. still admiring how pretty he looks, with the morning glory in his hair. like a princess, your princess. 

your pretty, pretty boy.

a smile rests on your lips, laced with adoration. suguru feels his heartbeat pick up with a jolt, and he somehow doubts it’s just the caffeine; the sensation only deepens when your smile shifts in the light, melting into a soft grin.

”purple suits you best.”

suguru blinks. giving him no time to respond, you turn on your heel and continue walking, expecting him to follow. thoroughly satisfied after seeing your sudden objective through to the end — he looks just as pretty as you knew he would.

but suguru has to take a moment to simply watch, as you skip on ahead. always excited and off in your own world. the sun personified, he often thinks, peeking out after a rainshower, shining as you please. bringing light and warmth wherever you go.

maybe he would feel embarrassed, if he was another person. someone more insecure in their masculinity, less in love with you.

fortunately, that is not the case. suguru lifts a hand to stroke the flower, delicately, careful so it doesn’t loosen and flutter away with the wind. his heart feels warm. cheap caffeine and sweet thoughts rushing through his veins.

”— suguru?”

his gaze flits up to meet yours, where you stand a little further ahead, confused eyes looking into his own. a little tilt of your head is all it takes for him to move; catching up to you in long strides, a smile on his face.

”sorry. got lost in thought.”

you take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. as if your hands belong together. his smile widens.

”don’t like it?” you ask, nodding vaguely in the direction of the morning glory. suguru squeezes your hand reassuringly.

”not at all. thank you, baby,” he soothes, a teasing tilt to his smile. eyes hopelessly softened. ”does it look good on me?”

a little chuckle flows from your lips. breathing out a silent response — don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. but you opt to indulge him, all the same, turning towards him with an affectionate gaze. ”of course,” you coo. ”you’re the prettiest.”

suguru can’t bite back the soft grin that blooms on his lips, and he wonders if you notice the red hue crawling up his neck — faint, but awfully telling. to distract you from it, recognizing a glint of familiar mischief in your eyes, he reaches a hand out to pull your cheek. gently, not enough to hurt you.

the little wince that escapes you tugs at his heartstrings, though, even though he knows you’re just being dramatic to make him feel bad. he can only hope the teasing smile he sends your way will be enough to fluster you, his eyes smoothed over with a deep sincerity.

”you’re one to talk.”

it takes a second or two for his words to sink in. and he can pinpoint the exact instant that they do, from the way you avert your gaze, swiftly, face heating up adorably. suguru stifles a coo.

a little huff leaves your lips, vaguely embarrassed — muttering something unintelligible under your breath. you let go of his hand and take a couple long steps forward, to avoid his teasing gaze. 

suguru follows behind, dutifully, with a fond chuckle. it scatters away in the spring breeze, dancing up into the blue of the sky, caressing the morning glory in his hair.

he takes your hand in his, once more. 

you don’t let go.

[elektrantchios]

fallin’ into love | b.b

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x gn!reader

summary: Benedict realises he has feelings for you at the wrong time

warnings: fluff and a little angst

word count: 660

a/n: since i dropped the pressure to write longer fics I’ve really enjoyed writing again. I’m gonna be unbearable when Benedict’s season comes out

Requested : reader is super clumsy and benedict is always there to take care of her (he would hold her when she’s about to trip and maybe wipe off something that’s on her face) and he always thought he sees her only as his little sister. but when he sees her with another man, who is just as considerate with her as he is, he’s afraid that he would lose her forever. can i have a fluffy ending please 🥺

It had become second natural for Benedict to watch you at balls. You had a habit of, well, making a scene. It was something that vexed your parents to no end. He himself found it funny.

He cleaned away a bit of cream from your cheek, heating up with embarrassment, you thanked him. You brushed down the front of your outfit, looking around nervous. “What is it?” Benedict asked.

“My mama and papa have roped my brother into introducing me to a friend of his, ” you admitted.

“Really?” He stammered, not understanding his own shock.

You were still looking around the room, unaware of his reaction, “he’s some lord Hightbottom with a lot of land somewhere in the north of england” you explained.

The north of England?

You were going to marry some man and be taken up north away from him. His childhood companion, the first person who saw his work, his best friend. Who would he be if you weren’t together?

“Oh god there he is” you gasped smiling, looking at him, “will I do?”.

He nodded still speechless, he watched you walk away dreading the day you would walk away forever.

As you always did you tripped over air, Benedict braced himself for the fallout but Hightbottom caught you. He smiled and blushed, you laughed too. Your brother introduced you to each other. Even from a distance Benedict saw how Hightbottom looked at you.

When the two of you moved to the dance floor, he held your hand and must have said something funny from the way you laughed.

Every ball you and he went to he was always the one who danced with you. Both of you always said no one else knew them enough too.

But there you were dancing with someone else and he was alone. Highbottom didn’t falter when you missed a step or stepped on his toes. He looked at you like you deserved to be looked at. And it broke his heart.

“May I have the next dance?” You were surprised to see Benedict.

“Benedict!” You grinned, “this is Robert, my brother's school friend”.

The two men bowed to each other.

“So what about that dance?” Benedict asked again.

“Go on” Robert smiled, “i’ll get us some drinks”.

You nodded watching him go.

As you danced you looked at your friend, “so what do you think?”.

He gave a small shrug, “he’s an alright dancer”.

“Anyone’s an alright dancer when paired with me” you rolled your eyes. “Do you think he might actually make an offer?”.

An offer like your were some kind of business deal

“Don’t you want to marry for love?” He asked.

You frowned, “love?”.

He nodded, “yes love”.

“I don’t suppose I get much of a say. If I’m lucky love will come after or if not love then friendship”.

“Is that how you want your marriage to be?”.

Getting more annoyed with each question you huffed.”my family isn’t rich, if Lord Robert likes me enough to marry me then who cares if we are in love or not? I will have a secure future".

“What If ever was someone who would marry you who already loves you?” He asked.

You sighed, “you’re being ridiculous now, if that someone was real then they would have done it already”.

“What if they misunderstood the way they loved you until they nearly lost you?”. You opened your mouth to speak but he carried on. “What if they spent years catching you each time you tripped and telling you whenever you had cream on your cheek, what if you were the person they told everything to and you to them”.

Your frown dropped, he couldn’t be talking about himself could he?

“What would you do then?”

“If there were someone like that then I should think they ask my parents before another could” you said not able to keep yourself from smiling. “Or we’d have a rather uncomfortable conversation on our hands with that other someone”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ok so I had a thought, what about platonic or romantic (you can decide which one) Yandere Vox Machina x the Dead Weight series reader.

I think it’d be an interesting to see. I enjoy the series you wrote and can’t wait for more 😁

I’m a little rusty, so bear with me here for it’s been a while. And this is more focused on vax, vex and Percy more so then the

Since your close encounter with death, needless to say it was the wake up call vox machina needed to realise that time was limited and that anything could take you away if you were left unguarded.

So after giving them the scare of a lifetime vex, vax, keyleth, scanlan, pike, Percy and grog unanimously decided that nothing would ever harm you ever again, ever. However some took this mission much more personally than others and those few were Vax, Vex and Percy.

These three were adamant about keeping you safe despite that you were now -technically- the more stronger one out of the entire group thanks to your status as champion. They didn’t care, not one bit because in their eyes you were still in danger and on the cusp of death the moment you ventured further ahead of them.

‘We stick together, remember.’ Vax told you as he gripped your arm, to which you pulled away with a scoff.

‘A decision made against my better judgment or something to make me look stupid and the runt of this group again,’ you spat as you closed the distance between you two, ‘I’m not one to yield.’ You add and vax sighed as he then cupped your face.

‘I’m not asking you to yield you thick headed twat,’ vax defends, ‘I’m asking you to not wander so far away from me.’

‘Could’ve fooled me, all of you could’ve.’ You replied coldly as you pulled yourself away and continued on your path, never looking back at vax who had a blank look upon his face, as he then looked over his shoulder to see vex and Percy standing a few feet away from him, watching your back like a pair of hawks.

‘They’re stubborn to reason.’ Vex said tiredly.

‘They’re just scared.’ Percy combated as he looked at her, ‘being so close to death must’ve frightened them to the point of self isolation from the rest of us, that’s all that is. We just have got to try harder to make them see that we care deeply for them.’ He continues as his brilliant mind was already coming up with perfect, fool proof solutions to their predicament.

‘I tried that.’ Vax said, annoyed of having done everything possible but still have the result come in the form of you pushing yourself even further away from them, claiming them to being weird with you for some reason. He just wanted you to be safe for fuck sakes why couldn’t you see it? All he did was for you, anyone he killed? For you!

‘Then perhaps try harder.’ Percy snipped and before he could blink, Vax’s dagger was at his throat but Percy didn’t feel an ounce of fear nor concern for his life. He knew vax was acting out because of his guilt for not making the trade instead of you, he blamed himself deeply for failing you and being a coward to when it came to his hidden feelings for you.

It wasn’t hard for anyone to not notice how Vax acted towards you, well except for you because you thought all of them only gave a shit about you after you became a champion, not giving an ounce of attention towards you before then in any capacity; something which Percy would claim as incorrect but again you were too stubborn to listen to reason.

‘You don’t think I am?!’ Vax hissed.

‘Vax-‘ vex tried to calm her twin but he wasn’t having it.

‘All I’ve done is for them while you two only sit and watch them from afar! Doing fuck all! I’m the one who has their back in fights, I’m the one who keeps them company during the night terrors, I’m the one who almost watched the person they adore kill themselves inside just to be stronger.’ Vax ranted until his lungs craved air, his heart was in his ears as all he could think about was how scared you were, scared about the uncertainty of what was to come after all this, what would happen to you and so on.

Vax believed you shouldn’t have to worry yourself over it, not while he was there to keep you safe and keep your thoughts clear. He didn’t have enough fingers to count how many times he had draped his cloak over you, more so when he saw you showing signs of experiencing a nightmare, and also developing the habit of brushing his hand across your forehead in a gesture of comfort.

Percy then gently pushed vax’s dagger away from his throat. ‘That’s why we must push back harder, for their betterment as it’s the only thing that should matter to us now, anyone outside of us is a threat to them and I’m more then happy to put a bullet in their head, are you?’ Percy asked the twins as they shared a look between themselves.

They both knew that Percy was right in the idea that anyone outside of your rag tag group was a threat to all, and most of all to you in specific. They knew he was right and they were no better then him as Vex and Vax were more then willing to kill with the idea of keeping you safe no matter what.

Pike heals your minor wounds.

Grog acts like your personal bodyguard when Vax, Vex and Percy wasn’t nearby, ready to kill within a moments notice.

And keyleth and scanlan could bring your mind away from the vax, vex and Percy’s less the pleasant slaughters by sing songs and or engaging in gardening with them. However you knew what they were doing but were tried from ambushes to care about how this senseless murder would affect your small group down the line. Their blood wasn’t on your hands but that was a fact that would be ignored in the quest for vengeance, should anyone dare go after all of you.

Keyleth would kill for you

So would scanlan

And pike

And Grog but Percy, Vex and Vax were faster at pulling the trigger than them.

You were far too precious for them to loose, not when they almost did on multiple occasions across their journey for the other vestiges.

You didn’t care what they did until later on in the story but that’s a story for another time. However even you didn’t know how to handle them even if you could as they’d only believe you were siding with the people who wanted you all dead. Or worse, they somehow pulled a sob story out of thin air and manipulated you with it!

‘You are to be kept in the company of one of us from here on out.’ Vex would say.

‘Fuck that I can look after myself, better than any of you would’ve .’ You’d retaliated bitterly.

Silence would befall the group as vex stepped into your personal space and stared you down. ‘Why won’t you listen.’ She whispered.

‘What’s there to listen to but lies and false promises that you’ll never keep once this journey is over, once the big bad of the week is killed and we’re covered in their blood and guts.’ You spat ‘try to treat me like a child one more time and see what happens.’ You add with a threatening tone.

‘You can’t-‘

‘I’m the champion, chosen by the cold hand of my lady that I serve, not you.’ You cut her off as you reminded every one of who you were now, what you were now as you saw the flicker of pain cross Vex’s eyes before she maintained composure.

‘And were your friends, vestige or not I’m not going to watch you die at the end of all this in some bullshit act of heroism.’ Vex told you as she stepped away from you. ‘I won’t allow it.’

Vax rested his hand upon your shoulder, only for you to violently shove it off as you kept staring down his twin. ‘Then I guess I’m just a prisoner in this group now because of your inabilities to see that you’re all the problem in my life, I can’t fly when you’ve clipped my wings and threw me into a fucking cage!’ You screamed as keyleth gasped.

‘That’s not true.’ She says.

‘Yes it fucking is!’ You barked without having to look at her to know she was upset by your outburst. ‘Only death can set me free at this point.’ You admit as you walked away from the group, feeling their eyes pierce your back as you wandered to your tent.

Either way you were going to be coddled to the point of suffocation by all of them but none of them were going to admit that what they did was wrong, if it was for you then they’d gladly do it again.

[robobarbie]

Toasty and MC kissing in the rain

That's it that's the ask

SENT THIS ASK TO ALLIE FOR A RESPONSE!

-------

"Well. What now?"

Toasty suppressed a smirk as they looked down at you. Just as he thought, you were progressing from vexed to fuming after his remark.

"I knew you were going to lord this over me."

"It's been cloudy all day!"

"Yesterday was cloudy too!" You turned your head away with a simmering pout. "...And I didn't want to carry the umbrella."

Toasty burst into laughter– he couldn't help it, you're always so cute when you're grumpy like this– and gestured back to the bakery cafe you'd just left. "We can always head back in and nurse a coffee for a little while."

"You just said you were stuffed *and* your doctor said to lay off the caffeine."

"I didn't say I'd drink it. A couple of polite sips, at most."

"That's too reasonable. How about I make a run for the car and pick you up at the curb?"

"I think I'd be better equipped for that."

"Because you're so tall you'll make it there in three steps?"

"No, because I have a hoodie on." Toasty flipped up said hoodie, tucking their hair inside for good measure.

"I'm not gonna make the birthday boy run out in the rain!"

"Oh, come on! What's with the sudden chivalry?" A blush burned across their cheeks.

"It's just basic birthday decency. I'll be okay, honest. We'll just turn on the heat to dry me off."

He glanced out at the parking lot, then back at you, a softer grin spreading across his face. "What if the birthday boy wants to go…together?"

"Sure, and we could share your hoodie as we run."

Your quip has no bite, and Toasty calls you out on it by stretching the top of the hoodie over your head. "You'll have to stay close, then."

You made it all of two steps before getting completely soaked, laughing and play-shoving each other until you reached the car. You both leaned against the car doors, catching your breath and giggling in equal measure, until the damp and the cold finally won your full attention.

Toasty fished for his keys in his pockets, still holding the lip of the hoodie out. You watched his still-flushed face shift in concentration; it was hard not to smile seeing his furrowed brow and bit lip, framed with soaked locks of hair. The warmth of the moment almost canceled out the cold of the rain– almost.

"Hey. Hold on."

"Huh?"

You took hold of the lip of the hoodie, yanking it further out– and him closer to you. Toasty yelped, nearly crashing into you and dropping the car keys.

"Y–you'll stretch out my hoodie!"

"Oh, nooo."

"What happened to birthday decency?" Toasty avoided your eyes, their blush deepening.

"Superseded by the first birthday rule."

"The what?"

You drew closer. "Well, second birthday rule. The first is that the birthday boy gets to do whatever they want."

"Then the second?"

"That the birthday boy deserves a kiss."

You closed the distance, and Toasty melted.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Rook Hunt - Ceremonial Robes Vignette

"That rather intense moment"

[Pomefiore Dorm – Lounge]

Rook: Heh, I do so enjoy my little walks in the morning. The crisp air truly enhances the beauty of prey.

Vil: Oh, Rook. You're still dressed in your school uniform? Hurry and get changed.

Vil: Don't tell me you forgot today's ceremony? No one likes a man with no sense of time.

Rook: Of course not. There's no way I would have forgotten, Vil.

Rook: There's nothing to worry about, I will go change into my ceremonial robes right away. I still have time.

Rook: And perhaps I could undertake your signature appearance look-over, Roi du Poison, since it has been quite some time since I've been subject to one.

Vil: Do you think I would have for my Vice Housewarden someone who would require more help than the other students?

Vil: However, I will say that you should take a shower before changing if were just coming from outside.

Rook: Is that a problem? To be fair, I did not run amok or lay on the ground during today's walk.

Rook: I only exchanged some pleasant conversation with a sleepy-looking prey.

Vil: I wonder if that truly was all. Regardless, you should take a shower and rinse off all the dirt you've tracked in from the outside.

Vil: The ceremonial robes are a traditional and iconic garb of this academy, so it cannot just be worn haphazardly.

Vil: As you are to stand beside me as my Vice Housewarden during the ceremony, I will not allow for a single speck of dust to be present on your robes.

Rook: Is that also why you've mandated that I wear perfume whenever I put on these robes?

Vil: That's right. The scent you wear is just another part of your overall appearance.

Rook: Understood, I shall heed your words.

Rook: If I am to have the privilege of being the accompanying arrangement to your glorious bouquet, then even showers and perfume are a small price to pay.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Rook: How vexing… I had not expected the shower rooms to be out of order.

Rook: They said it would be fixed by tonight, but that would not allow me to be ready in time for the ceremony…

Floyd: Man, Pomefiore's always so sparkly. It shines just like how the ocean's surface does.

Rook: Oh, what luck… That's an Octavinelle student rounding the corner.

Rook: Bonjour, Monsieur Spontané.

Floyd: Oh hey, it's Seagull-kun.

Rook: Is that your nickname for me? It's wonderfully unique.

Rook: A gracious welcome to Pomefiore. Have you just strolled in here on a whim?

Floyd: I ain't taking a stroll, I'm doin' an errand for Azul.

Rook: I see, I see.

Rook: To tell you the truth, I am currently in a tricky bind. I was hoping to ask you for your assistance.

Floyd: Ehhh, don't wanna. I'm busy.

Rook: No need to be so cold. I have need of a shower, and yet the showers here are currently under repair.

Rook: Would I be able to utilize the Octavinelle showers?

Floyd: Huh? How should I know? And it's got nothing to do with me, if you're havin' a problem.

Rook: I beg you. At this rate, I will end up breaking my promise to Vil.

Rook: I am only asking to borrow your shower room. It shouldn't cause you any trouble.

Floyd: You just don't quit, huh. I said I don't wanna.

Rook: Hm… If I cannot attain your permission, it may not work out too well for you.

Rook: Are you still adamant in refusing me?

Floyd: Aha, you tryin' to force me to do whatcha want?

Floyd: Brave, ain'tcha? Want, you want me to squeeze you to a pulp?

Rook: Here

[spritz, spritz, spritz]

Floyd: Ack, what'dya just spray on me!? It smells weird…!

Rook: Weird is no way to describe this. Vil himself blended this special perfume for me.

Rook: Does not the musk and amber soothe you?

Rook: Well, even I have to admit that the scent is fairly strong that if I were to wear it, I would be noticed by my prey from a long distance away.

Rook: That's why I choose to only wear it when I must wear the ceremonial robes.

Floyd: Who cares about all that!? Ugh, I can't even scrub it out…!

Rook: No, I'm sure you can't. You should get changed as quick as possible. I think a bit of it got into your hair as well, so you should also take this opportunity for a shower.

Rook: Now you wouldn't be going out of your way by bringing me along to your dormitory's shower rooms anymore, wouldn't you say?

Floyd: Huh? You screwing with me?

Rook: Oh my, what a terribly ferocious glare.

Rook: I bet those sharp teeth of yours could easily tear through even the toughest fisherman's net… Fantastic!

Floyd: Bleagh… What's with this guy…? Your grin's creepin' me out. Fine, if you're gonna follow me, whatever.

Floyd: Ughhhh～ This really stinks. I'm getting' dizzy…

Rook: Heh. Well then, shall we adjourn to Octavinelle?

[Octavinelle Dorm – Lounge]

Rook: Floyd-kun, thank you for letting me use the Octavinelle showers. Dearie me, that was a saving grace.

Floyd: Maaan, that sucked. [sniff, sniff] …I think I can still smell it on me.

Rook: Heh. The scent is gone, don't worry. Looks like you were able to wash it all out.

Rook: It all worked out in the end, and you even had time to put on your robes. You're going to the ceremony as well, aren't you?

Floyd: Ugh, don't you ever shut up…?

Rook: Oh yes, while I'm here, may I finish applying my makeup?

Floyd: Makeup? You already did the stuff that goes around the eyes.

Rook: Vil's orders, you see. It isn't enough to just use liner.

Rook: I have an abundance of makeup and their respective tools to use for ceremonies… Look here, they can barely fit atop the dresser!

Floyd: Gah, that's so much.

Floyd: What, you got some weird-lookin' bottles, brushes, and pens…? What's this dark brown powder?

Rook: That would be for shading. It's used to contour the face into a more sculpted appearance.

Floyd: Uh-huh. Then, what's with this pencil-lookin' thing? Why'd you have so many different ones?

Rook: That's eyeliner. See how each one is a different color? I'll use a different one based on the type of eyeshadow I use, or where I want to draw a line.

Rook: Now then, if you'll excuse me. I need to start applying my makeup.

Floyd: Uggghh, it smells weird again.

Rook: Even so, I've chosen makeup products that have a more subdued scent.

Rook: Although, I suppose it's true that because I have an abundance of different makeup, that the more I apply, the stronger the fragrance will become…

Floyd: You don't like smelly things either, right, Seagull-kun? So why're ya goin' along with whatever Betta-chan-senpai says?

Rook: This is all to stand at Vil's side.

Rook: He is the fairest of all here at this academy…

Rook: All of this is just a small price to pay in order to be able to admire his beauty from such a premium seat.

Floyd: Uh-huh…

Rook: Heh, you seem to have taken an interest in my handiwork. Would you like to try applying some makeup?

Rook: Your mismatched eyes glow with a mysterious, unreadable glint that is truly beautiful. I'm sure makeup will only serve to enhance that.

Floyd: No way. That's a pain, anyway.

Floyd: 'Sides, it's gettin' pretty boring just watching you do stuff. Hurry and finish up, already.

Rook: Well then, I don't mind if you wish to leave me to it. I can lock up for you once I have finished.

Floyd: Nope. If I let some outsider wander around here, I'ma get an earful from Azul later.

Rook: Well, then I suppose there's no other options. You'll have to wait until I've finished.

Floyd: Whyzzat? Why don'tcha just quickly slap something on?

Rook: Beauty can only be improved by dedicating the time for it.

Rook: Oh, then what if you were to help dry my hair in the meantime?

Rook: It should shorten my time here if you were to use the hair dryer while I finish applying my makeup, wouldn't you agree?

Floyd: …What a pain… …Tch, fine. Hand me the hair dryer.

Rook: Wonderful, thank… Ack, hot!

[hair dryer blows…]

Rook: Non, non, Monsieur Spontané. I need you to regulate the temperature better.

Floyd: Huuuh, whaddya say? I can't hear ya!

[hair dryer blows…]

Rook: Ah, if the dryer is turned to its maximum setting and my hair is ruffled so, it will take longer to tame it later…

Floyd: Man, you got a lot of hair, Seagull-kun. It ain't dryin' at all.

Rook: Ah, Monsieur Spontané…! You handle me so roughly…!

Floyd: You even gotta complain about the way I'm doin' this? Shouldn't matter how I get it done, as long as it dries, right?

Rook: Aaaaah…!

Rook: [pant, pant] …Has my hair finally dried…? I never thought that rather intense moment would ever end…

Rook: …Hm?

Rook: Oh, my hair…

Rook: It's completely unruly!

Floyd: I mean, ain't it boring to just have your hair the same way all the time?

Rook: I see, this is…

Rook: Absolutely fantastic!

Rook: Neither Vil nor myself would have ever considered this style. Your innovative thinking has brought forth a new form of beauty!

Floyd: Eh, you for real?

Rook: I feel as though I've unlocked new possibilities for myself now! Thank you, Floyd-kun!

Floyd: You're so weird…

Requested by Anonymous.

[angeart]

hunted hybrids au rambles

this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).

the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.

and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes. 

grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here. 

now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.

this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for  bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from. 

... did i mention this world is permadeath?

yeah.

so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them. 

maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.

maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.

maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.

and then they run.

and all they can do is keep on running.

(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)

i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.) 

scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears  him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)

long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.) 

please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)

the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:

1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)

2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore. 

grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—

and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)

//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3

------ @motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles

[whydotheycallitanoven]

little wip i’ve been working on since gem’s hardcore ep dropped! basically wl angst lol

Gem wasn’t sure why she ended up back on her hardcore world. maybe it was something about the quiet. there was a calming nature to the solitude, no screaming, no need to look out for traps. only the quiet gossip of her villagers as they went about their days. 

she’d missed her villagers, she realized. back on Hermitcraft and other SMPs she’d lived on, the player consensus was that they were too much trouble - their pathing and career choice were too much for all but the most dedicated players to work with. she’d had several conversations with Impulse about his woes whilst working with them over the past two seasons.

she hated to think about what he was doing now.

but if there’s anything Gem had learned from her travels, it was that there was something comforting in predictability. with her villagers, the conversations were easy - “you’d never believe what x said while you were gone” - and their trust was similarly easily won. she would do anything to make sure she kept it.

above all though, she decided, it was the privacy that she valued the most. the villagers didn’t come up to her out of the blue, and when she was in the mines she could pretend there was nothing more important than the deepslate she was collecting.

she tried not to think about what happened after secret life. the way she remembered it all, recurring nightmares of a chase waking her every night. the way she wanted so bad to just move on like everyone else — moving to the new season, basing at magic mountain. she couldn’t help the way she tried to distance herself from a certain pair of blue eyes, asking her what was wrong. the way she could see them turn red whenever the light glinted just the right way. the confused glances sent her way whenever she brought up songwriting or the mounders or god forbid the camel. she couldn’t help but confront Scar one night, hoping someone remembered. the tears that formed in her eyes before she could even get the words out. the silence was definitely better.

the wind bit through her clothes as she climbed back up the long staircase. It was the kind of wind that took your breath away, and Gem welcomed the numbing effect. the scars of six deaths had made their home on her body in the past few days, but the cold had helped take the edge off. it dulled the burn of lava, the aching left by explosions. only the wounds left by the vex’s knives continued to bother her — she should’ve expected it, last deaths always stuck around longer — but she suspected it had something to do with how their icy blades were the last to break in her torso. 

“kill the vex or you’ll be down a teammate”. she’d yelled a few moments before the hit that would take her out. she’d forgiven Joel for overlooking the little furies almost instantly - it hadn’t suited her to hold grudges after all. she was almost glad she hadn’t made it to the final moments this time. she heard he’d won a few days after she’d left the arena. she couldn’t bear staying to watch the final battle. she just hoped that Joel’s memories wouldn’t treat him like they had Scar. 

she’d head back eventually. she always did. she’d say her congratulations and go on with collaborations and build her base up once more. eventually. for now though, she’d lose herself in the biggest project of this world yet and listen to her villagers heap praise on her walls and dog for keeping them safe while she was gone.

she wasn’t quite sure why she couldn’t look them in the eyes.

Pearl wasn’t sure why she ended up back on Hermitcraft. maybe it was something to do with the fact she couldn’t stand being left alone.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

7/9 Shadowplay

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

Christmas came and went, and all she knew was that Simon wasn't working. She still didn't know where he lived – whether he had a home in Manchester or if he resided elsewhere. He could live in London for all she knew. He could live down the street, and she wouldn't have a clue about it.

She sent him pictures of her family and the Christmas tree, of the cute pajamas her parents had got her – they still got her cozy sleepwear as a gift, like she was a child. She sent her a photo of herself later with that thing on. Or most of it on, anyway. She even added a few hearts to her texts, knowing he wouldn't return them. Simon was born at a time before emojis were even invented.

She didn't know if he spent the holidays with his family. It was odd to even imagine Simon in a happy, domestic setting, sipping grog or decorating a tree. His father was dead, and he rarely talked about his brother or mother. All the details he had given her of his life were from a pre-military time.

True to his habits, he only sent a short reply on Boxing Day that said: "See you soon."

And she waited. She went back home the next day and sat in her lonely apartment watching historical dramas and eating chocolate until she felt sick, and he never came. She stayed there the day after, didn't leave the house even for the store. On the third day, she started to get anxious, on the fourth, rather angry. No one turned that extra key on the lock of her front door, and she felt like an idiot.

On New Year's Eve, she decided she would get the fuck out. She would not stay at home like a whimpering, lovesick puppy, waiting for its master to come home.

The long-distance relationship was getting on her nerves, and his occasional unavailability didn't feel exciting anymore. It was just vexing. Sometimes it felt like a paranoid exaggeration that he couldn't tell her when they would meet again. She didn't need much: just a fixed date would have sufficed. Her other life was stupidly on hold because she was always on high alert for him. This had been going on for months, and it was high time she did something else. Just for the shits and giggles. To hell with his soon.

So she went to see her friends and drank herself into an impressive stupor.

It wasn't her usual approach to dealing with anxiety and frustration and a yearning heart, and it didn't work as well as she had hoped. But at least she got out of that stupid flat and saw some people who actually had time for her. She had been invited to a party before the holidays with the knowledge that she would not attend – just like she never attended any student shenanigans and was rather curious as to why people kept inviting her.

But right now, an evening full of alcohol and uni people who had normal problems, problems she should've been thinking about too instead of her supersoldier, sounded better than binge-watching Outlander for the fifth day in a row.

And it was actually loads of fun. She decided right then and there, while having her fifth or sixth drink, that she should leave the house more often. Connect a little, get acquainted with new people who did normal shit. Even if they were a bit boring compared to a certain brooding giant who made love to her like she was a goddess.

She laughed so much that night that her stomach hurt, and a few boys from school were really after her at the party, quenching her need for validation and attention just a tiny bit. The whole crew went to see the fireworks to the city, and they all shared some bubbly in the frigid night, and even if she wanted Simon to somehow teleport himself behind her at the turn of the year, to grab her from behind and raise her in the air and whisper something naughty in her ear, the longing wasn't enough to rob all the fun from that night.

When she walked home, feeling a bit wobbly and more than a bit guilty for having flirted with not one but two guys, she reached for the pocket that held the push dagger Simon had given her. It received loving attention every time she walked to school or to the club, the excitement of doing something forbidden soon having turned to a feeling of security and a promise of prowess, all granted by Simon. It was almost like a comfort object, the way it instantly carried her thoughts to him.

Home felt dark and shabby and even more lonely after having a few good laughs with cheerful people her age, who studied the same subject and had big plans for the future. Her plans for the near future were another day alone, but this time, with a hideous hangover. That future felt so dreary that she didn't quite catch the familiar dark shoes in the hallway as she barged in and fought herself out of her heels all but suavely.

She went straight to the bathroom for a late-night shower, and the men's shower gel bottle – the one Simon had brought to her apartment because he didn't want to smell of "girl shampoo" – stared at her like a reminder of what she couldn't have. She then brushed her teeth and went to get a glass of water before crashing into bed.

Even in the dark, she could see a man sitting on her couch as she stepped into the living room that extended to an open kitchen.

She didn't panic this time. Her reaction was a simple, annoyed sigh upon seeing that he was yet again trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

"You really need to stop doing that."

She could see him tilt his head a little at her bitter tone. They had never fought, but right now, feeling emboldened by the booze, she had a feeling that an explosion was about to happen. Returning to a dark home filled with a dark man was such a contrast to the spirited, youthful gang she had spent her evening with that all the laughter left her for a moment.

How long had he even been here? It was nearly 3 AM. She had gone to the party as early as she deemed acceptable, wanting to get some fresh air and fresh vibes as soon as possible. If Simon had come to surprise her in the evening, he had had a long night.

"Where were you?"

The raspy voice was demanding, and she fought back a jolt of irritation just from hearing that dominant tone. It was just a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation.

And she wanted to scream.

Where were you?

How many times have I waited for you to bless me with your presence?

She had been away just this once, and he hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, had chosen to wait here for her to return from her all nighter, and then accused her of not being home.

"At a friend," she said.

"Which one?"

"Marc."

She heard him draw air upon hearing that she had been to some other guy's apartment.

"A new friend," he noted.

"He had a party," she explained, then tested her luck like an idiot. "It was fun. I made lots of new friends."

She turned to get that glass of water and noticed Simon had done her dishes while she was away. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, too. He had wanted to surprise her on New Year's Eve, probably hoped to spend another peaceful evening at home together.

A tiny needle pushed into her heart at the sight of the pink tulips. Simon didn't know it, but they were her favourite flowers. She wondered whether he had been to the club to see if she was there, only to come back when he noticed she wasn't up tonight. If he had sat on that couch as hours passed by, with dread sinking in from the thought that she might be out somewhere, cheating him with another guy. The needle inside her heart burst into flames.

"Where were you?" She whispered. He finally rose and walked to her, much in the same way he had done when she had been upset in this exact same spot when morning light had filled the room.

"Covering my tracks."

She already knew that "covering tracks" meant he took extra precautions before coming to see her, whether there was a real, heightened risk or not. Christmas time might be a heightened risk: those who wanted him harm would probably want to know where he spent his holidays. Who his loved ones were.

It meant that he was devoted to her, an actual sign of care and deep affection. Simon had just made sure he wouldn't set her in danger.

She could feel his warmth behind her, could smell him, and felt distress spike in her chest when he wouldn't proceed to touch her but just stood there. She turned to face him with a quivering lip and wasn't sure whether she was about to burst into tears or a manic giggle.

He was wearing a black hoodie this time, but it didn't quite manage to make him look any more youthful or boyish. But it was snug, almost cute. The size of it probably double or triple XL to accommodate those shoulders and that chest. That hoodie told her he had definitely planned to stay home, cuddling and making love while the tulips slowly opened their blossoms in that vase.

She knew he came here for her softness. He would never admit it, but he craved the softness of her bed, her couch, her body, even the food she made for him with love. He had just wanted to spend the evening filled with some color, laughter, and affection, certainly not go and watch exploding fireworks that would only remind him of war and death and darkness.

Suddenly she felt guilty about getting so worked up. She felt shame for her condition: she was still drunk, like a sailor, wearing nothing but flushed cheeks and a towel.

"Are you angry?" She searched for judgment in his eyes. He watched her sternly, didn't betray any emotion other than that of guardedness.

"Why would I be angry?" He said in a Should I be? kind of way.

"Because I'm drunk?"

She must smell of booze, of a whole pubful of drunkards. Not ladylike at all. He had heard the state in which she had barged in — she had even sung a dirty song in the shower.

She felt like a child compared to him, felt like every guy she had talked to at that party tonight was like a child compared to him. The shyness never quite left her, even if they had known each other for months now.

What if he was angry? Or disappointed?

Or worse yet, disgusted?

"You said you didn't like women who drink."

She certainly wasn't a drinker, even if this night had been a bit rowdy. But trying to explain to a man who disapproved of drinking that she wasn't an alcoholic while smelling of booze was somehow too funny in her sleepy, partied, lovelorn state.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and a stupid little chortle pushed through her lips. This time, he raised a hand and took hold of her shoulder, as if to ensure she was okay.

"I never said that," he said gently. The brown of his eyes was blown dark, and she vaguely remembered that dilated pupils meant drugs or darkness or love.

"One of the guys wanted to walk me home," she blurted out of nowhere. The alcohol in her system had apparently decided it was quite alright to tease him a bit for taking so long. His head pulled back, a subtle indication that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Or actually, two. It was funny when they both came to give me my coat when I was leaving."

He was silent, the feeling of being reduced to a flustered child – or a drunken moron – in his presence only increasing by the minute. Either he was genuinely astounded by her behaviour, or then she was really pushing her luck with her drunken babble.

And fuck, she would never get over his eyes. Perfectly almond-shaped and so big that supermodels would kill for them. But it wasn't the warm, dark chocolate or the eternal exhaustion of hooded lids that made them so enticing. It was the look of having walked through hellfire… and having emerged undefeated, with scars and a sardonic, knowing smile. He was like Lucifer cast out from heaven, a fallen dark angel who had been thrown to Hell, who merely shrugged at his fate and then started to rule the whole goddamn place.

She opened the towel and let it drop to the floor, then took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid as she pressed her body flush against him, the amber eyes roaming her face while the rest of him was stiff. It was a new situation, her meeting his solemn stare with bold teasing while making it clear that she wanted him to rut her — on that counter if need be. Or better yet, she wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him, run her nails down his chest and sink them in, perhaps to the point of drawing blood.

It was usually he who ravished her…

"I've been a bad girl," she tried to imitate a seductive voice but it turned into another giggle.

Good God… She wished someone would come and put some duct tape on her mouth.

But then a hand was placed possessively on her hip, a thumb brushed over the side of her stomach. Those eyes were now looking at her much in the same way they always did when she was dancing for him. Hungry and dark. Proud… Pleased.

He had looked at her like that for months and months now. Like he owned her. In a stupefied recognition, she realized he had looked at her that way before they had even shared a word with each other.

He moved in a sharp flash, scooped her in his arms and started to walk toward the bedroom.

"Are you gonna punish me?" She whispered without even bothering to cover the heavy anticipation in her voice. He wouldn't say anything, but when they reached her bed, she was thrown on it. Gently and with care – but it was still more of a flung than setting down.

"It's not really a punishment if I enjoy it, right?" She laughed with excitement, all the remnants of her anger dissolving into a soft buzz that gave a nice edge to the upcoming retribution. "I guess the joke's on you."

He still wouldn't budge, still wouldn't speak…

"Are you sure you're not angry?"

She rose to lean on her elbows and watched him undress with a soldierly sharpness. Under the black hoodie was a black t-shirt — of course. But only now did she notice that he was wearing grey sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants.

Why did he have to be such a kissable, huggable cuddle muffin on this night of all nights? Those sweats were so far from the glitter and glamour she had surrounded herself this evening that she felt another burning sting beneath her sternum. The ample bulge against that soft, grey cotton was visible even in the darkness.

The muscles bunched as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She would probably never tire of seeing those shoulders, not to talk of his divine forearms that were so different from the skinny little things she usually saw at school or even at the club she danced in. Even she had more muscle in her forearms due to pole dancing than some men – but Simon… God, he was an absolute specimen. And with that tattoo slapped on that bulky, veined muscle, she could verily fall on her knees and pray to this man.

Her earlier teasing felt stupid as hell. She wasn't interested in anyone else than him walking her home. That ship had long since sailed.

And how could anyone compare to him? Those boys she had talked to would shit themselves if they saw Simon, even without his gear. Would turn tail and run seeing him in those cozy sweats, even. She wanted to explain herself even if the cleverest thing would be to just shut up.

"Marc's just a friend from school. He was in this group project and then we started to talk about our plans for the New Year, and then I figured I should go to this party because I never go anywhere, you know, and -...mh."

His pants were off, all of them, and she could see his cock spring free, already hard, like he always was when she was lying down like this and he was about to descend upon her. The night swallowed most of him, but it wasn't enough to hide those forearms, that hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes – or that heavy, obscenely thick erection that was jutting from between his equally massive thighs. It was veined like his forearms, surrounded by the palest, faint hair, similar to the almost invisible ones that coated his chest and back here and there. Everything in him was heavy and thick, except that pale breath of hair…

Her mouth shot full of water, and rich heat pooled between her thighs, which instinctively clamped together as if knowing that this man was too big for her, even if evidence already proved otherwise. He always told her how tight she was, but she felt like it was more the cause of his size than any asset of hers.

"I thought it would be good to connect with people because you never know, right?" Her mouth kept yapping on while her eyes were glued to his massiveness. All of it.

He crawled to the bed between her legs, which opened by themselves for him as if this man was a whole VIP pass that granted access to the exclusive area of her.

"If you wanted to know where I am, you could've just called me. You never tell me where you are or when you come back. You know, "soon" could mean anything."

She expected him to insert himself to her opening, to push in with a full-blown ego because he must already know she was wet from just seeing him, the bastard. But instead, he dove face first to her folds while sweeping her thighs over his shoulders like they weighed nothing.

"But I get it, you need to–"

A pair of hot lips surrounded by a peak stubble hit her skin, and her head fell back with a moan. Her thighs drifted even further apart as his tongue traveled up her slit, parting the swollen lips with so much love that she knew he definitely wasn't angry with her.

Oh no.

She had only managed to amuse him again.

And of course she had. Her intoxicated state and desperate attempts to make him jealous must've told him that she was a bit of a mess because of him. He wasn't petty, even if he was possessive. It was crystal clear to everyone in this room that she had just tried to distract herself, and she was featherbrained if she thought she could fool him.

"I was mad at you," she confessed with a sigh. "I still am…"

She peeked a look down. The sight of a brawny, wide man on his knees between her legs made her more heady than all the punch she had had that night. The bulk of muscle on his back made her legs look sleek and slender and weak, the coarse stubble against her delicate, swollen folds made her head spin even when she was lying on her back. The faint scent of tobacco and his musk were like incense to her; she inhaled it like it was her only way to heaven, that haze of blazing masculinity, of fire and smoke that was thoroughly him enveloping her as she fell back on the mattress.

Her hand found his hair; it was cut shorter from the sides, but the top had generous amounts to grab hold of, and she curled her fingers there while pushing her cunt against him. She was tired of pretending that it didn't feel fucking best when he gave her head.

An exceptionally hungry kiss echoed through her body, making her spine arch and her legs slide up and down his back. How could it feel like he was kissing her instead of fucking her with his mouth? She had taken Simon as a man who didn't worship women like this, but like always, she had been wrong. Even the very thought of a commanding officer of some super special tactical unit having his face buried between her legs was enough to send her to the verge of orgasm. Not to talk of seeing and feeling him actually there.

She sighed as his hands drew her against his face by the thighs, then gasped as a firm, thick tongue – thick like the rest of him – thrust inside her.

"God… yes, just like that…"

If she was pulling his hair a little too hard, he didn't mind. Or at least he didn't say or do anything about it. At first, she had thought that perhaps he tried to make her shut her mouth this way. Speak with moans and sighs instead of words. But now she felt like she was his prisoner, about to make the confession of a lifetime.

"It drives me crazy, the waiting… I'm always waiting for you." It was a miserable sob, and she was arriving at the center, the numb, veiled core of this whole conundrum.

"You drive me crazy, Simon."

He let her monologue go on. If anything, he encouraged it with his tongue, with his lips that nibbed her swollen bud and sucked.

"You're so annoying." She felt him huff a brief chuckle against her, inside her even, as she was open and dripping and hurting, wholly at his mercy. "Like, no one comes even close. And, and, I…"

The darkness made it seem that she could spill any secret in such a lightless, safe cavity where there was suddenly no time, no past and no future to make her pay for what came out of her mouth next.

"...I love you."

But the laws of cause and effect still applied to this world, and Simon stopped, breathing into her pussy like a long-distance runner.

"What?"

His first words since forever hit her folds with a husky, tentative roughness. That voice was better than any dark rum or gooey chocolate cake or even a hot tub bubbling with maple sugar bath bomb. The heated knot in her stomach coiled and twisted, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"...Nothing."

He breathed into her tender folds, she could feel his lips draw into a smile. He kissed her right at the center, at the core of her, and she jerked a little, bit her lip, and waited.

"You sure?" The gruff, murky voice still talked to her pussy, like it was there where the confession of his prisoner was to be found.

"Yes..?"

A devastatingly languid lick stroked her folds, and the starved sigh was that of a happy, happy man. He had a winning hand, and he knew it.

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She swallowed, her lips trembled, and her heart rammed against her chest as her drunkard's brain thought of the terrible fate that awaited her if she yielded to him. What if they were still playing? She hated poker, especially when she was playing against Simon who always had a royal flush in his hand. She wanted to play together, not against each other.

"For fuck's sake, why do you always have to…" she started, then bit her lip again as he plunged his tongue inside, so deep that it made her chin shoot up toward the ceiling and her hips grind against his face.

"You always have to win," she sighed strenuously, on the brink of tears.

"Love you too," he rumbled against her, and her walls clenched around nothing, more moisture leaked to coat his chin.

"Wh-...What?"

He picked up where he had left, proceeding to kiss and lick and suck like it was just some small talk they had briefly shared while he was eating her out.

"Simon…"

"Shh."

She pursed her lips from happiness and allowed him to finish the job, which didn't take long in her state of bliss and drunken overstimulation. She came with a cry, leaked love in the air – leaked literally, on his lips.

He rose to sit after he was done, panting like it had been a while since he had tortured anyone like that.

"What took you so long?" She asked when he threw himself to lie on his back next to her.

"What took you so long?" He huffed, and she wasn't sure if they were talking about their mutual absence or the late confession. She turned to press against him, thrumming with love. He shifted too and took her in his arms, and her head was shoved against the plates of muscle that made his chest. He was still hard, and she wanted to take him in her mouth, to return the favor tenfold.

"You're so annoying," she chirped with a broad smile while crushed against the world's safest chest.

"Copy that."

"I love you."

His cock twitched between them when she said those words. It was his only reaction to her repeating that long-kept secret.

"You're drunk," he commented with sleepy, honeyed amusement.

"I'm drunk, and I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an even heavier hug. "Come 'ere."

They cuddled sometimes, mostly after sex, but it was never this ardent. She ran a hand up and down his back while the other was squeezed somewhere between them. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and powerful underneath her cheek.

"Don't send me pictures of your family," he grumbled through half-sleep. "It's an unnecessary risk."

He had rigged her phone with schizophrenic detail so that their calls and messages couldn't be traced. He had even built a sort of a Faraday's cage out of a shoebox, wired mesh, aluminum foil and whatnot, where he put his phone when he came to her place. She didn't even know all the things he did to ensure no one knew about their relationship. Safety measures weren't doubled, they were tripled with Simon.

She gathered the photos she sent of herself were a weakness for him since he never forbade her from sending them. She didn't know if they got destroyed right after, though, or what kind of a headache it was for him to get rid of all the metadata.

"Whatever you say," she murmured while pressed flush against him. His erection wouldn't die, and in her opinion it was unfair, downright sinful, to leave him in such a state after he had given her so much love. She raised her leg and swept it up the side of his thigh until it came to rest on his hip so she could rub against him.

"You need to sleep," he said, but didn't stop her. He even allowed her some space to snake a hand between them to grab him and guide the tip to her folds, still soaked from his treatment. The notion that he prioritized her rest over his own pleasure only made her more wet. He responded with a shallow, hoarse exhale as she helped his cock against her slickness, coating it with moisture.

"You love me?" She was a lovesick puppy now, and he grunted at her neediness.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You only said it once."

"Once is enough."

She glided along his length with slick, moist sounds filling the darkness pulsating with love.

"No it's not."

"Insatiable woman," he muttered, slightly out of breath from what she was doing to him. And as if he had only now noticed that she was handling him and not the other way around, he switched their roles and rolled partially on top of her.

"Could you just say it?" She watched him with what must've looked like the most desperate, needy stare she had ever worn. He simply seized his cock and adjusted it to her entrance.

"Pretty please?" She whispered while he pushed in, only halfway, knowing she was more than ready to take him fully. She even grabbed his ass to force him, but he refused her.

He always had to win… Always.

"I love it when you beg."

The voice was harsh, rugged, but his eyes were soft, even softer than the double bed under her.

"I love your cunt," he continued, and a moan slipped from her as he teased her with a few shallow, unhurried thrusts. "Love the sounds you make when I fuck you hard."

"Mh-..."

"...or gentle. Fuck you real slow and deep. I know you like that."

He finally went completely in, finally gave her that sweet satisfaction that came from being filled. It felt so snug, so gratifying that it could only be compared to having a piece of your favourite cake after a shitty day or taking the first sip of coffee in the morning or easing into a hot jacuzzi when you were cold.

"I love it when you say you're a bad girl when you're the swee'est girl there is."

That one ended in a short, mocking laughter. As if she was absolutely shitty at trying to deceive him in anything.

He continued to tell her everything except the thing she wanted to hear. He told her he loved her bedhead, her cooking, the look of concentration when she was curled somewhere to read a book. He told her he loved her laugh, her sharp tongue, and how adorable she was when she was mad at him. The list went on and on, it even had the time when she had slapped him, on it. She was just about to plead again, beg for it if she must, when he finally relented.

"Yeah, sweetheart… I love you," he whispered in her neck with a burnt voice, burnt from tobacco or barking commands. "Should be bloody fuckin' obvious by now."

She dug her nails into his back, not worrying about the consequences, which were only delightful. The coarse stubble chafed her neck as he kissed and sucked her skin, surely leaving marks.

She was so wet for him that she was creaming around his shaft. Big as he was, he glided inside her with no effort at all, even when she felt herself tighten around him with another upcoming release. She was going to come a second time, a rarity, even with Simon.

He pressed her against the mattress with every thrust, the feeling of being crushed between the plush, soft bed and a bruisingly hard body absolutely glorious. Feeling weightless and completely open, she came while clinging to him, knowing it would send him on another ego trip for having worked her to a climax twice already.

The sound that left her, more like a helpless wail than a satisfied moan, meant she had lost all her chips in a bet against someone who had invented the whole game. Her cries painted the darkness as she throbbed and clenched around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Now what did I say? Insatiable." His voice turned into a wined and dined tone when he was pleased, almost braggingly so, and she wanted to dig her nails in his back again and make him grunt instead. But that voice also caressed her, much like his hips that gently rocked her through the waves of the orgasm.

He came shortly after, through gritted teeth and a feral edge to his peak. Her neck was burning from all the love it was getting, but the last roll of his hips was almost lazy, and he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under a blazing hot chest. A palm slid along the dip and swell of her waist, caressed the side of her thigh, and pulled her leg to rest on his back while he remained buried deep inside her. He turned from a savage, heated man into an affectionate lover so quickly that she could only hang onto him as best she could.

His back had broken into a sweat, but when he eventually pulled out, he didn't roll to the side like he usually did. Instead, he shifted to lay his head on her chest, and clutched her in a sideways hug, slack against the bed and partly on her. The ragged breathing was interrupted by an uneasy swallow.

"Life was easy before you came along. Didn't have to worry about gettin' killed."

More confessions were spoken in the fading night, and she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The light had slightly changed, the wintry night was easing into a break of dawn while they were finally about to get some sleep.

"Guess I have to stay alive now."

Only Simon could make something like that sound romantic, but his tone was somber, as if he was letting an essential part of himself go when he chose life and her. She wondered if she had brought Simon back to life like he had brought her. It wasn't what they had planned for themselves, but here they were: spent and alive, meshed together at the dawn of a new year.

"You're spooking me to death as it is. I don't want to know how you would be like as an actual ghost." She tried to lighten the mood that was slipping into something darker, something she didn't wish to think about after a night like this. But Simon had chosen to make her cry.

"Would haunt you still."

She couldn't say anything from the bittersweet pain that spread through her heart. It was hard to breathe when a choked sigh clawed at her throat and tears threatened to cause a whole flood.

"Did you like the flowers I got you?"

…And just like that, he changed the subject. She blinked back tears and tightened her hold of him, so snugly settled there over her heart.

"I love tulips. Thank you," she whispered in the crown of his head.

"Hm."

He was already on the verge of slipping into sleep, like men used to after a good fuck, especially when already exhausted from work. Or from loneliness. She hugged him so tight she could feel the flare of his ribs as his breath slowly evened out. She caressed his hair, the back of his neck, stroked his back and felt him rumble softly against her.

"Not your pet..."

His last note was more of a weary sigh that turned into soft snoring as he fell asleep on her chest. She was not far behind, drifting off to sleep too while cradling him — precisely like a pet, or a child, her last thought being how oddly beautiful it was that he finally allowed her to hold him like this.

[zae-heeyyy]

Hiatus

Summary: You meet John during his year away from the gang. Pairing: John Marston x gn!Reader but mostly platonic Word Count: 1,725 Tags/ Warnings: alcohol, violence, mature themes

a/n: Just a little idea I had. I actually sketched/traced the saloon picture on my iPad. (Thanks John for bad drawing skills because I'm not an artist. To be clear, this is my interpretation of John’s sketch of a saloon haha) Something a little different, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

hiatus: A temporary departure or absence, often marked by a pause in activity or routine, reflecting a period of separation from the usual path or environment

Rip Van Winkle? Did he take you for a fool? You'd be insulted if you couldn't clearly see the bastard was miserable. It'd been three months since he stumbled into your saloon, throwing a few bills on the bar top. A few bills covered a lot of drinks, but a lot of drinks he had. He would drink and gamble all his money away and would somehow come back the next day with more. You didn't know any fellas around who could make their money and spend it as fast as he did. Minding your business seemed like the best course of action, and that's what you did, mostly. All you asked for was a name, and that's what he gave you. You took the hint and stopped asking questions. 

Until you couldn't curb your curiosity about the tall, lanky stranger anymore.

"What do you do, anyway?" You asked. Nobody around knew him, and it wasn't a big town. People were fishermen and farmhands, and he didn't fit either bill. He'd dodged that question, too. It didn't take long for you to figure out how he made his living when you saw him "accidentally" bump into someone. Just thirty seconds later, he threw the dime he'd presumably pickpocketed onto your bar. You stared at him, unmoving. 

"Well, you gonna pour that whiskey or not?" He learned on the counter, impatient, and glared at you. Intimidating you would take more work than he was probably used to.

"You gonna give that man his money back or not?" You shot back. His face didn't change, and he steadily held your gaze. He picked up the coin and placed it back on the counter, scooting it in front of you again.

"No," he replied simply.

"Then no." You responded with a shrug and turned to walk off to serve someone else. Rip sighed deeply and put another dime on the counter. 

"But I'll buy him a drink-- on him." You wanted to laugh but didn't give him the satisfaction. 

"Now I'm robbing him, too?"

"It ain't robbin. He was gonna buy a drink anyway," his tone grew even more vexed. You were the one loudly exhaling now. You took the money, poured the whiskey, and offered the other man his "free" drink. Rip was lucky you didn't call the law on him, but he seemed to have enough problems as it was. 

He took to you after that, though, always throwing extra change down for you to have a whiskey yourself. You'd thank him with short words, but never poured yourself a drink, knowing where the money came from. Keeping your distance seemed like the logical thing to do.

Then, someone you'd never seen before pushed open the doors to the saloon on a particularly slow night. You'd noticed Rip's posture stiffen as soon as he laid eyes on the man. He placed a casual hand on his right hip, and his eyes moved to yours for only a second before they were watching the man again. You should've felt something was wrong but didn't have time to think before the newcomer approached you, pointing his gun at you from inside his coat.

"All the money. Now. And don't say a word." Your blood ran cold, but before you could move, you heard a click.

"Put the gun down, idiot." Rip had moved from his seat and was standing behind the intruder, his own revolver pointed to the back of his head, "gonna lose your life over this? I hope you ain't as dumb as you look."

Rip diverted the stranger's attention long enough for you to reach for your own shotgun under the counter. You pointed your gun at the would-be robber, and Rip yelled at the few others in the saloon to get the law. You finally let yourself breathe when the man was taken away. 

Rip stayed for the rest of the night, sitting long past his usual departure time. Faint sunlight was beginning to peak in the windows, and your shift replacement had walked through the doors. Instead of going home, you walked around the bar to sit with Rip. Sometime in the night, he'd settled in a seat on the side of the bar, closer to you, still nursing the same glass of whiskey you'd poured hours earlier.

 "You knew that was gonna go down tonight, didn't you?" You'd asked. You noticed his sudden change of demeanor as soon as the thief stepped foot inside.

He shook his head, looking down at the glass. "Didn't really know. Had a feelin', though. Can't explain it. Maybe it was a look in his eye or how he walked in? I don't know, just a feelin'. I knew fellas like him." He paused for a moment, "Hell, I am a feller like him. "

You didn't know anything about him, but you think you understood. A feeling in your gut told you pickpocketing was the more tame of his crimes. 

"I'm surprised you didn't get in on it," Your tone was severe, but you were grinning at him. He scoffed, laughing a bit. 

"I ain't that far gone. I got morals, you know." You had an inkling that he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you.

"Morals." You repeated back to him. You couldn't believe the ridiculousness of it all. "Right"

He threw his hands up defensively, "Do you think I am the type of guy to put a gun in an innocent person's face? For some saloon cash?"

You shrugged, skepticism all over your face, "I can't say I know what kind of man you are, Mr. Van Winkle," you said, adding finger quotes around his name.

He looked down at his glass and let out another sigh. "John-- my name's John...Marston. Since you wanna know so bad," he finally finished off the last of the liquor. You searched his face; he was grimacing slightly.

You hum appreciatively. "It's nice to thank a man with his own name, John Marston. Thanks. You definitely saved my ass tonight. How about some breakfast on the house to show my appreciation?" 

Maybe oatmeal had some aphrodisiac properties you didn't know about, or perhaps you'd finally lost it. Still, somehow, you'd ended up pressed against the wall by the cowboy in a room above the saloon. His kisses were sloppy, and his movements were sporadic and clumsy, even. He'd made a move to pull you towards the bed but stumbled, knocking his head hard into yours. 

"Shit," he stumbled back, rubbing his head. You leaned against the wall, nursing your own sore dome. But the collision seemed to knock some sense into you. 

"This was...it wasn't..." You tried to find the words to let him down softly, but he cut you off with a shake of his head and sat on the bed.

"Yeah, weren't a good idea. Don't worry about it," he gave you a strained but reassuring smile, and you stood there in awkward silence before he spoke again, "I don't know what I'm even doin' these days." He said, eyes trained on the floor. Part of you couldn't believe that he was trying to have a conversation with you after that, but like always, you felt a little sorry for him. 

"How about another drink? For both of us."

He could say no to that, so you made your walk of shame back downstairs. Your colleague at the bar gave you a look but didn't say anything as he poured your drinks. After everything, you felt like he owed you the truth, and he was too tired to argue.

"Ask away," he relented. 

"Why the fake name?" That was your first question, and you had so many more when he was done talking. Almost hanged at twelve, riding with Dutch Van der Linde and robbing trains and banks. No wonder he was so miserable. 

"Left it all, and I don't feel any better. I'm still robbin, still here drinking every night."

"Doesn't sound any better," was all you could say. 

"It ain't. And the worst part? There was this girl, a working girl, who fell in with us, Abigail. Me and her-- well, she was more to me than a working girl, but then she got pregnant. And I got a son, at least, that's what she told me. Don't know if he's mine." He buried his face in his hands and groaned, the weight of it all heavy on his shoulders.

You were silent. You didn't know what to say or how to respond to any of it. All of this, his life, was something out of an Otis Miller tale. A life of crime was utterly foreign to you.

"That's...a lot," was all you could manage. He bobbed his head up and down in agreement. "Did you love her?" Something seemed to wash over him, and he stiffened. It took him a few moments to respond, but he looked off like he was picturing something in his mind's eye.

"I think I did. Think I still do." You could see the turmoil clearly on his face then. You snapped him back, your voice low and soft.

"Think she would lie to you? Especially about something like that?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

You pondered for a second. "You said you didn't have a father until Dutch took you in. Want this kid to be the same, without a dad? You love his momma; you think she loves you. Give the kid a chance to grow up with parents that love each other."

You could see his jaw clench, and he waved you off without even considering what you said.

"Didn't ask for advice." 

"Well, I'm giving it to you, miserable bastard." He relaxed his jaw and chuckled.

"Fair enough."

More silence fell between you, and he finished what was left in his glass before sliding a dime to your co-worker and leaving. He returned only a handful of times after that, noticeably drinking less. One day, as he was leaving, he took his hat off and met your eye. 

"I'm gonna get goin' now. Thanks for everything." 

And you knew it was the last time you'd ever see him. You just hoped he decided to do the right thing. You had a feeling he did.