#may old acquaintances be remembered
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
#and i SADDLE UP MY PONYTA AND I RIDE INTO THE SIT-TAY#I MAKE A LODDA NOISE CUZ THE GURLS THEY R SO PRETAY#RIDIN' UP N DOWN BROADWAY ON MY OLD STUD LEROY AND THE GIRLS SAY:#SAVE A RAPIDASH RIDE A MEOWBOY!!!#JOHN WAYNE AINT GOT NUTHIN ON MY FRINGE GAME HELL NO!!!!#well stranger don't ya know i'd like to be yer friend... IF I HAD THE TIME TO STAAAAAAY.#BUT I'M A BRAMBLIN A BLOWIN IN THE WIND. I'VE GOT TO CATCH ANOTHER STAAAAAAAAGE.#I STRAP ON MY GUITAR JUST LIKE A FORTY FIVE. I PRAY EACH NIGHT MY AIM IS TRUUUUEEEE#and ACQUAINTANCES TURN TO FRIENDS I HOPE THOSE FRIENDS THEY REMEMBER ME#HOLD THE NIGHT FOR RANSOM AS WE KIDNAP THE MEMORIES#NOT SURE THERES A WAY TO EXPRESS WHAT U MEANT TO ME#SOMETIMES I GET TO THINKIN BOUT SETTLIN' DOWN. FADE OFF INTO A MEMORY.#BUT EVERY NIGHT THAT I STEP OUT TO FACE THE CROWD?#I KNOW THIS IS THE LIFE FOR MEEEEEEE#pokemon#meowth#ok context. to whomever it may concern. which is no one but idc i have a lot to say and no one to say it to#first off heres my like bi-annual post bc i 1. only draw f*rdekyl* and fucking detest f*re *emblem fans with a burning passion#so i hate sharing my 'art' . so heres a rare non-fk thing. bc i also hate social media as a whole it makes me sue of side all#but like 2. i have deliberately avoided scar/vio bc its a BAD GAME. and its not made well. also i know 'open world' formats#trigger my ocd. which it did exactly. but thats mostly irrelevant. but in anycase. i bit the bullet bc i was in a pkmn mood#esp after my long beloved n*te and dook*ie gave me a hankering for a pkmn game again#and my lil bro accidentally bought 2 copies years ago so i was like fck it ill give it a shot its Free#and yes the game is dogshit. however. everytime i see a meowth in the wild i lose my mind.#his jaunty little yee-haw walk kills me every time. i adore him. thus this was inspired.#alright imma head out i fucking hate this website as well as every other social media . maybe ill draw something non-fk in like a year#see ya in like a year maybe if i live that long. which i wouldnt count on bc tbh this year has been BAD in terms of my pain. im on the#EXTREME decline and can BARELY draw anymore. i want to die. i got nothin left. it just keeps getting worse so adios!#:(
18 notes
¡
View notes
Text
noise || the bloody painter || maid!reader || đđťđŽđŞđ´đľđpasta au ||
SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: hella exhibitionism
You thought over your numerous sexual encounters with the members of the Slenderman mansion. You recalled the roughness, the various positions. You catered to their every need. As you sat awkwardly in the center of an art room, a frail white sheet covering your exposed body, you couldnât help but remember it all. You had been instructed by a man with bright yellow eyes that floated to sit on the stool and wait. You didnât bother glancing at him twice, you were sure youâd become well acquainted with him after your interaction with Helen. Apparently, Helen was an artist according to the endless art supplies that sat around the room. They were all labeled and arranged neatly, not a single paint brush out of place. You had been blindfolded up until this point, the rest of the Trenderman mansion being hidden from you.
The cover up of you being a maid was stripped away from the moment you stepped into this mansion, considering the mansion smelled like cleaning supplies. The rays of sunshine came through the open windows, a breeze causing your nipples to perk up. You had been informed by Jeff it was Helenâs birthday and that you were the gift from the Slenderman mansion.
So you sat on the stool patiently, wrapped like a birthday present in all its glory.
The door opened slowly, a clean cut man presenting himself before you. He shut the door behind him, locking the old fashioned door with a key. His crisp blue eyes landed on you, examining you. âI must say youâre a sight for sore eyes. Iâm a bit envious that Trender didnât find you first,â He admitted. He walked up to you slowly, his loafers clicking against the floor with every stride. âIâm Helen. Iâve been told by Jeffrey youâre my birthday present,â He said. Helen then stood before you, grabbing your chin with his gloved hand. His gloves were a borderline silk material and a pearly white, the material gentle against your skin. âI suppose I am,â You agreed. He tilted your head to the side, noting the faint hickies that stained your neck. âI see you get around,â Helen commented. If you werenât aware he was a cold blooded killer, you wouldâve rolled your eyes.
âThats one way to put it,â You replied. Helen was truly studying you, soaking in every inch of your body he could see. âI must say Jeffrey spoiled me this year. You are quite the work of art,â He complimented. Helen guided your head to the other side, his eyes narrowing at the sight of finger shaped bruises wrapped around your throat. âIâll tell you what. You seem to have quite a bit of fun. I wonât keep you. Iâd rather have you kept on a canvas forever,â He concluded. The name âBloody Painterâ was running through your head. Your face mustâve gone pale, a chuckle escaping Helenâs lips. âRelax my dear, all I want to do is watch and paint a portrait of you for my private viewing,â He said, releasing your chin. He could see your perky nipples poking through the sheet. Truthfully Helen was aching to touch you, but he did not believe he deserved the privilege of doing so. However, you putting on a show for him was the next best thing he could ask for.
âTake the sheet off for me and spread your legs darling,â Helen ordered. Although his tone was kind, his words sent an ominous chill down your spine. He may have presented himself as friendly and gentleman like, but you knew he lived here for a reason. You were a lot of things, but naive is not one of them. You allowed the sheet to fall to the ground, leaving you completely exposed in the sunlight. You spread your thighs, the man before you silently craving to fall to his knees and crawl towards you like a stray dog. Instead he straightened out his suit, walking over to his canvas. âWonderful. Now iâll give you specific instructions. If you follow them this transaction will be quite easy,â He said. He picked up a paint brush, dabbing it in a fresh cup of water to dampen the bristles. âStart touching yourself like you usually would,â Helen told you. You felt your face flush red. This was quite different than anything else you had done. Usually the men were apart of the action, but not Helen.
He wanted to memorize you. He watched as you licked the pad of your index and middle fingers, before bringing it down to your clit. Helen wouldâve assumed it would be hard for you to become aroused, not having any source of pornography or physical touch. Yet you seemed as wet as a river, your cunt glistening in the sunlight. All from his observation. He began to paint you slightly, a choked groan escaping your throat as you swirled your clit. âDoesnât this kinda ruin the painting?â You asked. Helen chuckled, painting your plump thighs first. âQuite the opposite. Your ethereal features deserve to be deserve to be praised again and again. Whatâs a better way to do so?â He countered. You whimpered at his words. His praise and will to let you have freedom, to control your orgasm. It was liberating. You began to draw faster circles around your clit, watching his eyebrows furrow as he painted your thigh crease. âBe a lamb and finger yourself for me,â He said mindlessly, as if he was commenting on the weather. You leaned back on one hand, the other dipping down between your folds and sliding into your entrance. You curled your fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to your own digits.
You let out a moan, your eyes threatening to flutter shut. âNuh uh, look at me. Need to paint your eyes darling,â Helen ordered calmly, rinsing his paintbrush in the glass jar full of water. You whimpered as you maintained eye contact with his icy blue gaze. You tried to reach further into yourself to hit your g spot, your smaller fingers failing to do so. âNot deep enough,â You admitted, biting your bottom lip as he curiously peered over his canvas at you. âNot deep enough?â Helen repeated. You nodded, your fingers just grazing right before your g spot. Helen hummed to himself, before strolling over to one of his art shelves. He grabbed a paint brush with a thicker handle, walking back over to you. âTry this,â He suggested. His cock was aching against his black slacks, your doe eyes looking up at him. âW-what? But I donât know where thatâs been,â You say meekly. Helen grinned, handing it to you. âEverything in here is clean and pristine. I prepared for your arrival. Jeffrey spared me no details of his interaction with you. You can handle this. After all, itâs my birthday,â Helen mused. You took the paint brush, the dark green handle looking back at you. Helen whisked himself away back to his canvas, resuming what he was doing.
You removed your fingers, slowly lining the end of the paintbrush handle with your entrance. It felt cool and unusual, the sight making Helenâs pupils expand. âThats it. You know what to do,â Helen grinned, flicking his wrist as he painted on his canvas. Your walls clung around the paintbrush handle, the handle just thick enough to feel satisfying. You groaned as it brushed against your g spot, your face burning from embarrassment. Helen didnât understand your embarrassment, but he did soak in the red tint of your cheeks and begin to paint it onto the canvas. âMake as much noise as youâd like, the residents here have been expecting your arrival,â He cooed. You began to fuck the paint brush into you, your other hand gripping the wooden stool. You were so desperate to cum, it felt like you had been edging yourself for an eternity now, all for a painters amusement. âYou can fuck yourself harder dear. You have no idea how badly I want to hear you cum for me,â Helen told you. You bit your bottom lip, fucking yourself faster. You could feel the knot inside of your stomach tighten, your body hooked on the feeling.
âSuch a beautiful piece of art,â Helen mumbled to himself. His cock was straining against his slacks, dying for attention. He knew he shouldnât touch you, but it becoming increasingly harder as your eyebrows scrunched together from your pending orgasm. You tilted your head back, sputtering a moan as you came around the paint brush. Admittedly you felt humiliated, but the wave of euphoria overrode the embarrassment. Helen was a gentleman if nothing else, allowing you to catch your breath before striding over to you. âPlease get on your knees and stick out your tongue,â He ordered. Shakily you tossed the paint brush aside, gathering to your knees. The polished wooden floor was rough against your bare knees, but you were silently glad it didnât prick at your skin and threaten to leave splinters. Helen began undoing his belt, the sight mouth watering. âGood dear, now just sit there and look pretty. You donât have to do a thing,â He purred. You watched as he took out his cock, a little bead of precum decorating his tip. You went to touch it, Helen pushing your hand away. âNuh uh. Stay still. Flatten out that tongue of yours,â He ordered firmly.
Obediently you set your hands on your knees, staring up at Helen. He took off his gloves with his teeth, tossing them aside before stroking his cock. He began to jack off in front of you, small grunts escaping his lips as he peered down at you. You were such a beautiful specimen, he couldnât help but envy that Slenderman had found you first. In a different universe he was sure your body wouldâve been used for far better, including becoming one of his works of art. Surely, he could make that happen in this one, right? All he needed to do was let go. You were dying to suck his cock, your wetness ever growing as he jacked off before you. He could feel himself growing closer to the edge. âWhen I release, you need to stay absolutely still, understand?â He questioned. You nodded, your tongue still flattened. Helen released with a groan, his seed releasing and splattering across your lips, tongue, and both cheeks. He peered down at you with his blue eyes, admiring his work. You truly were a masterpiece and perhaps the best birthday gift he had ever received.
#creepypasta#creepypasta smut#creepypasta lemon#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x female reader#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you#freakypasta au#the bloody painter smut#bloody painter smut#bloody painter x reader#bloody painter x judge angels#bloody painter x puppeteer#the bloody painter#bloody painter#creepypasta masky#creep#helen otis x you#helen otis x reader#helen otis smut#helen otis
441 notes
¡
View notes
Text
til' death do us part - part 1 | minatozaki sana
summary: sana minatozaki walks right into your life with a marriage license.
pairing: heiress!sana x reader
themes: arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex
wc: 5.0k
(series masterlist)
"the minatozaki's are waiting." you stare at the contract in front of you, frustrated at the idea of the family visiting. they sent the contract to you two weeks ago, and you knew that they were expecting a response, as in a signature. but here lays the contract on your coffee table, left to collect dust.
"let them in." you sit up from the couch, adjusting your shirt. you watch the maid let them in, timed steps in the long marble hallway. you hear their presence before you see them. then you see the matriarch of the minatozaki family step into the room. her head held high and proper, like a leader.
she reminds you of your own mother: the sharp tongue, quick judgements, and inability to let go of grudges.
then walks in sana minatozaki, the only heiress of the minatozaki group. she is not a stranger at all, but you havent decided if she is a friend or foe. when you were both younger, annual balls were centered around her. she always took those events in stride, while you enjoyed sticking by your mother's side.
you often remember watching sana dancing with anyone who would ask her; even from afar, you knew she was someone that everyone awed at. they treated her attention like a prize worth attaining.
"hello mrs. minatozaki and ms. minatozaki, please have a seat." you direct them to sit on the opposing couch. "how may i help you?"
they both get situated while you sit by yourself, feeling the weight of the minatozaki power firsthand. you watch your staff rushing to present them with tea, only for the two to dismiss them quickly.
"yes, we sent over a contract earlier last week, please sign it." the matriach points at the contract on your table.
"yes well, it is a marriage contract, a legally binding one. i need time to think it through."
"what is there to think through? you get to marry into the minatozaki group, and solidify your business with the backings of our family, i see no reason that it's empty now."
you frown at that, those were the exact words your own father told you over the phone, you called him immediately after receiving the contract, he told you the same exact thing, ending the call immediately after.
you dont disagree with the benefits, you would just rather marry someone else. someone that you could be in love with, not sana minatozaki.
"mrs. minatozaki, as much as i understand the power and backing of your family. i am rather old-fashioned. i only believe in marriage out of love." you nod solemnly to the older woman.
she lets out a trained laugh and holds her daughter's hands like they're her prize and tool. "love? you don't think that you could love my daughter?"
"mrs. minatozaki, i didn't mean it in that way-"
"so, what way did you mean it? my daughter sana," you say, watching as her daughter stands up from the couch, tall and proud, just like her mother, and smiling at you in that coy smile. "she has a line of suitors far longer than you could imagine; you should reconsider."
"mrs. minatozaki' please if i may-"
she holds her palm up, completely stopping you from speaking. "enough. here's what we're going to do: a three-month commitment. truly court my daughter for three months, and if you can honestly tell me you aren't in love with her, then i won't bother you with this matter for any longer."
"mrs. minatozaki, i think this is a completely archaic idea!" you exclaim, shocked to hear her say these plans. how quick she is to decide for her daughter's life.
"watch your tone. do not forget that your mother and I are well acquainted." she points her finger at you, and in a split second, she's back to that trained smile that is always so unnerving and threatening.
"i'm very sorry mrs. mintatozaki, please forgive my rudeness." you bow deeply at the woman. you return to your trained demeanor, letting mrs. minatozaki run your life for the next three months. who knows what she'll say to your mother if you decline?
both women get up promptly at the matriarch's signal, and you rush to walk them out of the manor. their resounding footsteps echo through the halls. the matriarch continues speaking of the three months of "dating," and you nod at every word in appeasement.
you assist them into their car, and soon they speed away from your manor. leaving you frustrated in your own driveway. by the time the sun has set, you finally return to your room.
--
the thought doesn't bother you anymore, while you were nervous at the idea of the minatozaki's pressing you on this marriage, you had gotten way too swamped with work.
in a week's time since the visit, you were giving a big presentation to shareholders and clientele. countless nights spent languidly going through the motions of collecting data for infographics and reports to extrapolate data. all part of your stressful day job.
a job that you take pride in, to take over the family business. dedicating years of your life to build the rapport needed for your father to put the company in your name.
you begin to wrap up on your final slide, indicating the prosperous quarter that your company has been seeing. beautiful graphics that display profit margins through the roofs. in every chair of that conference room sat a wide smile at your future projections.
"we expect to see a projection of 33% from our previous annual profits, along with more assets, and with the likes of a possible acquisition, this company will continue to flourish. thank you all for today." you conclude your presentation and smile to the many shareholders. they all stand and applaud you; you take a deep bow and shake hands.
the shareholders hound you, all gathered around in suits that costed more than the average house. they only bowed to the sound of money dropping into their pockets. so they push you, push your boundaries of how much you'll let them take.
mr. seki has always been the most persistent, asking for more money than he knew how to spend. so he stands before you, eyes twinkling and his grubby hands rubbing together like he found a gold mine.
you listen to him speak of the golden days with your father, business had little to regulations, making money was easier than breathing, but now he breaths down your neck for bonuses. the words travel in one ear and out the other, he forgets that you were a young child listening in to his discussions with your father.
before you know it, you hear that sharp clicking sound, the sound of sharp hard rubber hitting the tiled floor, you hear heels. short confident steps of a woman, and then you see it through the frosted glass, a womanly figure.
she's walking right into the conference room. then you notice the details: long brunette hair in waves, branded sunglasses atop her nose, a light pink suit adorned with blinding diamonds. behind her are bodyguards that tower over everyone. everyone's conversation stops at the sight of her, she stops right in front of you.
eyes strong and daring, she slips off her glasses and you recognize her, the woman of all your friend's dreams: sana minatozaki. more confident than ever, not being guided by her mother, she smiles that smile that you know your friends swoon over. delicate fingers slip off her glasses as she hands them to her assistant. eyes still focused on yours.
then she does it, grabs ahold of your tie, and slams her lips against yours. and you can hear it faintly, the sound of the shareholders all gasping, drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. the searing kiss lasts so long, like a time loop. when she pulls back, you gasp for air, choking and doubling over coughing like you inhaled chili powder. all your presentation material spilling on the ground.
"sorry to cut the festivities short, gentlemen." she bows lightly, an amused smile underlying her sarcasm. "my fiancĂŠ and i have things to attend to, i'm sure you know how demanding your wife can be". she giggles at that, letting them all nod, and disperse.
"fiancĂŠ?" you cough out, still catching your breath. sana grabs ahold of your hand and drags you out the conference room, and out to the elevators. you watch her two bodyguards at your feet, ready to intervene with broad and thick builds.
they remind you much of your father's bodyguards. but you never wanted them because it just felt so unnatural to be followed by men who protected you.
sana stands before the elevator, and without missing a beat walks in, at the sound of the door opening. you get pulled by the two bodygaurds into the box. now you stand next to a smirking sana and two men who could break your spine ten times over.
you exit into the lobby, all the staff rising to their feet at the sight of you and miss minatozaki. greeting you all, as you rush to follow after sana. you have a sinking feeling if you don't that those two men behind you are going to toss you right into the ocean. right outside of the lobby, is the sight of the signature black marked sedan. a true sign of a minatozaki. like the fortress of a family, this car is far than capable of withstanding a nuke, how true this statement is? you never want to know.
sana is quick to sit herself inside, being guided by her chaffeur. you nod to him before sitting inside, seperated by the middle seat. the door closes and suddenly you feel claustrophobic.
the last time you spoke to sana was years ago, back in law school, you never did like her clique but they were everywhere. so you have interacted with her through case studies and presentations, steering clear of the intimidating minatozaki group. so much for avoiding them, now you're stuck in a car with the exact person you were avoiding all your life.
"mother is furious." she comments, grabbing her heels off her feet, tucking them into a compartment. you stare at her for a while, confused with what she means. "well?"
"miss minatozaki, i thin-"
"sana. just sana please." she corrects you.
"miss sana, please, you cannot barge into my shareholder meetings and attack me like that. that was unacceptable on all levels." you continue. loosening the tie that felt like it was choking you when she grabbed it. you slip it off your neck and into your pocket.
"i thought mother made it clear her expectations. you sign that marriage license, and we're good." she continues to correct you, disregarding your frustrations.
"sana. i apologize but i have been swamped with work, i cannot even begin to think about marriage." you complain.
"work? you marry into the minatozaki group and you'll never lift a finger. those infographics you put together were cute, but the minatozaki's never put themselves through work they can pass off to others. marry in, and we'll find a suitable ceo the second you say so." she is everything you stand against, a figurehead as the ceo is the last thing you want for your budding company.
"i think you are mistaken, miss sana. this company is me, i am this company, that will not change if i marry into the minatozaki group." you don't waver for a second, conviction running through your blood.
she smiles at that, "you are one of those. the ones that are married to their work before anything else." she takes a second to contemplate this thought, what would you bring to the minatozaki group? profit, drama, not a headache that's for sure.
"i'm going to let you in on a secret," she leans her head towards you. "like how you are married to your work, i am married to wealth. doesn't matter if you have a million mistresses, or a thousand bastard babys. as long as you don't smear the minatozaki name, you will fit right in."
"i do not think so miss sana. the minatozaki's are adamant about blood purity, they don't let bastards live." you explain. she smirks at that, you've clearly done your research about the minatozaki clan. "miss sana, please, me marrying into your family would not beneficial to you. i am too concerned with my own self to be a pawn for your clan." you finish, hoping they will let this issue to rest.
"you seem to know a lot about our family for someone who isn't interested marrying in." her eyebrow shoots up and with the snap of a finger, the bodyguard hands her a manila folder through the slit of the window.
"once again, we urge you to sign this. i hope we become lifelong partners, fiancĂŠ." she winks and steps out of the car. speaking to the chauffeur, and soon you're being driven by the minatozaki car, another car ready for sana in an instant.
now you're left with a manila folder, weighing heavier than anything else in the world. when you are sit in your armchair with the manila folder, nursing a nice drink to unwind, you finally untie the manila folder. opening the contents, you find the same contract on your coffee table. signed with sana's signature in the bottom, and another paper.
in a written letter from your own father, you nearly crumple the paper in your own hand. the clauses of placing your company in the hands of your father, all shareholder signatures at the bottom. indicating the removal of power. in another line it reads in big bold letters, date sana for three months or your company will be absorbed by your father.
you call up your father.
"father, this is ridiculous, you cannot do this to my company. why are you meddling now?"
"you insolent child, given the opportunity to grow your business, you choose instead to be selfish? i present to you the opportunity of a lifetime: marriage into the minatozaki group. and i've been told you're pushing their patience." his deep voice rumbles into the phone. "my final words are these: you want your company so bad, prove that you are committed to the minatozakis, then i will transfer the power back." he firmly states.
"i don't even have the time, father. my schedule is busy with the new year and final changes with new clientele."
"i've already spoken to your assistant, all work for you the next three months have been transferred to my coo. he will take over for the time being, i trust him to run my own company, so don't you go spouting nonsense about his credibility." you bite your tongue at the sight. how dare your father meddle in your company? one that you built up with your own hands. the only piece of yourself that wasn't controlled by your father.
"do not forget who raised you. i can take everything away." his voice booms through the speakers. he ends the phone call there. and you throw that phone like a baseball, shattering the device into pieces.
--
so you do date sana for three months, finding it absolutely absurd in the beginning. often visiting her wherever she traveled. when she was busy, you would send out bouquets in your absence. you tried your best to date her, devoting time to getting to know her better. she's like you remembered when you were younger, loud rambunctious and had an eye for all things expensive. you spent trips all over the globe within those three months.
it's a strange feeling. letting yourself rest, you can't remember the last time you went on a vacation other than in law school. here you are, lying in a lounge chair on a private beach in santorini. drinking mai tais while you stare into the horizon. confused with your own life right now.
it should've been the merger. you get antsy just at the idea of your father's coo leading the merger, but what can you do. that company is not "yours" right now. while you are trying to enjoy the sight of the bright sun and clear waters, you watch out of the corner of your eye as sana flirts openly with a resort worker.
hand on his bicep, leaning in to show more cleavage, all the while keeping a sultry smile on her face. you're done letting your life be decided for you. you walk over.
"hi honey, how is it going?" you smile towards her, leaning in for a quick kiss. holding her neck in place, as you watch the man walk away. you let her go.
"jealous?" she smirks.
"no. i need answers." you sit down in front of her. "why me?"
"what do you mean why me?" she sips on her cosmopolitan, not provoked by the question.
"why marry me? my father is well known, but we are not a conglomerate group, why do you wish to marry me? i provide nothing to the minatozaki group, it doesn't make sense. there's the watanabe clan, the abe clan, the ito clan. i really don't understand why my family."
"it's not your father or his companies, it's you." she points at you. still sipping her drink. she doesn't skip a beat, no hesitation in her words.
"i hold no power on the world stage, you would be well off marrying any clan." you try reasoning with her, beyond perplexed on why she chose you.
"the watanabe clan are dirty: plagued with dirty lust, the abe clan are ruthless killers, the ito clan has been known to kill their woman. so tell me, how much better off i will be marrying them?" she continues. face hardened.
"i see...they are not as great as their name." you stare at her. less perplexed but definitely confused.
"we all grew up together, all the heirs, i know them better than they know themselves. and i do not like what i see. but you and i didn't speak to each other." she signals for another cosmopolitan, thanking the staff member and digging through her bag. pulling out photos of you two when you were children at the annual balls.
"you are worlds better than all of them combined. i could see it in the way you never vied for my attention. they all were intact dogs, hoping to hump something by the end of the night."
"sorry for the assumptions," you offer. the way she looks away from you, watching the ocean. and letting out a long and heavy sigh. she tucks the photos away. "so, marriage out of convenience? is that all this is?"
"yes." she nods.
you grab the contract from your bag, signing it in front of her. and then placing it in her hands, "to a happy marriage sana minatozaki, i hope you can handle my snoring." you laugh.
she grins at the contract, and tucks it into her bag. "then i hope you can handle my kicking. you groan jokingly and laugh loudly, her joining you.
--
minatozaki weddings were no joke. halls lined with marble pillars with gold accents. dishes made out of the finest and purest porecelin. waiters dressed in their finest, not a single hair out of place. global leaders and their children attending, even if they had no ties to the minatozaki.
the grandiose hall with beautiful mirrors dating centuries ago. recovered artifacts from the edo period, adorning the shelves. the giant minatozaki family crest on the back wall. with long tables lined with wedding gifts. you stand next to sana as the reception procession continues into the night. many notable figures congratulating the marriage. as well as the intricate gifts being handed off to you. each gift being placed and documented by the minatozaki security team.
the minatozakis look happy, wearing traditional kimonos and inviting all the guests to talk about their daughters marriage.
even though the place is filled with laughter and happiness, you can't help but feel like you just entered a loveless marriage. where you are destined to avoid sana, she smiles at everyone, showering in the attention, while you can't wait to get back to work.
--
you had explained to sana you wanted a quiet honeymoon, one that was peaceful and relaxing. so you both went puglia, to enjoy the rich Italian culture and the beautiful greens and blues of the water.
sana spent nearly ever second of the day buying herself clothes while enjoying pestering you. often times dragging you along to carry her bags, and be at her beck and call. she calls it "conditioning for a happy marriage." you had rolled your eyes when you heard it, but you wanted a happy marriage too so you complied.
now you stand in the middle of puglia, taking photos of sana, at her request. for the third time that day.
"how many photos do you need sana?"
"as many as i want. stop talking, more clicking!" you get back to taking photos and letting her enjoy the scenery. it's quite nice being with sana, she may be a bit high maintenance, but she doesn' t overstep when it comes to your boundaries. letting you enjoy your own alone time and venturing through the city alone.
sometimes you bring back flowers or a small gift to her, all of which she happily enjoys with a warm smile.
--
after the honeymoon, its back to the real world. in which your father happily returned the company back to you. the merger had been successful, but you're still catching up on paperwork that only you could sign. in the coming months, sana has moved in.
living together has become a routine. when she moved into your manor, she claimed it was a nice change from her home. you were confused because her house was far more amenities, but you let her move in.
so, every morning and night, you spend time with her, sleeping in the same bed, drinking the same coffee, and sitting at the same dining table. you don't share more than a few words with her, but her presence has become a nice addition to your life.
she's made herself comfortable, her makeup products all lining your sink, heels filling the floor of the closet. her closet so big that she ordered construction to build her own walk-in.
often times you see her out lounging in the sun room doing yoga or pilates. or when she's in a good mood, she'll join you in your study room to do work herself.
she goes out at night frequently, so you make it a habit to stay up until she gets home. you know she's protected and safe with her trained bodyguards and chauffeur.
it just brings you a sense of comfort to bring her inside in case she's unwell. some nights she gets home with love bites all over her body, other nights she comes home drunk falling into your arms. you never comment on it.
she comments on your life first.
"do you...have someone special in your life?" she asks with a glass of wine in hand. you look up from your table, eyeing her in the doorframe.
"no, i'm married to my job." you look back at the work laid out for you, pushing glasses back up the bridge of your nose.
"have you slept with a woman before?" you stop your work, putting the pen down.
"sana, are we asking about each other's sex lives now?"
"well i can be curious, cant i? you always look so proper." she walks in to sit by you.
"well, yes in the past i have." you comment, a little thrown off with the line of questions. she nods her head and gives you her wine, you sip it and place it on the desk. "why do you ask?"
"we've never consummated our marriage, don't you think it's time?" she leans over, eyeing the work on your paper.
"what happened to marriage out of convenience?"
"marriage out of convenience could mean we're sex partners out of convenience," she smirks. she stands up, pushing the paper off to the side. you raise your eyebrow, trying to get her to stop messing with your work.
"sana."
"yes?" she takes the glasses off your face. a coy smile on her lips.
"we don't have to do this."
"i want to. do you?" she stands in your way, eyes trained on yours. a playful smile on her face. you get up to set your mind straight, no way were you sleeping with your non-wife.
"sana, please, you must be drunk." you walk past her, calling out to staff. "hi, could you please assist sana to bed." sana scoffs at you, flipping you off and pushing past the maid.
you return to your desk, eyebrows pushed together and a headache forming. but you can feel that spike in your stomach, you're sexually frustrated.
--
you've been actively avoiding being too close with sana. whenever she circles around, you scoot further away. opting for open spaces where she won't make sexual advances. rejecting her isn't fun either, she gets all pouty about it, but the way she makes you feel lately, has been dangerous. so you try your best to exercise restraint.
in the coming weeks it's harder and harder. some days she visits with your dress shirts tucked into a pencil skirt. walking in like a wet dream into your office. you will yourself to have self control but you can feel it slipping. the way you want to grab her, feel her skin under your fingertips, wanting to wrap around her.
today she manages to get under your skin. "darling, you must be so tired." she slides behind you. and starts massaging your shoulders, pressing the knots away.
you let her, feeling the tension release from your shoulders. her hands move expertly, and soon you feel more relaxed than ever. her hands begin to wander, sliding over your torso and frame. you turn to look at her, playful eyes staring back at you. you pull her into your lap, grabbing her neck for a kiss.
"i think it would be rather impolite of me to have our first time here in my office. maybe later?" you offer, playing with her pencil skirt.
"i don't care where we do it, as long as we do it now." she smirks and plays with your hair. you pull her up and place her atop your desk. walking quickly to close the door and drop the blinds.
she laughs when push her back, back hitting the desk, and then you lean over her. giving her a long kiss, before sliding your hands up her legs.
"come take what yours." she grins. you begin unbuttoning her shirt, hands trailing down until they reach her hips.
you kiss her fervently, moving towards her like a magnet. "yes miss minatozaki."
--
you might have to label yourself a sex addict, maybe a sana minatozaki addict actually. after sleeping with sana, you can't keep your hands off of her. often messaging her and taking days off to be around her.
it's unlike you, so unfocused and nonchalant about work. but you can't help it, sana feels like a drug and you need your supply. so here you are in your study, trying to clean up the smell of sex before your mother-in-law arrives. sana's an absolute vixen and trying to coax you into another round, but you know at any second her mother will walk into the house like its her own.
you spray a scent over top of the room urgently before closing the door behind you. a clingy sana kissing you deeply, trying so very hard to get you in bed with her.
"sana, no. your mother will be here any second." you force yourself to be the bad guy, pulling her arms off of you. to which she flicks your forehead.
"sana!" the sound of her voice booming like it's through a speakerphone. sana immediately tenses up, posture straight like a board.
"hi mother."
"glad to see you still recognize me." her mother chastises her. you watch the two woman, and you stay quiet. letting sana speak to her mother in a hushed tone, while you stand nearby.
it's hard to get a gauge on sana's mother, she's fierce and demanding. you also can't tell if she likes you, she keeps her distance. but you also can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. oftentimes she shows up requesting your presence at her events. but you play the part well as much as you can.
the older woman walks towards your living room, where she was months ago, and requesting you to marry her daughter. now she moves around your home like it's her own.
"now that you two have been happily married, it's important to discuss the next step." she starts. "we need heirs, multiple."
you and sana look at each other in horror.
"sana was the only heir in her generation of minatozaki's, i need you two to produce more than a single heir. to protect the minatozaki clan." she states firmly.
you groan into your hands, horrified at the conversation. and for the first time you see the matriach smile as she shows off photos of sana as a baby, cute as a button.
it does make you wonder about having a little sana running around, so you take the conversation topic in stride. letting the matriarch discuss traditions, schooling, extracurriculars and education to maintain the minatozaki standard.
sana is horrified to hear all this from her mother, but when she leaves, a light bulb turns on in her brain. then she smiles at you in that knowing smile.
"honey, come on, you heard my mother. we have to produce heirs. you know what that means?" then she wiggles her eyebrows as she drags you upstairs.
and you let her.
--
a/n: sana, sana, sana. she's been plaguing my mind recently. hope you enjoyed, proofreading is difficult work so i didn't do it. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!
#sana#twice#twice sana#sana twice#sana minatozaki#minatozaki sana#sana x reader#sana x you#kpop imagines#twice x reader#twice x you#neoplatinum
952 notes
¡
View notes
Text
[tfp] starscream x human!reader
summary: starscream wakes you up to see the sunrise
cw: fluff, pinch of angst, starscream has feelings for you, silliness, bad writing, i may have butchered his character a bit but i want him to be happy for once
word count: 1365
btw if you want to be silly about your favs my askbox is open!! you can send thirsts too wink wink ;)))
â â
â
â
ââââ ⥠âââ â
â
â
ââ
Aggressive tapping on the window ripped you from a cozy sleep. You quickly propped yourself up on your arms, looking for the source of the sound. The warm blanket slipped off your shoulders, waking you even more. Your sleepy mind tried to shake off the fog with rapid blinking as you looked around, alarmed.
You tapped twice on the screen of your phone lying on the table next to your bed. Four o'clock. Good Lord. So much for sleeping in.
Who would even go through the trouble of reaching your house (crossing acres of untouched forest), tapping on the window hard enough to wake you up, and then disappearing without a trace? A thief? you thought. No, a thief would take extra care not to wake you. And would probably use the front door. With your still-clouded mind, you tried to remember who knew you lived here, but only two names came to mind: your mother andâŚ
Red light pierced through the window, illuminating your bedroom.
Oh, right. He.
You slid out of bed and shuffled to the window. Even with limited light, you could make out the look of impatience on his elongated, metal face. Youâd taken too long.
"Finally! Does it take humans this long to wake up?"
"Hi, Starscream," you greeted him. After a few months of acquaintance, youâd learned to ignore his jabs directed at you and your species. "May I ask what you need from me at four"âyou emphasized the hourâ"in the morning?"
You yawned, and he grimaced, his optics flicking away.
"I need you to finally step outside. Then you're coming with me."
"But itâs so earlyâŚ"
"Will you be more encouraged if I punch a hole through your wall and take you by force?"
"Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't done that already."
"Donât tempt me," he warned.
Your mind flashed back to the incident four months ago when he actually demolished half your wall because you apparently hadnât come outside fast enough. Those were the days of testing his patience, which, as you quickly and painfully learned, was more fragile than porcelain.
"Get out. I'm not giving you a third warning."
You sighed because, unfortunately, he was right; you could soon end up in his servo, your house with yet another unwanted window. You put on your warmest coat, an old shearling from your mother, and left your cozy little home, making sure to lock the door behind you. It was still dark outside, but the first hints of dawn were breaking through the treetops. Sunrise was near.
"Finally! I canât believe such a simple task took you this long."
"Iâm sorry, alright. I just don't want to freeze to death."
One moment, you were standing quietly on the ground, bantering with your alien companion, and the next, he scooped you up in his claws and placed you in his servo. You held tight to his thumb, pressing against the only anchor point several meters above the ground. He was warm, which still amazed you. You nestled closer to his slender finger.
Starscreamâs optics lingered on you for a moment, ensuring you were alright. You noticed.
"Iâm fine," you assured him, smiling softly.
He looked away, embarrassed to be caught in such a state; you shouldnât see him like this. You shouldnât know that he cared, that he was trying to be gentler with your body; that his spark shone brighter when he was with you, that your companionship mattered to him.
The problem was, you did know. The humans he thought were primitives did have well-developed emotional intelligence, and you were no exception. It took you just a few weeks to see right through him. At first, he thought it was about finding his weakness, then stab him in the back, contact the right people or Autobots, and turn him in. Betray him. But each week, the betrayal he almost expected never came, and before he knew it, he started to trust you. And he hoped you trusted him, tooâotherwise, you wouldnât have stepped out of your house at such an early hour to meet him, right? He wanted to call it foolishness and naivety, but he knew you too well by now. You weren't either.
"I havenât seen you in a while," you remarked after a moment of silence. "Are you okay?"
His wings fluttered happily. If you noticed, you chose not to comment on it, and he was forever grateful for that.
"Yes, Iâm alright," he replied briefly.
"Iâm glad."
His spark flickered with joy. It was nice to have someone who cared. He couldnât remember the last time anyone of his kind had asked him something like that. Maybe no one ever had.
"Where are we going?" you asked. You didnât expect a clear answer, but just listening to his voice gave you comfort. You missed this diva.
"Patience," he deflected. "I donât want to spoil the surprise."
Oh. You beamed. With one sentence, he made you feel special, not to mention excited. Suddenly, the nightâs chill stopped biting your cheeks, and the last traces of irritation at being woken up early faded away.
Starscream noticed the sudden shift in your body language, allowing himself to catch the mood. A dangerous thought popped into his processorâheâd like to see you smiling more, him being the reason for your smile. He wanted to make you happy, not occasionally, not out of whim or boredom; he wanted your smile to be genuine, brought on by his gestures or words. He held onto the hope that his surprise would have a similar effect.
As you climbed the forested hill, Starscream pondered when you stopped being just another human and became [Your Name]. Was it when you didnât hesitate to express disapproval of Megatron, who had tormented him for most of his long life only to abandon him on an alien planet? Or maybe when you outright told him that you cared for him and that his opinion mattered to you when he wasnât pointing a weapon at you?
Youâd both fallen hard, but he was at the bottom.
"I think I know what this surprise is," you whispered as the forest thinned out, revealing a meadow dotted with rocks. "You remembered that I love sunrises."
"Itâs hard to forget when someone keeps pestering you about it."
He was bluffing; you saw right through it. Youâd only mentioned it once, a long time ago, but you let him win, not wanting to spoil the moment.
"Thank you," you whispered.
He muttered something under his breath, but his wings lifted proudly, betraying his true emotions.
Starscream stopped in front of a large rock jutting from the ground in the middle of the clearing. He placed his hand on the hard, dewy surface so you could step down and admire the view in front of you.
"Wow," you whispered.
Youâd arrived just in time for the sunrise, which was slowly emerging from behind thick clouds, creating an orange gradient, fading into muted pinks and shades of gray. The panorama before you was raw and ethereal. Untouchable. It formed an image Starscream had reserved just for you. And that meant so, so much to you.
"I think Iâm going to cry," you sniffled.
"What? Why?" he squawked, stunned.
Did you not like it? Humans only cried when they were sad, right? For Primusâs sake, heâd messed up again, as always. But before his worry could turn to anger, your response reassured him.
"Iâm just⌠so happy. You have no idea how much. Thank you for bringing me here; Iâll never forget it."
There it was again. That pleasant churning in his spark, throwing him off his calculated balance. Would you be just as thrilled if he gave you a star from the sky?
"The pleasureâs all mine," he replied, now focusing his entire attention on you.
Impulsively, he reached out towards you. A sharp claw, designed to cause suffering, now gently brushed your back with the utmost care. Starscream soaked in your contentment like forbidden nectar, losing himself in the moment, wishing it would last forever.
362 notes
¡
View notes
Note
HIII DOVE:DD this is my first time requesting but, may i pls have a sugar cookie #18 with whipped cream & choc drizzle? ty!!
(btw your works & writing are totes immaculate i just want u to know that & i hope ur doing well!!)
thank you so much!!
order #18; sugar with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle
*ŕŠâŠâ§âË nothing nice to say
tropes: exes to lovers, royalty AU characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu, fae!reader word count: 500
"Well. This is awkward,"
There's a smile on Lilia Vanrouge that begs to differ.
You press your lips together. The words on the tip of your tongue are sour, after all.
Hundreds of years after your betrothed left you at the altar, and that's all he has to say.
"A pleasure to see you again, Vanrouge," you lie, quite obviously.
He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care.
"Please! No need for formality," he says, draping an arm around your shoulder and making himself comfortable at your side as if he has any right to be within even an inch of you, and-
You take a breath. Apathetic. Mature. You don't care about him.
"We're all old friends here, aren't we?"
"Acquaintances, perhaps," you correct him as politely as you can manage.
You're different now, after all. Older. Wiser. No longer the silly, emotional little noble you were in your youth.
You will not let him break down your walls again.
"Acquaintances," Lilia repeats the word, as if feeling it in his mouth. "Well, we don't need a label for it. So, how's life in the western woods? How're the, uh... swamps?"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "You might as well say what you mean, and save us both the breath,"
Lilia feigns offense, putting a hand over his heart. His scoff echoes off the stone castle walls.
"Can a man not ask about swamps?"
You refuse to dignify that with an answer, and he pouts. It's a strange look on him. Gone are the days of the haughty General, it seems.
Finally, he sighs. "It's been four... five hundreds years since we last spoke. Forgive my curiosity- I only want to know how life has treated you, my dear,"
That term of endearment sends a chill up your spine. Who is this man? Surely not the same one you were betrothed to, once.
You cross your arms. "...Well. And you?"
Lilia pouts again, now at your vague answer, the lack of gossip.
"Well... enough. I've been kept busy, you know. Children,"
You can feel your embrace tightening around yourself, fingers digging into your forearms.
"You married, then?"
"Hm...? Oh, no," Lilia chuckles. "I did not sire them, if that's what you mean to ask."
You relax. An odd relief, to know that you were his last attempt at romance.
"...My apologies for assuming, then," you say. "News does not reach the west so quickly."
"I know,"
You hate that. You hate that he remembers things, that he remembers you, and that for all you're putting into looking mature and unbothered, he can tell you're not.
Lilia had always had a way with you.
Has a way with you.
"You look just as beautiful as the day I saw you last," he says in a whisper. You can't come up with a way to respond to that.
He's standing beside you, your arms merrily linked together now.
"Well, come along. We can't keep the Prince waiting, can we? I'm sure he's very curious to hear all your stories about what I was like as a boy,"
You scoff, but still, something about him...
You may hold a grudge, but it's been long enough. A few hundred years of the silent treatment should be plenty.
Reluctantly, you smile.
"You know I'll have nothing nice to say, right?"
Lilia returns your grin and pulls you a little closer, your bodies almost touching.
"I'm counting on it, my dear,"
200 notes
¡
View notes
Text
How Strong the old men Genes are!
Funny little Headcanon for the Old Men!
Enjoy!
Support me on Ko-Fi
Buggy
⢠Buggy has a curse of twins. No matter what if he gets a women pregnant It will result in him having twins.
⢠Due to the fact his first few sexual acquaintances were 'Paying Lovers' he does collect his kids and either has them apart of the crew or finds them a very nice homes if they aren't interested in being a Pirate.
⢠His kids do look like him but it's a healthy mix- His eyes and Hair Color seemingly to be his strongest genes since each of his kids has at least one of those unique characteristics.
⢠When he gets with his S/O who he also has twins with he is open about it.
⢠Has only gotten a few people pregnant but due to the twins curse- it's a lot of kids.
⢠Buggy much to everyone surprise is very good with kids. Especially babies.
⢠Maybe it plays on his power trip but having a little being that loves you unconditionally and needs you 24/7 plays well for him.
⢠Will buy nice clothes, dress them, feed them, play with them and even teach them everything he knows.
⢠His S/O is proud to see how good he is with kids. Proud of such a development. Will press him to collect/find the rest of his crotch goblins
⢠Gets a message from a old flame saying they no longer want their kids due to their line of work. How they are 4 and he needs to get them before they are in a orphanage.
⢠Hauls ass to go to Chi Chi Town to get his last batch of Twins before he got with his S/O
⢠"Let me guess- Twins right?" He said blandly to the madame of the brothel house, who nods in surprise. "Why yes- How did you know?-"
⢠"Lucky Guess. Now go get them" He says blandly as the Madame goes to the nursery area and retrieves the two twin toddlers, He doesn't even need to confirm as he sees the headful of blue hair.
⢠Takes them without a fuss and walks off to add to his growing collection of kids.
⢠Has a total of 12 Kids, all twins and he's done. No more for him-
Shanks
⢠Ah Poor Shanks- The Players Curse! Only Girls, He has just an ungodly amount of daughters.
⢠He doesn't even know we're they are till he walks through a village and sees a girl that looks a lot like him.
⢠All of them have red hair- No matter what. Curly, straight, Wavy but their hair is always red.
⢠"I'm your father! Goodness you look so lovely!" He gushes about each daughter and treats them individually. Spending as much time as he can with them and will buy them things they are interested in.
⢠Still prefers his single players life so doesn't settle with anyone. However running into old flames often means meeting new kids.
⢠Surprisingly remembers all his kids names, will write them letters constantly.
⢠Will he thrilled if any of them ate interested in pirating- his oldest of kids may already be working on another Pirates ship.
⢠Surprisingly large amount are actually Marines! So he gets special privileges of his daughters using their political power to not get him arrested-
⢠Introduces every daughter he has to the crew.
⢠The crew Secretly has a tally-board of how many kids Shanks has in the crews quarters
⢠"Hey Ben! How many does this new girl make?" Lucky Roux called out as he tossed the chalk to Yasopp
⢠"28nd girl-" Ben says calmly and smirks as Yasopp adds another Tally to the board.
⢠"28 Girls and 1 Boy. Good on you Luffy" The crew laughs at the stupidity of it all.
Mihawk
⢠Mihawk will never say it out loud but- He was a man-whore in his youth. A Massive Man-Whore.
⢠Knows he has a lot of bastard kids. But will at the moment only focus on the one he has with his S/O.
⢠When his permanent S/O finds out that Mihawk has a lot of illegitimate children they urge him to meet and even help his kids.
⢠At first he begrudgingly agreed- Only because his S/O asked him. Assuming he only had a good handful-
⢠He was wrong- So very very Wrong.
⢠It wasn't until he went out to collect them did he realize it was a good Idea what his S/O had suggested-
⢠Many of his children were in less then savorable situations. Some in orphanages, the streets picking through trash, even others working as servants or worse.
⢠What started as a scoffing agreement turned into the biggest rescue mission of his life.
⢠Once done he had the grand total of 87 Kids.
⢠His genes being incredibly strong since his kids all looked like him- to at least some degree.
⢠The main indicator was the yellow eyes- Damn near every child had his eyes. Some had his dark hair or his stoic features. But it was mainly his eyes-
⢠Is quiet around kids and even a bit awkward. Especially when they are in the adolescent age and talk far too much for his taste.
⢠By the end the castle back on his Island was actually at full occupancy. Every room filled and some of the smaller children even sharing rooms.
⢠He ended up hiring a full staff as well to help care for the children, especially any younger ones.
⢠Cost him a fortune- His wallet screaming at him buying more food, clothes, staffing, medical care and toys.
⢠S/O is happy since now the castle is so alive and filled with life. Makes them happy
⢠Mihawk laying in bed before he gets jumped on by kids. Scrambling awake as he sees 5 of his younger children laughing at seeing his startled face and runs off like little imps-
⢠Younger children haven't figured out to be afraid of him yet so they will run over him. He will be sitting there trying to read while a 3 year old uses him as a jungle gym.
â˘Secretly loves it-
⢠Loves having his home so warm and oddly realizes He may have been lonely before-
⢠"Mihawk I'm only counting 85 in bed-" His S/O calls out. Having a tradition of telling all the kids goodnight, He raises his brow at this as he sets down his wine glass and book of the evening.
#x reader#one peice x reader#buggy the clown x reader#one peice live action#one piece#buggy one piece#buggy x reader#hawkeye mihawk#shanks x reader#one piece shanks#shanks one piece#shanks#mihawk x reader#one piece mihawk#dracule mihawk
2K notes
¡
View notes
Note
I don't know if you do requests for the Great Detectives, but I'd love to see how you think the Great Detectives would handle the murder of King Hamlet of Denmark.
This is a GREAT one! The big question is whether they all talk to the ghost of the dead king; I think I'm going to have to take that on a case-by-case basis, with whatever feels right for any specific detective.
So, in a series I do sometimes, how would various great detectives solve the murder of King Hamlet...
Sherlock Holmes: Well, obviously ghosts don't exist, so jot that down. But in Holmes's experience, living humans often pretend to be ghosts (or even make dogs pretend to be ghosts!) so who could this be? The young prince Hamlet, who everybody says has gone mad? Holmes deduces that he isn't mad at all, and is in fact conducting psychological warfare against his hated uncle; while Holmes disapproves, he concludes that the boy is completely right about Claudius due to his knowledge of the play The Murder of Gonzago, as seen when he's upset about changes in a production. The Murder of Gonzago is a play which premiered in a town in Denmark known for its manufacturing of poisons for pest control!
Hercule Poirot: Poirot is quite sad to hear that the monarch who invited him as a celebrity guest has died; why does this always have to happen when he goes on vacation? Polonius spies on the guy to see what he's up to, but Poirot is much better at snooping on people than he is, and nobody can keep anything hidden for very long. He gives a summation where he reveals Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately goes to attack his uncle and they struggle over a sword. King Claudius falls dead and Poirot bows out, because determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not his department.
Sam and Peter: Hear me out- if we bump Hamlet down from ambiguously college-aged to ambiguously high school aged, we can replace Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. These two nerdy kids are shipped in to cheer their friend (more like acquaintance) Hamlet up, and to his surprise, they respond to his depressing monologues by taking notes and asking for further details on why the world is so corrupt. Hamlet isn't so happy about them doing an investigation into "What is up with Hamlet's super hot mom?" but when they suggest interviewing Claudius to see if he has the face of a liar, he enlists them to help out with putting on The Murder of Gonzago. The rest of the play mostly goes the same, but they find the letter Claudius planted on them and show it to Hamlet. One of the last lines of the play is when Fortinbras is looking at everyone lying dead, but then Osric points out "Sam and Peter are alive!"
Phryne Fisher: Phryne is a dubious (if genteel) woman Laertes has taken up with, whom Polonius is doing everything in his power to drive away. Phryne doesn't care, but it does bring her attention to the fact that the man is apparently constantly spying on everyone in the castle. On whose behalf is he doing this? King Claudius? Is he afraid someone may assassinate him because of his brother's suspicious death? What was the official story about that, anyway? She exchanges sexy insults with Prince Hamlet, refusing to be cowed, and ultimately agrees to play the queen in his production of The Murder of Gonzago (where she gets a little too into the love scene.) When she turns and looks directly in Claudius's eye in the audience during a crucial line, she can see the answer to everything. Claudius tries to convince Laertes to kill her, saying she corrupted Ophelia into being a whore for a mad prince, but Laertes can't go through with it and kills Claudius instead.
Dale Cooper: King Hamlet's ghost tells him who killed him in a dream, but Cooper doesn't remember. He befriends Horatio and tells him that in order to understand the death of the king, it is crucial for them to study an old Icelanic poem about a man who feigns madness, because the answer to the mystery lies somewhere within. Horatio doesn't totally get it, but he figures Cooper must know what he's doing and goes along with it. When everyone is gathered to watch a production of The Murder of Gonzago, Cooper first steps up onto the stage, guided by a spirit in the form of a snake wearing a crown, to announce that King Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately stabs his uncle. Determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not Cooper's department.
Philip Marlowe: All I know is, most of this mystery involves him getting thrown off the palace grounds repeatedly and being told that a bum like him better keep away from King Claudius if he knows what's good for him. If he ever gets out of Denmark alive, Marlowe thinks to himself, he's never leaving LA during the winter ever again.
Sam Vimes: Vimes can actually interview the ghost, but that doesn't mean the case is closed. He's not worried about the ghost actually being a deceitful fiend, he just thinks there's a possibility he's wrong. After all, if Vimes was poisoned and his ghost found out some creepy relative immediately married his wife and took his job, he would also jump to conclusions! He spends a lot of time yelling at royal people and getting threatened with execution (Vimes doesn't know how his job ended up involving so many clashes with royalty, but so it goes), and is disrespectful of religion enough to spy on Claudius while he's having his remorseful confession. He can't arrest him, but he spreads the word around, and as the royal court dissolves into backstabbing and finger-pointing, Vetinari walks in with a full retinue (and more importantly, a list of all the debts Denmark owes to Ankh-Morpork) to evaluate the situation and congratulate Claudius on his "excellent decision" to abdicate. Claudius later dies of a totally natural snake bite in his ear.
Columbo:
Your Majesty, King Claudius, forgive My clumsy common nature. I am not A noble gentleman, nor do I live With such great honor as yourself- a thought, However, troubles me this night. For how Should some strange serpent come to bite a king? And why within his ear? It puzzles! Now, I beg that I may ask just one more thingâŚ
173 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)
Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You
Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.
Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy
A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentineâs special. Heâs a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentineâs because I will be busy on Valentineâs) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!
Word count: ~4.8k
Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at firstâ or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, heâs finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.
It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.
What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didnât feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe Iâm ill. I shouldnât mention it to anyone, lest Laeâzel slit my throat in my sleep.
Besides, the pain didnât happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.
Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. Heâd just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed landsâ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach.Â
Because there you were, presenting your partyâs cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchidâ had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the womanâs wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.
Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?
Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.
You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpersâ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.
Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments.Â
Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlachâs struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body.Â
His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tieflingâs body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammonâs fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This canât be good.
But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new statesâ requiring even more help, godsâ and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.
The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. Thatâs right, Harper. Donât mess with my protector.
Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare.Â
Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. Youâd been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial planeâ in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. âYou are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.
Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.
Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.
When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheartâs dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.
The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.
Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. Heâd expected you to say him. Heâd asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being⌠himself?
The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadnât felt a sensation like this beforeâ he hated it.Â
Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? Iâm fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.
__
He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.
One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.
Damned tiefling woman. Iâm far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.
The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful funâ the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.
He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if heâd reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, âAre you alright, darling?â
Astarion couldnât remember what youâd even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.
You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldnât fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. Itâs simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly theyâre playing tricks on my body.
It was a few days later, as you helped the Harperâs deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.
Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. Heâd seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlanternâs glow, the way your face lit up as the creatureâs body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.
This time, heâd felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his sensesâŚ
But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away.Â
Itâs a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torsoâ and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.
Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.
__
Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress.Â
Now, Astarion canât help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. âDarling,â he says, leaning into you slightly. âDonât you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.â
You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, âMaybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, Iâm sure there will be a vacancy.â
Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, Iâm still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.
The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.
Itâs when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. Heâd grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.
The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of bloodâ a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.
Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, âAnd why are you so interested in my pale friend?âÂ
âAh, yes. Perhaps thereâs one more thing we could discuss,â she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. âHeâs a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.â
âOh, donât worry,â Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. âWeâre all friends under the Absolute. I wonât bite.â
âOh, Iâd prefer if you did,â sheâs quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarionâs nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesnât deign to give him another momentâs look though, as she turns back to you. âI assume he belongs to you?â
âExcuse me?â Your voice sounds offendedâ on his behalf, Astarion wonders? âHeâs his own person.â Your words cause the feeling in Astarionâs stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.
âIâm sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,â she says with a snide chuckle.Â
Adorable? he thinks, but heâs unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.
The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, âDo you have a name, spawn?â
Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, âAstarion, b-but hold on!â Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this womanâs tirade, all to no avail.
âGood. Now, Astarion, Iâve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,â Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.
Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? âIâm sorry, you want to be bitten?â
The woman goes on a new insane diatribeâ something about dancing with deathâ but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that sheâs offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this womanâs disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. âI will have to decline,â he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldnât do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.
Itâs entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. âI gave you my answer.â
The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, âCanât you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?â
You, for your part, look confused. Thereâs a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that youâre missing. âIâm surprised, Astarion. I thought youâd enjoy an opportunity like this.â
What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesnât deserve, âIâm sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?â
Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drowâs nosy eyes and ears. Once youâre alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, âAre you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?â
âWhatâs the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?â you ask, leaning toward him.
Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they donât know what theyâre asking. How could they know? âBecause thereâs something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, itâs rank.â
Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, âWhat do you mean? Whatâs wrong with her blood?â
âI canât say. It just smells⌠wrong. Unnatural.â His words sound pathetic to his own ears.Â
Of course thatâs not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. Iâve put up with worse after all.
So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, âDrinking it wouldnât kill me, but it would not be pleasant.â
You both hear a sigh from behind you. âI donât have all day, True Soul,â Araj calls, impatiently.
Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the womanâs irritated sigh, her entitled words. âAstarion,â you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. âDonât do anything you donât want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, weâll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.â
The breath leaves him.
"Alright. Uh, thank you,â he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. Heâd been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what youâd asked of him. But this? This is something he hadnât been prepared for.Â
In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as heâs still capable of making, âIt's still a ânoâ, Iâm afraid.â
âHow very disappointing,â the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.
Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly headâ only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I⌠appreciated that.â
"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."
Huh.
The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.
__
That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.
Gods, he's worried about him.
After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.
He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.
They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.
Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.
Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.
So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.
Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.
When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.
But he had.
And you'd not forced him to do so.
You'd not forced him to do anything.
They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.
But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks.Â
Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever matteredâÂ
It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.
The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.
Youâ you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarionâs life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent.Â
Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trickâ even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.
You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.
They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.
His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.
The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasnât an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It wasâŚ
Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?
Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if anyâ he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before thatâ but he knows he's right.
And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.
Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a â aâ
Astarionâs mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.
Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?
Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.
Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?
But he hasnât nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.
Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.
He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldnât be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and heâd rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.
Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?
But, he thinks to himself. Letâs say I did tell them. What could they possibly sayâŚ
âI was pretending all along too.â â gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldnât possibly feel.
âI like you, but not like that.â â maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.
âI have someone else that I love.â â honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldnât be surprised to find you in Karlachâs tent at this very momentâŚ
âI hate you.â â he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. Heâd done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.
âI love you, butâŚâ â every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But weâre in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I donât want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.
Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.
No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.
But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.â
If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.
__
The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours.Â
No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothingâ
Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your noseâŚÂ
Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.
But, try as he might, his eyes canât avoid you.Â
All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the groupâs leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishmentâŚ
You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?
Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. Heâs not thinking about holding your hand in his. Heâs not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.
Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Masonâs Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.
The vampire thinks heâs finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.
Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.
Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that heâs right is too much for him to bear.
Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I canâ
âFuck,â he mutters under his breath once he knows heâs alone. âYouâre supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.â
He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.
You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he canât help but feel like a beast thatâs been cornered. Heâs certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion heâs feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, âDo you need to talk?â
Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he canât keep his feelings to himself. Heâll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.
No, he thinks, in a panic. I shouldâ I need toâ
He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.
Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isnât it?
So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.
âLater,â he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, âPlease, just come by my tent later.â
Later, I will tell them. Everything.
#astarion#astarion x tav#fanfic#astarion fic#astarion x reader#rogue + rogue#astarion fanfiction#astarion fanfic#astarion fluff#astarion x gn reader#astarion x gn!tav#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion pov#astarion is bad at feelings#astarion feelings realization
534 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The House Guest 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes
Summary:Â an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iâm happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging â¤ď¸
âGot you some sheets,â you say as you enter the front room. Â
Bucky pulls on the foldout frame and it catches, like it always does. It offers little resistance as he wrenches on it and unfurls with a metallic whine. The legs stamp on the floor and he stands straight.Â
âSorry, not tryna break the place,â he narrows his eyes at the stubborn piece of furniture.Â
âLike I said, everything around here is old.âÂ
âSo I fit right in, got it,â his brows flick.Â
âNot exactly what I meant,â you set the stacks of sheets, a quilt, and a pillow on the mattress. âNeed help?âÂ
âThink I can figure it out. You donât do cot inspections, do you?â He asks.Â
You hesitate before you realise heâs joking.Â
âYou got until 1900 hours to get that made up,â you try to kid back then immediately make a face. âYou know what, ignore that. Iâm gonna have a decaf. Need anything?âÂ
His cheek dimples and he shakes his head, âgot more than enough.âÂ
He turns and moves the linens. You retreat quickly. You canât believe youâre such a weirdo. You could blame the fact that you rarely have company and those people who do stop by are backwoods seniors, but heâs even older than them. In spirit, at least.Â
You load the drip filter with decaf grinds and sit at the table as you wait. Your eyes skim the faded wallpaper. You remember when you were a kid and youâd come to visit Grandma. Youâd sit and count the flowers as she baked a pie. It was the one place where you werenât afraid.Â
âMind if I grab some water?â Buckyâs voice slices through the veil of nostalgia and you flinch. You sit up and cross your arms.Â
âIn the fridge,â you sniff and stand as the kettle starts to boil. Â
You pour over the filter and wait for it to brew. Bucky opens a cupboard and takes out a glass. Heâs quiet as he fills it and puts the jug back in the fridge. You stand at the counter awkwardly.Â
âIâll be right back,â you mutter and flee before he can answer.Â
The adrenaline of his arrival has worn away. Your social battery is dying and youâre receding back into your usual introverted troll. You go down to the linen closet and take out a peachy towel, hand towel, and wash cloth.Â
You come back down to the front room. Heâs not there. You leave the armful on the bed. Itâs neatly made; straight edges, not a wrinkle. You return to the kitchen and sniff as you fidget.Â
âI left some towels on your bed, in case you need to wash up,â you toy with the zipper of your collar. âTomorrow we can hit the grocery store in case you need anything. Soap or... whatever.âÂ
âPacked it. Got used to living out of a bag,â he assures you.Â
âFair,â you agree.Â
You blow out through your lips and return to the counter. The mug is full. You dump the filter and rinse the pour-over lid. You put it in the rack and pick up the cup. You stare into the dark brew as if you might just dive in and hope to drown.Â
âHey, look,â he says, âdonât worry about keeping me up or nothing. I donât really sleep so...âÂ
âYeah,â you swallow. âI... I do my work here. Thatâs my desk,â you point to the table. âI got headphone though.âÂ
âRight, I can stay out of the way,â he shows a palm. âKinda my whole thing. In and out without being seen.âÂ
You look at him. Heâs right but the context is not so funny. The thought of what heâs done makes you little leery.Â
âIâll let you enjoy your coffee. Could stand to stretch out after the ride up.âÂ
He takes his glass and heads for the door, tapping the frame with his fingers before he passes through. Itâs a bit reassuring that heâs just as awkward. You guess it will be like that until you get used to each other. You really hope Sam doesnât leave him up here long enough for you to be used to each other.Â
You pick up the mug and quietly shuffle out. You keep your eyes down the hallway as you go to your room. You close yourself in, careful not to shut the door too heavily, and go to your bed. You put the cup on the night stand and sigh.Â
Sam is going to get an earful, once your signal comes in. He really just dropped this grown man on you like youâre some sort of boarding house. As much as he did for you, this seems like a little much. Well, heâs never been very good at knowing the limit.Â
You get up and change into a loose pair of pajama pants and a cozy sleep shirt. The nights get colder as the season passes. Fall wonât stave off the frost much longer.Â
Maybe that will drive him away. This country isnât exactly famous for its hospitable weather. The scenery might be nice and some of the people, but thereâs not much else. Not unless you enjoy the wildlife. The crows, the squirrels, the chipmunks, wild hares, and groundhogs. Then thereâs the more deadly ones; coyotes, bears, and moose. Â
You really donât think Sam thought any of this out. After all, who wants to be in Canada. Especially someone like Bucky. Someone whoâs been all around the world, who lived in one of liveliest cities on the planet. This bodunk town in the north is going to bore him right back to his own country.Â
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#series#drabble#the house guest#captain america#winter soldier#avengers#mcu#marvel
246 notes
¡
View notes
Text
bro code. pt.2
part two of this
part 3.
carlos sainz jr x reader.
fc: bruna marquezine.
note: thanks for the support it means so much to me! and english is still not my first language so this may contain mistakes krkrkr
liked by bellahadid, georginagio, carlossainz55 and 1 889 009 others.
y/n: your girl is single and ready to mingle.
_
fan1: girl what about carlos?
georginagio: stunning!
fan2: who was the man in your ig story?
fan3: omg the girl just got out of a seven years old relationship, LEAVE HER ALONE!!
fan4: y/n is her own person, she donât need a man
liked by y/n.
carlossainz55: que guapa!
liked by y/n.
"so you asked him to be your fake boyfriend?" bella asked, trying her best not to laugh at your face. you rolled your eyes and threw a pillow at her. "yes, i did. and he was okay with it." you answered but added something else when you saw the look she was giving you. "okay, maybe i had to convince him a little bit and bribe him with a movie date but he said yes!" bella laughed. "heâs so in love with you, of course he said yes." you frowned. "no heâs not. iâve known carlos forever, weâre just friends." you said, trying to convince your friend but she already stopped listening to you.
you met carlos through neymar, they werenât close friends, only acquaintances, but you immediately clicked with the spaniard. he was funny, trustworthy, kind and charming. you liked him a lot, but only as a friend, right? you thought that this fake dating stunt would help you a lot because neymar didnât know how to take no as an answer and kept harassing you. you explained the situation to carlos and he immediately said yes, kinda pissed off at your exâs behaviour after what he put you through. the plan was simple, soft launch the relationship since the fans were already shipping the both of you, go on a few public dates and do this for a few months, so neymar would finally leave you alone.
simple right? wellâŚ
y/n just posted a story!
caption: guess who âşď¸
liked by y/n, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 969 000 others.
carlossainz55: this account is going to be a y/n fanpage starting from now.
_
y/n: carlos clearly lied when i asked him if he knew what soft launch was BUT youâre cute so iâm not mad, amor
fan1: NZKDODODJZBDODPDPFPMF
fan2: MAMA Y PAPA
fan3: SMOOOTH OPERAAAATOOOOR
fan4: i know neymar is fuming rn
fan5: omgg congrats
fan6: carlos is such a cutie omg
"whatâs wrong, mi cielo?" carlos asked you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you were lost in your thoughts so you shivered at his touch. you smiled at him, "itâs nothing, just tired."
you were both sitting in carlosâs car, after having dinner together in some fancy restaurant carlos wanted to take you to. neymar was constantly calling you and sending you text messages, which you ignored but it was slowly taking a toll on you. he destroyed everything you both built in seven years, he destroyed your hopes for marriage and love, he basically destroyed you. and he still had the nerves to cling onto you like he was the victim.
"amor, you look pale, you sure you okay?" carlos asked again and you just looked at him while he stroked your cheek softly, you leaned against his touch and closed your eyes. "your hands are soft." you mumbled, slowly falling asleep. you heard him chuckle and remove his hand which made you complain. "kiss me." you immediately opened your eyes and looked at him. but when you noticed some paparazzis in the corner of your eye, you remembered that all of this was fake. he was being affectionate because cameras were filming you. you didnât know why but you were nervous to kiss carlos. youâve never been that close and he looked so⌠confident all the time. you were scared to mess it up. itâs fake, itâs all fake, donât forget that.
carlos pulled you closer to him, and slowly kissed your lips, your cheeks were burning hot and you didnât know what to do next. suddenly you were back in high school when you had your first kiss with your crush. after a few seconds, the two of you broke the kiss but stayed close to each other. eye to eye, carlos smiled at you and looked at your lips once again. "kiss me again." he said, in a murmur. "what? but they-" carlos cut you. "shut up and fucking kiss me."
the second kiss was more passionate, you never felt anything like it in your whole life. no one had ever kissed you the way carlos had. your hands were sweaty and you could feel a million of butterflies blooming in your stomach. thatâs when you realised; you were doomed.
liked by f1lover, smoothoperator55, ferraribaby and 58 007 others.
f1news: BREAKING! We just received pictures of Carlos Sainz Jr and Y/N L/N kissing in the spaniardâs car. What a cute couple!
_
fan1: ODBDLOWLWPDPD
fan2: what in the booktok is that
fan3: the hand placementsâŚ
fan4: idk if i want to be y/n or carlos tbh
fan5: my fav couple
fan6: pls donât ever breakup
fan7: NEYMAR DEACTIVATED HIS IG???
_
tag list: @ru-kru @slytherheign @iamahallucinationnn @leclerc16s
#f1 au#f1 fandom#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#f1 social media au#f1 x oc#f1 x reader#f1 x you#carlos sainz f1#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz 55#carlos sainz x oc#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr#formula one x y/n#formula one#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula one x you#formula one x oc
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
All Is Fair In Love And War (TEASER)
Summary: Joshua is nothing if not determined. If he wants something, he'll get it; not that he even had to try before. But sometimes, like Icarus, he flies a little too close to the sun. But hey, all is fair in love and war!
Characters/Pairing: Aphrodite Incarnation!Joshua x Fem!Detective!Very Mortal!Reader
Genre: smut, fluff, crack, angst if you really squint
AUs/Trope Info: Greek God!AU, Partners In Solving Crimes, Strangers to Lovers, "time isnt linear" trope, "holy shit im kind of obsessed with you" trope
Word Count: 900+ for the teaser, est. 10k⤠for the full fic
Warnings: Depiction of a crime scene (gore, blood, gun, conspiracy), depiction of drug use, character death (major and minor), smut warnings under the cut when full fic is uploaded
Rating: 18+
A/N: This is part of the The 13 Gods of Olympus: A Seventeen collab hosted by @beomcoups and @wooahaeproductions! This is just the teaser, so if you enjoy it, please consider signing up for the taglist. Thank you!!
In the summer of 2000, Joshua Hong was almost five years old. People always commented on how pretty he was for a kid, that heâd surely grow up to be a very handsome man.Â
Which is why it was a tragedy when he died from a freak truck accident.
Yes, Joshua Hong died at the age of five. For like, 10 minutes.
The doctors called it a miracle - a small child should not have survived a whole six of the twelve truck wheels, but somehow he was resuscitated, much to his parentsâ delight.
This incident caused two things to change dramatically - Californetherlands now has stricter trucking laws and Joshua woke up to memories of literally being Aphrodite.
Throughout the years, from that fateful summer day to the present day, Joshua flopped back and forth between believing that the memories were just fever dreams and genuinely considering that he may be a reincarnation of the goddess. But ever since he got to hone his powers, heâs been more inclined to believe the latter.
By the age of 28, he has mastered the art of seduction. No, not sleeping with people constantly. It was more so the art of getting people to say âyesâ to everything he asked of them.
This made Joshua a very powerful and influential figure in Los Amsterdam; You see, the way he dealt wasnât by out-witting people or being richer than them. He dealt in favors. If you wanted to be a popstar, heâd introduce you to a famous producer, and get you a record deal that would solidify your career - all for the low, low price of free.
In turn, youâd owe him, like the many powerful people who owed him large favors.
Joshua found himself in downtown LA, in the club that he owned, just under his penthouse. He enjoyed playing the guitar and performing for his patrons, everyone seemingly captivated by his voice, or his beauty, whichever one caught their attention first. He finally strummed the last chord of his song, enjoying the applause of the crowd as the DJ started to play the usual club music. Just as he was about to retreat to the bar, a feminine voice stopped him.
âJoshua! Hey!â She said, hair bouncing over her new fur coat, jumping excitedly, calling him over.
Joshua smiled widely at her - she was one of the people he had helped start her career as a singer. He didnât do much other than introduce her to the CEO of her current label, it was her natural talent that got her this far.
âAh, Diana, good to see you!â He said, going over to meet her in a friendly hug, the kind that didnât touch at all. âHow has being a singer treated you? Any good news?â He said, making small talk with an old acquaintance.
âOh please,â she started, her new haughty attitude showing, âItâs all over the news! I just got nominated for a Grammy!â She said in a sing-song tone. Joshua just nodded Truth be told, he didnât really have much interest in pop music, but he did try to match her enthusiasm.
âThatâs great! I knew youâd make it big.â he said, remembering the first time she came to him, a girl in clothes that almost looked like rags, now decked out in every designer brand you could think of. âSo, what brings you back here then? Surely you already have everything you ever wanted?â He said lightheartedly. Even if all of Joshuaâs connections owed him favors, it was quite uncommon for them to come back to him after having achieved their dreams.
âWell,â She said, her old, meek bashfulness coming to the surface. âI just wanted to see you again, to thank you for what you have done for me.â She tucked a hair behind her ear. âAnd I know no matter what favor I do for you in return, I could never break even for just how much youâve impacted my life. So, thank you, Joshua.â
Joshua genuinely felt relieved to hear her say that - usually, peopleâs pride and greed got in the way of them acknowledging those who truly helped them along the way, but as he suspected, this girl still had a soul so pure. âLet's get some drinks by the bar and chat some more, yeah? My treat.â He offered, which she gladly took, the conversation between them flowed naturally, Joshua enjoying her tales of success.
It was an hour after the club closed that Diana decided it was time to head home. Joshua offered to see her off, like the gentleman he was, and so they walked to the sidewalk, her hand around his arm.
Joshua opened the taxi door for her, offering her a few bills in cash to cover the fare, âIt was nice seeing you again, hopefully, youâll make time to catch up with me in the future.â he said through the taxi window.
âYeah, I hope I get the chance to see you again soon. Goodnight Joshua.â She said as she rolled up the taxi window.
Joshua watched the taxi drive until the end of the block, everything seemingly going smoothly, up until another car intercepted hers in the intersection.
It happened so quickly, too quickly for Joshua to even register the new carâs window sliding down, holding a gun out to the taxi Diana was in. Gunshots echoed through the street, the sound of tires popping and glass shattering but all Joshua could make out was the sound of two sets of four tires screeching against the concrete. Dianaâs taxi collided with a nearby lamppost, the taxi flattening and curling around it.
That was the last time Joshua saw her alive.
Sign up for the taglist here!
#svthub#kvanity#k labels#hiraya m#kwritersworldnet#okiedokrie#All Is Fair In Love And War#seventeen x reader#seventeen#svt#seventeen fanfic#seventeen fic#seventeen smut#seventeen joshua#joshua hong#joshua seventeen#joshua x reader#joshua#hong jisoo#seventeen scenarios#svt fic#svt smut#svt imagine#svt scenarios
137 notes
¡
View notes
Text
wishful thinking. (07)
chapter seven: built to break
summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you shouldâve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.
pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas
as always, iâd appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading âĄ
navigation / series masterpost / taglist
Iâll hold my breath as I wait for your answer Iâll leave it up to you Tell me whether itâs yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight
Love Me or Leave Me - Day6
The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.
Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.
Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u
Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?
Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat
That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.
It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.
You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.
The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.
Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.
It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.
You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.
It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.
You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.
Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.
To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.
Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.
Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.
You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.
You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?
For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.
Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.
There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.
Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.
When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.
You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.
"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.
"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"I saw them talking at a party once."
"Okay. And?"
"And what? That's it."
"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"
"Heâs still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."
The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."
You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.
"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.
"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."
You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"
Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."
"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.
The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."
You make a face. "What?"
"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"
Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.
Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.
The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.
The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.
"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.
You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."
"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"
Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.
You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.
Dove.
His dove.
Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.
"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."
"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."
"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.
"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."
You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.
You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...
He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.
You've missed it. You've missed him.
"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.
"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.
You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.
"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."
You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.
Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.
It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.
It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.
Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...
You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.
Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"
It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."
"The project stressing you out?"
"I guess, yeah."
"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"
"Was I what?"
"Were you avoiding me?"
You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.
On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.
Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?
You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.
Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.
"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.
You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.
You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.
When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.
"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.
"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.
"Is everything okay?"
It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.
It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.
Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?
Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.
And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.
You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.
Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"
"What do you mean?"
You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"
Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.
He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."
He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.
Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?
Then he continues, "For me, at least."
And there it is.
It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.
You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.
Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.
He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.
Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.
Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.
One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.
"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."
Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"
"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."
You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.
He takes a step closer, you take a step back.
You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.
He blinks.
"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"
You say nothing.
You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"
"It matters if I did something to upset you."
"You didn't."
"Okay. So?"
This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"
Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.
Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.
"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.
It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.
"So you lied to me?"
"I've never lied to you."
"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."
It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.
The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.
Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
all rights reserved Š withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]
#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#skz fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#lee know fluff#lee know angst#lee know smut#lee know scenarios#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee know x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids#lee know#lee minho#fic: wishful thinking
310 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Iâm begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when theyâre older if youâre up for it ofcđ
You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them
Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair
TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.
Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms
Part one ËËË âĄ ËËË
Thomas Hewitt
You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.
The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.
Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.
The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.
By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?
"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.
"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."
"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."
"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."
The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.
"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"
"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."
Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?
What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.
"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.
And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.
"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.
It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.
"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"
It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.
You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.
His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.
The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.
The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.
What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.
He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.
Brahms Heelshire
"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.
He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.
"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.
You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.
The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.
Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.
Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.
You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.
"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."
"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."
"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."
Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.
After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.
And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.
It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.
"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.
"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."
"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"
"Watch your mouth, boy."
Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.
"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.
"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.
"Who's here? Brahms?"
It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.
"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.
"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.
"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.
Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.
"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.
#slashers x reader#brahms heelsire x reader#brahms heelshire#brahms the boy#brahms x reader#brahms the doll#brahms heelshire x you#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x you#the leatherface#leatherface x reader#leatherface x you
894 notes
¡
View notes
Text
đ
đ¨đŤ đĄđđŤ đĽđ¨đŻđ đ¨đ đđĄđ đđĄđđŤđĽđđŹđđ¨đ§ đđ§đ đ đđĄđđĽđđ˛ đđ¨đđ¤
đđ§ đ°đĄđ˘đđĄ đđ¨đŚđŚđ˛ đđ˘đ§đđŹ đĄđ˘đŚđŹđđĽđ đ¨đ§ đđĄđ đ¨đŠđŠđ¨đŹđ˘đđ đđ§đ đ¨đ đđ§ đ˘đ§đđđŤđŤđ¨đ đđđ˘đ¨đ§, đđ˛ đ đŤđ˘đđĄ đ˛đ¨đŽđ§đ đ đ˘đŤđĽ, đ§đ¨ đĽđđŹđŹ.
Thomas Shelby x Carleton!Reader Warnings: Smut, slight size kink, Tommy attracting posh girls as always
âAre you fucking my sister-in-law?â were the very first words that came out of the young socialiteâs mouth. They were directed to the man dressed in the grey suit with the flat cap, as he caressed the grey filly in front of him.Â
âSuch crude words from such a lovely young lass, eh?â the man looked rather amused at her choice of words, much less, her more than direct approach of interrogating him. Â
The words sheâd spoken werenât quite what he had expected from a girl of her caliber, she seemed far too proper to opt for such language.Â
 But she held her ground that girl, with her fashionably short bob and her velvet dress that would probably fetch enough pounds to feed a small family for a week in Small Heath. She didnât waver under his icy stare, nor did she retreat her questioning glare. In fact, to his surprise, she arched her carefully sculpted eyebrow, as though prompting him to explain himself.Â
She must be a London girl, he noted, such brazenness could only mean that she must've lived a sheltered life, never having to put her guards up in fear of gangsters and certainly never having to do anything with filthy old Birmingham. Â
No, all she had to do was look pretty and polite and pop open bottles of champagne, dancing the night away to the Foxtrot and Charleston. She didnât have a clue who he was, didnât have a clue what he did and certainly didnât have a clue as to why he always kept a Webley MK VI in his gun strap.Â
Tommy found it quite refreshing. He couldnât remember the last time someone talked to him so incredibly audaciously, if it wasnât to barrage him with threats to his life. Â
âI believed I asked you first, Misterâ came the reply from her tinted red lips, looking rather displeased that her question was met with another.Â
âWell, a lady like you shouldnât worry about adult matters.â he replied as he fished his pockets for the metal cigarette case. âAnyways, she's your sister-in-law you say?â he offered her a cigarette, a habit of his which heâd developed from constantly being surrounded by chain smokers.Â
âShe is, or she was.â she took him up on his offer, as he lit it up for her, âIan was my brother. His passing was hard on all of us; for her more than anyone else. So, I come up here any chance I get to keep her company, but now I see thatâs no longer needed of me.â she said as she eyed him from head to toe, sizing him up almost. Â
âDonât let me be a bone of contention now.â he replied, his couldnât possibly add another trouble to his list, the Epsom and Major Campbell were already a handful, to say the very least. Â
âActually, itâs quite the opposite.â A hint of surprise glazed over his eyes as he looked at her delicate features. âIâm quite relieved she isnât shutting herself up." she trailed off, "And youâre certainly not the worst pick for a suitor.âÂ
âNow donât go sizing me up for a wedding suit, Miss.â he said taking another drag of his cigarette âMay and I are just.... acquaintances. Sheâs training my horse for the Derby, this beauty over here, you see.â he motioned to the grey horse behind him.Â
âOh.â She looked at him with an abashed humour in her eyes. âThen you must pardon my poor choice of words. Iâm sure you wonât take the silly musings of a girl to heart.â Â
She flicked the cigarette bud to the ground, stomping it lightly with the heel of her dainty Mary Janes.Â
âIâm Y/N. Y/N Vera Carleton.â she extended her hand to him, her lips adorned with the most dazzling smile heâd ever seen in his entire existence. He took her hands in his, their sizes differing starkly. âIâm Thomas. Thomas Shelby.âÂ
âWell then Mr. Shelby, now that the previous fiasco is behind us, I must be off. My friends will be waiting for me, Iâm afraid. There's a new club in the city called the Babylon, you mightâve heard of it, theyâve invited this jazz band from the Colonies. My friends say itâs all the rage these days.â she explained to him.Â
Thomas knew she was one of those girls. The ones that never had to worry about a thing in their lives, except for what theyâd wear to a social dinner or what diamonds to pair with what dress and he knew that a part of him wished he could be as carefree as them. But life had other plans for him, a runaway father, a suicidal mother and a fucking war to top it all off.Â
But now with the Shelby Company Ltd. and his copious side ventures, he hoped that one day, his children, if he ever found a woman that is, would have a life that mirrored that of the captivating girl in front of him. Â
âAll right then, Miss Carleton, you have a good night now.â he bid the girl farewell as he watched her leave the stables. Her dress swaying with every step she took, she looked very frail, he noted, but not the kind that youâd see in the streets of Watery Lane, more so the kind of frail that was in vogue amongst the ladies of London.Â
As the night progressed, it became abundantly clear that May Fitz Carleton and Thomas Shelby werenât just acquaintances, although, that shouldâve been clear from the moment he accepted her proposal to stay the night in the manor, more like a fucking castle, he thought.Â
As night fell, Thomas found himself striding to the doors of his gracious host's, sheâd left it unlocked, of course. Neither were novice adolescents; they knew what they wanted, and they certainly werenât abashed about it. Their business was completed rather quickly though, she seemed unable to fully open her heart out to the deed and he had a myriad of thoughts occupying his mind. Â
Breakfast was a rather lovely affair. May chose not to bring up their late night discretions, for which he was rather thankful for. In fact, she seemed content with it being a passing liaison, finally someone thatâs on the same page as him, he mused.Â
The lavish spread of food in front of him was overwhelming and he resigned himself to an Earl Grey and a toast. It seemed it was just May that occupied the house, seeing as though they were the only two to grace the table. Their conversations were pleasant, ranging from their shared love for horses to the ones they would be up against at the Derby, when lo and behold, the doors to the room sprung open to reveal a particularly chirpy Y/N, what she would be so cheery for, this early in the morning, he didnât know.Â
âMorning, my dearest. Hope you had a lovely night.â The older of the two woman remarked as she kissed her cheeks. âIâve told Louisa to prepare those Vienna rolls you so love. She should bring it out any minute.â she stated as the maids served the new occupant with a steaming cup of tea.Â
âThat would be lovely, God knows Iâm terribly famished.â she strutted into the room, smelling of daisies as she walked past him and kissed her sister-in-law. âMorning to you, my dearest Mayflower.âÂ
She took the seat opposite to his, paying him no mind and absentmindedly blowing into her tea. âY/N darling, this is Mr. Thomas Shelby, heâs my guest. I'm training his horse for Epsom. " She motioned to the gentleman. "Tommy, this is Y/N, sheâs Ianâs sister and the youngest of the Carleton bunch.âÂ
 âItâs a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.â quipped the younger girl, pretending as though they were truly meeting for the first time.Â
âThe pleasureâs all mine.â Tommy went along with her play, opting not to reveal their meeting the previous day.Â
âMadam, thereâs a telephone for you. It's from Sir Ascot.â May was quickly ushered out of the room to attend to her business, leaving the unusual pair together.Â
âSo, are you going to keep staring or will you tell me whatâs on your mind?â Y/N remarked as she forfeited the staring game theyâd had going on. Â
âIâm afraid I donât know what youâre talking about.â the girl in front of him was intriguing for sure, and she wasnât afraid to speak her mind. Tommy didnât know other women besides Ada and Polly that would speak so nonchalantly with him, and he found himself quite enjoying this refreshing exchange.Â
âWell, youâve basically been undressing me with your eyes, since yesterday. So, shall we do it in my room or yours?â Â
This. Tommy wasnât expecting.Â
He'd expected a whole lot of other things but not this.Â
The girl didnât bat an eye as she said those words, simply sipping on her tea, as though theyâd only exchanged pleasantries with each other. Tommy was about to respond when a maid brought a plate of Vienna rolls to the table and diligently served her young Miss.Â
As soon as her departing figure left the room, Y/Nâs eyes darted back up to his, sucking slowly on the gold cutlery as she did. She seemed to be waiting for his reply and Tommy wondered how sheâd react if he told her 'No'. Surely, such a girl as lovely as her wouldnât be used to hearing those words of refusal. All sheâd have to do was bat her pretty lashes, pout her soft lips and no one would dare refuse such a divine creature. Â
And Tommy was by no means a saint. A posh girl like her asking him to fuck her wasnât something that happened on the daily. And again, Tommy might be a man with great restraint, but he was a man after all. Â
He'd be lying if he said his pants hadnât gotten the slightest bit tighter at the sight of her sucking and licking on the spoon, that when he was balls deep inside May the previous night, all he thought about was the girl in front of him. Even now, as she sat in front of him, in her lace dress, he could see the slightest imprint of her breasts against the fabric of the dress. Â
Tommy took in a deep breath, setting the teacup back on the porcelain saucer, when finally, he muttered âYou donât know who I am, do you, little girl?â For if she did, she wouldnât have uttered those words, much less, even sip her tea so peacefully in his presence.Â
âShould I care?â she asked in mock concern, âAll I know is that youâre a well dressed gentleman thatâs got a nice deep voice.â Truly, that was all she looked for. If a man had a deep enough pocket and an ever deeper voice, sheâd go weak in the knees, and she knew May wouldnât associate herself with a man that didnât have the former.Â
âY/N Carleton, youâre truly a work of art, eh?â he chuckled, genuinely in awe of her intrepidity.Â
âWell, that amongst other things.â came her quick reply, flashing him a cheeky smile.Â
âDo you think sheâll notice? If were both absent from the table, that is.â he asked in reference to May, she sure as hell wouldnât appreciate his advances towards her sister-in-law.Â
âDonât you worry, Sir Ascot is a hard fellow to deal with, heâll talk her ear off for hours.â she stated unconcerned as she took strode out of the room, glancing back at him.Â
âIn fact, forget about the bedroom, there's a storeroom over there thatâs unfrequented. God knows your staring is making me wild as it is.â She turned and left the room, the gentle sway of her hips beckoning him to follow her. And follow he did.
Thomas fucking Shelby following after a girl, his brothers wouldâve had a field day had they learnt of it.Â
But he didnât care. All he knew was that he wanted her. Â
He wanted to fuck her till she screamed his name.Â
He wanted to fuck her till she couldnât walk.Â
He wanted to fuck her till she was a crying mess.Â
The storeroom was quite spacious, like most of the rooms of this manor. But he wasnât here to admire this. No. He came here for her. As soon as the latch to the door was shut closed, their lips crashed together.Â
Oh! He could have had her then and there, her lips were so incredibly soft and moulded with his so fucking perfectly. Her hands found themselves in his hair and she tugged lightly, making him crazy at her touch, while his hands kneaded her supple buttocks. She mightâve been slim, but she was certainly well endowed in just the right areas.Â
She soon broke the kiss and quickly worked to unbutton her dress, looking at him as he did, and that smile. That fucking smile of hers. Thomas didnât know anyone more lovely than her.Â
She stripped down to her chemise, her garter bands visible underneath. He couldnât control himself at the sight of her lovely frame. His hands soon brought the straps of her flimsy cover down, exposing her delicate brassiere which was also discarded on the floor.Â
She looked glorious standing in front of him, in just her garter bands and stockings. He would fuck her with those on he decided. The sight of her thighs in those were making the tent in his pants so painfully obvious.Â
She undid his suspenders, kneeling down as she pulled his trousers down, freeing his throbbing red cock from itâs tight restraints. She blushed a little at the obscene sight, sure sheâd seen her fair share of cocks, but none as majestic as his. Tommy Shelby had drawn him to her because of his deep voice, but his huge cock, now that was a brilliant surprise. The London chaps sheâd been with just couldnât compare. Â
She licked the precum that was dripping from his tip, making him shudder in anticipation and little by little she licked the length of his entire shaft, making sure to drag her tongue along every crevice. She held her cock in both hands, itâs sheer size making her marvel. As Tommy looked down, the sight below him was eliciting a dark reaction inside of him, her little dainty fingers wrapped around his manhood. God! She looked so very small.Â
She sucked his cock, trying her best to take in as much as she could. She was diligent, for sure, doing her best to make him happy, taking small breaths, accommodating her throat for his dick and working her hands constantly along his shaft or his balls.Â
âFuck, youâre perfect.â he breathed out raspily. She was an angel. Â
An angel sent just to fuck him. He didnât know any woman or whore that was doing the things she was. But here she was, a little thing like her milking his cock like a good girl.Â
He grabbed her hair, lightly bucking his hips inside of her mouth. She seemed to be suffocating almost, his big dick choking her. Almost.Â
âJust like that baby, just like that.âÂ
Fuck! She was such a good girl, holding her cries till he released his load inside of her mouth. âSwallow.â he commanded. She was a glorious mess, doing as he commanded her. Â
Her eyes were watery, and her mouth was thoroughly abused, but she still looked at him with devotion laced in her beautiful eyes.Â
He lifted her off the ground and laid her on the table like surface. He spread her legs wide open with his hands and marveled at the sight. Her throbbing cunt, glistening in arousal looked so warm, so inviting. He kissed her on the lips once more and dove in to eat her out, but a small hand covered the entrance. Â
âShe might be done soon, so, please just fuck me.â she cried, so obviously starved for him.Â
He wasted no time and rubbed her clit, making sure her entrance was slick enough, and she was, so incredibly wet for him. He lined his dick to the entrance of her pussy and thrusted lightly. Just the tip he moaned. Just the tip and she was already on the verge of tears.Â
âJust breathe, love. Just breathe for me, eh?â he cooed in her ear as his hips thrusted in small motions to enter her tight cave, rubbing her clit as he did. And then with a final thrust he entered her pussy.Â
God! She felt so good. Her tight walls caved around his cock, stimulating him in ways he didnât think possible. His motions became faster as her cries became louder.Â
âTommy!â she moaned over and over again, seemingly unable to formulate any coherent sentences, her brain clogged with the intense pleasure of his cock ramming into her. Â
âYou fit me so well, Y/N. Iâm never letting go of you or your tight fucking pussy after this.â he moaned in her ear.Â
The constant slapping of skin and unbridled moans didnât leave much to the imagination of the maids and butlers that mightâve overheard, but they didnât care. All they knew was that they were nearing their release and it just felt so fucking good.Â
âTommy, Iâm close.â she managed to stumble out the words.Â
âWait for me, love. Youâre gonna cum when I tell you to.â he groaned as he fastened his pace, evidently nearing his release.Â
And with a final thrust, he whispered in her ear and they let go. They were quite the pair to look at. Him, with his trousers on the floor, his hands gripping onto her waists and his eyes never leaving hers and she, with her damn naked body, her tear streaked cheeks and her smudged lipstick.Â
Tommy gave her a sweet kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her naked body as they remained in the warm embrace. Their heartbeats were gradually returning to usual, and their panted breathing became steadier.Â
He retrieved a handkerchief from his pockets and delicately cleaned her sore entrance. The evidence of their lovemaking spilled lewdly on the floor; it was to be someone elseâs problem, not theirs. He slipped the stained handkerchief into his pockets and helped her dress. She seemed incredibly satiated as she stared at him with sheer fondness in her eyes.Â
Tommy knew that he couldnât let go of her now. Not after this. Â
She was his, even if she didnât know it yet.Â
âWe best get going now, love.â he told her as he waited for her to gather herself together. Â
âWait, silly, youâve got lipstick on your nose.â she giggled as she rubbed the scarlet red lipstick off for him, standing on the tip of her toes.Â
She moved to open the door, but her steps felt awkward. He chuckled at her attempt to walk and offered his hand so she may lean on him. The walk back to the table was interesting, with her uncharacteristic gait and lipstick that seemed to have been smudged clean, and his hair that had been slightly disheveled and lips that held the faintest smile.Â
Both looked nothing like they had a few moments prior. If the maids noticed the obvious change, they didnât comment on it as they dutifully carried out their tasks, making the most possible effort to not offend the pair as they walked through the halls. Â
May arrived a few minutes later rambling about how much she wouldâve loved to cut the call halfway, had Sir Ascot not been an influential member of the Board. She had been so engrossed in her rant that perhaps, she didnât notice the obvious change in the mood.Â
She also didnât notice the fact that Thomas Shelbyâs eyes never once left her sister-in-law who insouciantly continued drinking her tea that was far too cold by now.Â
âWell, May, my stay here has been lovely, but I best get going now.â he uttered at last, the business back at home didnât wait for no one, especially not for him to fuck posh girls.Â
âIndeed, I assume you must have your work cut out for you and oh! I forgot to tell you this morning that Iâve had your car stocked up with engine oil, so, itâll be a smooth ride home.â Â
âThank you for that, May.â he put on his coat and thanked her for her gracious hosting.Â
âTommy.â she called out as he stepped into his vehicle. âWill I see you again?â Â
âIâm sure weâll cross paths again, Miss Carleton.â Â
Miss not Mrs. because his eyes, as he spoke those words werenât on the woman in front of him, but rather they were on the girl that stood at the doorway, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips.Â
Ah! That smile.Â
The drive home was brisk, his mind occupied with the image of her and that darn smile. He may have been back in Birmingham, but he knew that apart of his mind had been left behind with a particularly charming girl in the Carleton Estate.Â
#tommy shelby x y/n#tommy shelby#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby fanfic#thomas shelby fanfic#thomas shelby smut#thomas shelby x y/n#peaky blinders smut#peaky blinders imagine#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfiction
803 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Chevalier Michel: Even If You Die
From A Hidden Oath: King of the BEAST (2024 Election) - Collection Event
Thank you @dark-frosted-heart for providing the SE video!
â
All was dyed crimson in the eveningâ
???: ...Excuse me.
The setting sun mercilessly illuminated the figure that entered the room soundlessly.
It was the secret agent who was always assigned to guard Emma.
Lucien: Lady Emma has returned.
Chevalier: ...You may leave.
Lucien: Yes, sir.
The secret agent bowed and left the room.
Chevalier: .............
With a light sigh, he gathered the documents he had spread out on his desk and stood up.
-
Emma: Prince Chevalier...!
As soon as she entered the room, Emma opened her eyes wide, which she had been wiping with linen.
Emma was dressed in black - mourning clothes.
Emma: I'll make tea now.
Emma, with her tear-stained eyes, put on her usual smile.
(It's not a situation where you can force a smile.)
Chevalier: There's no need.
Emma: But... ah.
I grabbed Emma's arm and pulled her to sit on the sofa.
I sat next to her and embraced her shoulders, and Emma quietly leaned against me.
Emma: ...I apologize for my unsightly appearance.
Chevalier: Did someone say you looked unsightly?
Emma: No, no one...
Chevalier: Then there is no need to worry.
(Those tears are not the kind that should be forcibly stopped.)
Emma: ...Y-yes...
Her small shoulders trembled with a sniffle.
(It's been a while since I've seen Emma cry this much.)
(You cry like this even for the death of someone who isn't even your family.)
Today, Emma attended a funeral.
The deceased was an elderly man in town who Emma had known since she was a child.
When attending the funerals of nobles and knights as the next queen, Emma maintains a resolute demeanor, but it seems she cannot do so at the funerals of old acquaintances.
(In the past, I would have dismissed it as trivial...)
Suddenly, a memory from the past flashed through my mind.
*flashback*
Clavis: Chev, if you're heartbroken, shall I offer you a word of comfort?
Clavis: The death of your mother must have affected even you.
Chevalier: ...No?
Chevalier: I have knowledge of human emotions from books. I thought I might feel something...
Chevalier: I feel "nothing."
*flashback over*
(I still feel nothing about that woman's death.)
(But... if you were to die before me...)
( ............ )
An indescribable discomfort ran through my chest, and I pushed away any further thoughts.
Chevalier: ââSpeak.
Emma: Huh...?
Chevalier: About the deceased.
Chevalier: He must have been someone you cared deeply about, to make you cry so much?
Emma looked at me with a slightly surprised expression, then awkwardly smiled and began to speak haltingly.
Emma: ...He was a lively old man who everyone in town knew.
Emma: He was baking sweets until just before he passed away, and took his last breath surrounded by his family.
Emma: He woke up at 4 a.m. every morning to bake sweets, and if you went early in the morning, he would always give you extra.
Emma: The other day, I went to buy some secretly, and he remembered me and said, "I'm glad..."
Instead of words, large tears fell from her reddened eyes.
Emma: I'm sorry...
Chevalier: There is no need to apologize.
Emma: But... even though Prince Chevalier is by my side, I'm showing you such a pathetic sight...
I lifted her chin as she tried to look down.
No matter how much she wiped them away, tears kept spilling from her wet eyes.
Chevalier: I do not think your current appearance is pathetic.
Emma: ...
I placed my hand on her cheek, and Emma placed her hand on top of mine.
The sight of Emma, her eyes closed as if feeling the warmth, seemed incredibly endearing.
Emma: Being pampered by Prince Chevalier makes me happy and cry even more.
Emma: But please, just for today, let me indulge in your kindness.
Emma: If I keep being sad, the old man in heaven will worry.
(Heaven, huh?)
(Prayers for the deceased are usually a waste of time. No matter how much you pray, that person is no longer in this world.)
(It would be far more rational to carry on the will of the deceased and move towards the future, rather than wasting time praying.)
(But... if it were you, I would also dwell on my thoughts.)
(It may be meaningless, but I don't think it's worthless.)
(Because you taught me that loving someone, like being loved, has meaning.)
Chevalier: Emma.
(Even if you die, I probably won't shed any tears.)
(But... I swear I will continue to love you for the rest of my life.)
Emma: Mmm...
I kissed her tear-stained lips.
As if to envelop her heart, shaken by loneliness, I continued to hold Emma until the curtain of night fell.
FIN
#ikemen series#cybird#cybird otome#cybird ikemen#chevalier michel#2024 ikemen prince collection event#chevalier michel short story#chevalier michel collection event story#chevalier michel ikepri
205 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Astarionâs the ex-boyfriend who reluctantly let you go because he felt like he wasnât good enough.
Heâs the ex who took some time away to mature before he could face you and your companions again.
It was nothing you didâGods, you were perfect. He just wasnât ready for what a genuine relationship entailed. For what it cost.
When Withers reunites you, you secretly hope to mend thingsâand, secretly, so do your friends.
Your conversation is seamless as if you hadnât spent all these months avoiding one another like a sickness.
He smiles more. Your laughterâs lighter now. Heâs no less beautiful than he was six months ago. His touch still makes your skin prickle with static electricity despite its harmlessness. Still makes your heart stutter, and those dragonflies stir in your belly, and youâre a nervous little wreck, arenât you?
You part ways with see you laters as opposed to goodbyes because the latter would imply youâre done for good. But fate has a tricky way of meddling with your lives and bringing you back together like driftwood returned to the shoreline.
Eventually, you become acquaintances, running into each other by happenstance throughout Baldurâs Gate.
Bumping hands whilst reaching for a book in the library. Encountering each other at the night market, exchanging familiar smiles and nodsâGods, darling, youâre still as terrible at scoping out a good deal as ever, he jests with that customary waggle of his hand.
Then, you become friends again. Close friends. And eventually, he becomes a constant in your life once more, showing up to your home each night with the promise of wine and juicy gossipâitâs all just a ruse to see you.
Though your breaths hitch in tandem each night you find him seated close to you on your setteeâyour thighs brush together, your pinkies graze, and his lips âaccidentallyâ touch your cheekâyou donât want to ruin things. Donât want to dredge up those old feelings. Fester those old wounds because, of course, you still pine for one another.
But you donât want to muck up your rekindled friendship by once again rushing into something he may still not be ready for.
So you settle for breaking your own heart each night, smiling like a drunken, enamored fool while he rests his head in your lap. And you twirl his pretty little curls about your fingers, watching his lashes flutter, and his cheeks redden with your bloodâyou still offer it to him from time to time. Thatâs what friends do, right?
And though your lips twitch with a question, with that urge to ask what happened to usâwith a need to lean down and kiss himâyou stomp down those impulses.
Youâre content with sitting with him like this, watching a smile round his lips and his chest quake with a fond chuckle because maybe heâs still as much taken by you as youâve always been by him.
And maybe itâs just you being wishful. Maybe itâs the candlelight playing tricks on your eyes. Perhaps itâs the wine warming in your veins, making you delusional.
But you feel his hand at your nape, slowly drawing you closer. And the world around fades into a beautiful bokeh when your lips meet, and your neck hurts from the angle, and maybe your lips are a little chapped and unrehearsed after all this time, butâŚ
Well, itâs every bit of perfect. Just like you remembered it.
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#bg3 astarion#bg3 fanfiction#astarion fluff#astarion#stream of consciousness#lovers to strangers#strangers to friends#friends to lovers#idk iâm on my period and in my feelings tonight#and i watched the epilogue after breaking up with him and like#thereâs hope there#also inspired by my kindle series
516 notes
¡
View notes