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clonecaptains · 3 months ago

Text

No Vacancy

a tyler owens x shy reader fic

warnings: none! she/her pronouns mentioned; no use of y/n; this is all cozy fluff

word count: 3k

summary: you're part of the wrangler crew and have a crush on tyler. and you're debating on acting on these feelings. you might just get your chance when he shows up at your motel room.

a/n: this is my first tyler fic! this is the ol 'there's only one bed' trope - and im already planning a part two! hope yall enjoy!

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All these motel rooms look the same. Warm earth tones all over the place and strange prints on the bedspread. But after a long day like today, it’s a welcome sight. That bed’s calling your name. You shrug your bag off your shoulder and hit the light switch. The lamp in the corner illuminates the room in a warm glow. It’s cozy.

The door clicks behind you; and you stand in the room for a moment deciding what you want to do next. Your job was done for the day. You are the official tornado wrangler social media accounts manager. Now that the wrangler team has gained a substantial following, it’s your job to post updates about new videos or the latest t-shirt design up for charity purposes. You’ve posted what you needed to post for the day, and now is your chance to rest.

You decide on a shower to think about the events of the day while you clean off.

Today was a first for you. It was your first time being in tornado while sitting in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck. You’ve been on the team now for a while, but it was part of your initiation they’d said. Tyler was sweet. He pulled you aside telling you that you didn’t have to if you didn’t want to. And you really didn’t want to, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could. More than that, you trusted Tyler would keep you safe.

You loved watching him, and his excitement was contagious despite your fears of this major storm. He’d been blasting his storm playlist, but when it got close to the moment, he made sure you were ok.

When the storm hit and passed you over, you couldn’t help but scream – in fear or excitement you don’t know. You grabbed Tyler’s arm in the heat of the moment, and feeling his warm skin under your fingertips was more of a thrill than the storm was.

You’re not sure how well you’re keeping the secret that you’re completely in love with him. You fell the first day you met him several months ago. And while you did prove to yourself that you could handle a tornado – you don’t know if you can handle the ache you feel when you’re around him. Riding shotgun in his truck today and touching his arm will keep you on cloud nine for the next week.

A creak in the pipes of this old motel tears you from your thoughts. You get out of the shower and dry off to put on your pjs. That’s when your mind drifts back to Tyler. How sweet he was with you all day leading up to your first tornado, and how he let you hold his arm. How he checked on you a dozen times after to make sure you weren’t too shaken.

You were shaken, but not but the storm. No matter how often you’re around him – he has the same effect on you. He makes you feel dizzy. His presence is so hard to ignore. It’s not just his handsome face or broad muscular frame – though that certainly is a factor – it’s his charm and relaxed demeanor. He’s a perfect balance of rowdy and sweet. And you are smitten.

You wince thinking about how it’s probably painfully obvious to the rest of the team. And what’s worse, it’s obvious to him too. If he’s seen it – and hasn’t said anything then you can only assume he doesn’t feel the same way.

All of this goes through your mind during your nightly routine. It’s early in the night, you left the wranglers down in the parking lot – most of them were still having a beer chatting over the day’s storm. You can faintly hear people talking outside while the night is winding down.

You settle into bed turning on the TV when you hear keys turning in the lock on your door. Much to your surprise – the door opens and who but Tyler himself is standing in the doorway. He’s just as confused as you. He steps backwards out of the doorway to check the key in his hand and the number on the door. He smiles with a soft huff – shaking his head at something you didn’t know what until later.

“This is the right room according to this,” he holds up the key and closes the door behind him. Suddenly the room feels a hundred times smaller. You feel yourself start to panic.

“They set this up,” Tyler continues. “I know it was Boone,” he laughs setting his bag down on the table near the door. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he tells you right away to try and ease the fear he can probably see in your eyes.

You don’t have a reply because you’re still shocked he’s standing in your room.

“You did great today by the way,” Tyler was still talking, and you were glad for it.

But you do find your voice, “Thank you.” That actually means a lot to you.

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He’s rifling through his bag.

“No, no,” you feign being nonchalant and he cracks a smile. “Tyler, do you want to check if there’s another room available?” you ask him in the same breath. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, that won’t be comfortable at all.”

“Tryin’ to kick me out?” he gives a little wink as he reaches for the phone to call the front desk.

The phone call was quick – not long enough for you to decide which outcome you’d prefer.

Do you want him to stay? if he stayed then you’d have to deal with your crush being in your room all night. Having to play it cool as best you could. Or do you want him to leave? And regret later that you didn’t say anything about how you felt when you had a good chance to in this moment

The choice is made for you in the span of a few seconds.

“No more rooms,” he clicked his tongue. “The floor’ll be fine!”

That’s one of the things you admire most about him. He’s considerate and polite – and he’s happy to be. You know the floor is not comfortable. But he offered like it was the most common thing in the world.

“I am gonna shower first,” he says. “You showered right?” he asks pointing at you, and you nod “yeah! Go for it!”

Now that he knew he was staying, he takes off his boots. Something about them resting on the floor by the doorway makes your heart ache. It’s so close to what it could be like if you were together. A taste of domestic life with Tyler.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you resume flipping through the TV channels. You hope that will distract you from thinking about your crush being very naked and wet on the other side of that door. It’s not like you intentionally linger on it, but when you hear the shower curtain rings slide along the curtain rod and the water kick on - your face warms heavily.

When you hear him quietly hum in the shower, you feel yourself begin to relax. Something about it warms your heart, you think maybe he feels comfortable and doesn’t mind being heard while he hums.

You know the tune, one of the songs he’d been blasting in the truck recently. That makes you think back to being in the tornado again. You can’t believe you did that. Maybe that is your sign to do something else brave. If you could weather that storm surely you could admit your feelings to Tyler.

What if he didn’t feel the same? Then you’d have to awkwardly share a room, and the rest of the time spent working at this job with him knowing you have a crush on him.

How many times have you heard him say “if you feel it, chase it.” If he felt it, would he not have chased it by now? You feel it and you want to chase him, but he makes your knees weak.

What if he does feel the same? How do you maneuver this? There are too many questions, and you don’t know any of the answers. All that you know was you have it bad for him and it hurts. It’s such an ache. Being around him all the time for work, but never having him. You’re embarrassed to admit how much touching his arm earlier was a thrill, it’s all you’d been able to think about.

The more you think about all of this, the harder your heart beats. You’ve barely had time to process anything since he’s been in your room. It gets even worse when the shower stops. You hear when the curtain opens, and when his feet touch the floor.

Then you hear your name.

“There aren’t any towels.”

Oh no. You forgotten you’d used them both. You weren’t expecting to have to share.

“I’ll go get you one! I’m sorry I used them both!” You grab the key and dart out the room, you dn’t even care that someone might see you in your pajamas. You’d rather go grab one for him than wait awkwardly for a towel to be brought up. The less you have to think about him naked in the next room the better for your sanity.

You grab the towels and an extra pillow from the front desk and head back.

“I’m coming in!” You laugh opening the door, and you hear him laugh from the bathroom. “Ok I have them,” you tell him near the bathroom door. He opens it just a smidge and sticks his hand out. You both laugh when you hand him the towels. The awkward moment acknowledged and laughed at instead of worrying about it.

“Thank you,” he replies as he closes the door.

You sit on the bed again, but this time instead of sitting in the middle – you sit more on one side. It’s big enough for you to share so you don’t see why not. It’s not fair for him to sleep on the floor.

As hard as you try to prepare yourself for sharing a bed with him, it lands like a brick in the pit of your stomach when he steps out of the bathroom. The scent of his bodywash hits you first, you always loved how he smells. But just looking at him, he’s a dream.

He’s wearing a soft worn t-shirt and some gym shorts. His hair’s a mess, and it makes you giggle to see it so unruly. He smiles at your quiet laugh.

“Something funny?” he prods running the towel over his head again before hooking it on the back of the door.

“Your hair is always so perfect!”

“You’re getting an exclusive behind the scenes look,” he smiles moving towards the table where he’d put his stuff. He digs through his bag to pull out his phone and charger - plugging it into the nearest outlet.

“Tyler?” your voice comes out timid. He looks up from his phone and sets it down to give you his attention. “You can stay up here,” you point to the empty half of the bed. “I got an extra pillow too.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” his eyes are soft, his brows furrow.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on the floor!”

He’s quiet for a moment. He looks at his hat sitting on the table amongst his things, and he strokes along the brim of the hat. Usually, you’re able to read him but this leaves you a little miffed. It makes your heart start to beat a little faster from the anticipation.

“Alright,” he decides standing up.

Ok, ok. Don’t panic. This is what you asked for.

He checks the lock on the door making sure it’s locked, and he turns off the floor lamp in the corner.

“On or off?” he asks near the bathroom. When you tell him ‘Off’, he taps that light switch and the loud hum from that light stops. The only light now is from the TV across from the bed.

Your heart is fluttering in your chest when he pulls the covers back. When he sits down and you feel his weight on the mattress - that really gets your heart pounding. He pulls the blankets back over himself and lays down with a heavy sigh. You know he’s tired, he’d been driving like a maniac into storms all day.

Though he’s more than just a rowdy storm chaser, he works long hours helping families and doing charity work. You love him for all these things. And you’re glad it’s dark because you feel like you might cry. He’s so close, and you have no idea what to say or do to tell him what you feel.

“Can I turn this off?” you ask trying to hide the quiver in your voice.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and sinks further into the blankets. Both of you shift to get comfortable now in the dark, and his leg touches yours - causing you to jump. You don’t mean to gasp, but it slips out.

“Sorry!” he laughs and it relieves some tension. Some. You can’t calm down and you don’t know how to. He’s just a few inches away!! You were both lying on your backs, and his shoulder’s almost touching yours. You can still smell his body wash from earlier.

Just say it. Tell him you love him. You survived a tornado today!

You try to hype yourself up, but it isn’t working.

Before you plan out anything to say, you blurt out his name. That’s all you can muster. But this time, it’s worse than before, and your voice quivers audibly. More than that, you’re starting to tremble.

“Hey, hey- it’s ok,” he rolls over on his side to face you. “Me too,” he says and you have no idea what he’s talking about. Until he reachs for you in the dark. “Give me your hand,” he whispers and you roll on your side to face him. You reach towards him, and he gently wraps his hand around your wrist – guiding it to his chest. He puts your hand over his heart, and you feel it pounding under the warmth of his skin and soft shirt. “You see, I have a crush on this girl-“

Your eyes have adjusted in the dark and it’s enough to see the soft, almost shy look he gives you.

“Really?” you whisper. “Me?”

He lets go of your wrist and puts his hand on top of yours and presses down, emphasizing his point.

“Why haven’t you said anything til now? What happened to ‘if you feel it chase it’?”

He clears his throat comically and shifts a little, “Well, I-, ok you got me. Maybe I was a little nervous.” He shrugs. Your hand hasn’t moved from his chest, neither has his hand. He slowly starts to curl his fingers around your hand.

“You? Nervous for me? Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all day today?” you pause. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.” He scoots a little closer to you, ready to listen. “It wasn’t the tornado I’ve been thinking about. It’s been how it felt to touch your arm today.” Your face is on fire. But it gives you a thrill to feel his heart jump and see the smile on his face widen.

He lets go of your hand and hooks his arm so his forearm is close to your face. “Would you like to again?” he teases, and you shove his chest playfully. He laughs, a good deep laugh. He’s relieved and happy. It makes your face hurt from your own smile, and you shyly move your hand from his chest to touch his forearm.

The air shifts. You both feel it when you stroke up and down his arm. You aren’t going to tell him how much you love feeling his arm hair under your fingertips. But he could probably figure it out. Maybe you didn’t mind if he knew.

He reaches for you then, your hand curls around his wrist this time. His hand cradles the back of your head, and he pulls you closer.

“I’m sorry I waited so long for this, I didn’t want to scare you. But truth is I was scared,” he admits.

“I was too, I was scared you didn’t feel the same way,” you whisper back. Your faces are so close to each other, and your bodies almost touching. You can feel the warmth from him.

He lets out a soft grunt like he’s been hit, shocked at what you just said to him.

“Can I?” he asks. You know what he’s asking. His expression is so sweet, so gentle. Another reason you love him. You feel safe in his presence, in his grasp.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then you start to laugh at yourself.

“What?” he smiles laughing.

“I was just gonna say you should ‘chase it’,” you smile. You barely finish the sentence before he closes the gap between you. Warm lips on yours, his nose pressing into your cheek. The stubble on his chin brushes your skin as you whimper into his mouth.

It’s a brief kiss before it breaks. There’s a slight pause where you look at each other smiling, enjoying the moment. Then he dives in for a deeper kiss. His arms pulling you closer, holding you tight to him. Though you wouldn’t dream of pulling away.

At some point you do break apart, both a little breathless. You feel dizzy and lovesick from the way he’s looking at you; something tells you he feels the same.

He starts to laugh again, shaking his head. “We won’t hear the end of this one.”

“Nope,” you smile knowing already what Lily and Dani will have to say.

“I know Boone had a hand in this.”

“Lily and Dani too, they’ve been pushing me to talk to you for weeks,” you giggle burying your face in his neck. He hugs you to him and squeezes. He adds a little reassuring rub on your back. “I’m still scared,” you admit, a secret murmured into his skin.

“I know,” he squeezes again. “Me too. Don’t want to lose you. But you’re worth chasing.”

You hum happily into his neck when a big yawn takes over you.

“Sorry,” you giggle, his laugh joining yours.

“You had a big day. Riding in your first tornado! That and the kissin’ outta wear anybody out,” he winks. Then tilts his head down to kiss your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Don’t let go,” you yawn, cuddling into his chest.

He whispers quietly against the top of your head, “never.”

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x shy reader #twisters fic #my writing

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gilverrwrites · 5 months ago

Note

If that ask was too long and elaborate, I have another one!

What about a fic with Batman, where the reader finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Bruce since he already has mature/ teenager kids and she doesn’t know if he wants to raise one from the infant stage to adulthood.

She kinda overthinks about it and distance herself from Bruce. He notice it and when she would confess, to her surprise, Bruce would get super exited!

What I don't understand

AN: I'm back baby! At least partly, my hand is still on and off achy so I won't we posting as activiely as I have previously. I've done so much research on pregnancy that all my adds are now of pregancy tests, fertilitie test, baby stuff, I'm worried my bf might start to suspect that I'm pregnant which would be akward Bruce Wayne/F!Reader, 3.9K words CW: Husband/Wife dynamic, pregnancy, feet (none sexual), mentions of vomit, body dysmorphia, lying/sneaking around, prenatal anxiety/depression, martial problems, swearing. Fluffy ending tho!

Pregnancy brain is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that's insanity, who knows? You ponder the thought as you fidget with the flimsy cardboard packaging of the pregnancy test you're awaiting the results of as if you don't know the answer. You'd already taken countless tests, trialling different brands in the hopes of a different outcome but every single one of them had confirmed your situation with variations on lines and plus signs. They'd never offered you a negative, and yet you keep trying.

There was no denying it, and pretty soon there would be no hiding. You were fast approaching the end of your first trimester at 9 weeks but had only found out about a month ago. The task of informing Bruce while there was still time to act seems to grow bigger and scarier with each passing day. Not to mention; it's becoming increasingly obvious that he already suspected something is wrong.

3 weeks ago:

The cold tile against your aching feet felt like ecstasy. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean against the wall, relishing in every second of release as you awaited Jason’s return.

You’d spend hours hiding your pain, precariously balancing in a pair of heels as you kept up appearances during a charity event being held at the manor. Bruce was currently being cornered by a visiting dignitary, and as bad as you felt leaving him alone, it might have been your only chance. You’d slipped away to an off-limits hallway, grasping Jason’s who had drawn the short straw for event appearances along the way. Once out of view to your guests you’d begged him to retrieve a pair of pumps from your bedroom, the petty prospect of keeping it secret from, and thus getting a one-up on his adoptive father being the primary motivator. That and he owed you, a lot, for defusing many situations in which he and your husband had butt heads.

The weight of your discarded shoes hung heavily from your fingers, you hadn’t realised how weighty they were. A shame, because they were so pretty. They were a gift from Bruce, strappy and bedazzled, the perfect colour to match your dress. Another pair for your ever-expanding collection, he’d always favoured gifting you shoes and purses, and you certainly didn’t mind, at least not until your ankles had begun swelling at the mere notion of being used for their primary function.

“Are you okay? You seem off.” Jason’s voice returning to the hall made you jump out of your stupor, and he watched with concern as you tucked your heels behind a curtain and slipped into the flats he’d brought you.

“Fine, fine.” You smile, patting his arm with a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t wear those in properly and now I’m paying the price.”

“Right.” He still seemed dubious and was about to say something else when a door creeks open, redirecting both of your attention.

Bruce stood in the doorway, stern, arms crossed. He glares at the both of you, he and Jason have a very similar glare. His eyes focus in on you, identifying you as the main culprit, his gaze roves across your form, lingering on your feet for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do the two of you.” He points behind him. “In.”

Jason’s face is obscured as he takes the lead, but Bruce must not like his expression because his frown seems to deepen.

You followed close behind, careful not to step on the hem of your dress now that you lack the additional six inches the heels had offered but your integration back into the crowd is halted. Bruce traced his hand along your back, cupping the curve of your waist and directing you to a lesser populated spot amongst the outskirts of your visitants.

The stony look on his face was gone, replaced with a polite smile for the crowd and softer eyes for you.

“What happened to your shoes?” His voice was low, in-perceivable to anyone but yourself.

“My feet were sore is all.” It’s not a lie.

“Too sore for dancing?” He asks, voice as slick as silk and you don’t want to agree but yes, they are too sore dancing. Not to mention you’d gotten nauseous from standing up too quickly only hours earlier but damn if you didn’t want to dance with your husband. Want to feel his chest against yours, his hands on your curves, admire the smile on his face. There are few things you enjoy more than any form of intimacy with Bruce.

“Maybe later.” You sighed, “I think I need to sit down for a while.”

2 weeks ago:

‘Breast changes are another very early sign of pregnancy. Your hormone levels rapidly change after the egg is fertilized. Because of these changes, your breasts may become swollen, sore, or tingly.’

You groaned aloud, rereading the entry on WebMD once more. You hadn’t expected your breasts to change so early on, incorrectly assuming any swelling or pain would be a result of breast milk, but you were wrong.

Believing you had the house to yourself, you figure now was as good a time as any to read up on more early pregnancy symptoms, to correct any other misconception you might have. You were midway through reading about progesterone and how it causes constipation when your laptop pinged.

A notification popped up in the corner of the screen, a DM from UserDC27, Bruce’s bat-server codename. You click to open the message and audibly gasp when a screenshot of your browsing history greets you, framed in red with its own ‘suspicious activity’ notification in the corner.

‘Pregnancy trimesters in weeks’ ‘Swollen breasts pregnant’ ‘Early pregnancy symptoms’

Amongst all the suspicious browsing habits of this family, of course yours had flagged up! Fucking ridiculous!

UserDC27: ? UserRI01: For a friend UserRI01: dw UserRI01: Love you x UserDC27: is typing… UserRI01: has signed out.

1 weeks ago:

“Good morning.” A familiar voice greeted you, strong hands slink around your body, brushing against your back and hips before settling on your stomach. What should have been a sweet moment frightened you, disturbing you from your train of thought and causing you to almost spill your morning decaf coffee.

“Woah there.” Bruce laughed, the warmth and proximity of him soothing you quickly. He effortlessly took the mug from your hands and settled it on the kitchen island so he could pull you closer without spillage.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, turning your head to rest it against his chest. The strength of his cologne is always so much stronger in the mornings, the scent of the man you love, of citrus and woodsiness does wonders to comfort your frantic brain no matter the time or place. “Just lost in thought.”

After a second you realise your mistake, you’ve allowed him an opening to ask what you’re thinking about and that exact moment certainly did not feel like the right time, what with Damian in the next room. You should be alone, completely alone.

He surprises you however, always one for keeping everyone on their toes, by spinning you around to face him and telling you, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“What do you think it is?” You tried to keep your voice airy, relaxed, unsuspicious but even you can hear the guilt in your tone.

“I think you’re tired.” He watches you with a playful glint in his eye, but the next words out of his mouth are accusatory no matter how light his tone is. “Where are you sneaking off to in the mornings, oh wife of mine?”

“W-what?” You heard him fine, you were stalling while you calculated a response. You had been sneaking off in the mornings and the fact that he’s asking so playfully, as opposed to interrogating which he is not unknown to do even with you, means he knows more than he’s letting on.

Bruce isn’t exactly an early riser, often too tired from long nights of crime fighting and case filing, but he is a light sleeper. Always on alert. He’d already caught you in a bought of morning sickness once. Roused by the unpleasant noises you’d been making. You’d lied about it, citing an upset tummy from something you’d eaten. You weren’t sure which was worse, the vomiting, the sombre expression he’d given you as he approached to rub your back throughout, or the look of horror on Alfred’s face when Bruce had brought up your supposed food poisoning later that day.

Ever since you’d purposely been rising early and sneaking off to dispel any nausea in one of the many guest bedrooms.

“Nowhere, I’m just becoming more of a morning person I guess.”

He eyed you sceptically, and you thought you might crack under the pressure. His hands reach up to cup your face, preventing you from turning away. His touch is so gentle, so soft for a man of his stature. “You can tell me anything, you know that?”

“Of course.”

As if you couldn’t feel worse he adds; “I miss waking up to you beside me.”

“Oh Brucie-“

You’re already on your tip toes, ready to concede, to apologise, to shower your sullen husband with kisses when you’re saved by the signal. Literally, a call from Duke 'The Signal' Thomas, with a reminder of your apprehension; an active situation that needed Batman’s participation.

Your relationship, and now marriage to Bruce had always hinged on an unspoken understanding that Gotham comes first. Even with Tim taking over most of his responsibilities at Wayne Tech, Bruce simply does not have enough time to raise a baby. You can't expect him to take turns with the nighttime feeds, with the frequent nappy changes, with the constant attention an infant will need.

You’ve no doubt Alfred would delight in assisting you, he's been dropping hints about wanting a baby Brucie since the engagement, and you love him very much but if you’re to raise a baby, you want to do it with your husband, not his butler.

That’s presuming your husband even wants a child. Another child. He already has enough children to populate a small village. Children with lives of their own. Children who in some way or another have followed in his vigilante footsteps. You think of the stress and trauma each of them has faced, and how it has affected them and their father. You think of Steph and her tremulous relationships with Bruce and Arthur. Of Jason’s deaths, plural. Of Dicks ineptitude to form meaningful relationships with anyone outside of the lifestyle. Of all the childhoods so many, but especially Cass and Damian missed out on. Could you be responsible for putting another child through any of that?

Furthermore, if your child wanted to live this life, could you really stop them? Nobody stopped Tim. Nobody stopped Barbara, when Jim had tried it only caused the rift between them to grow bigger.

Could Bruce stop your unborn child? Would he want to?

Speak of the Oracle. The chime of your phone draws you out of your spiral of perinatal anxieties. It’s Barbara, informing the girls-only group chat that she’s running late for lunch. Crap. You’d completely forgotten that you’d promised the girls lunch and shopping. Barbara had some tech on hold, Steph wanted to try the new caramel cookie waffles at Goodilicious, and Cass needed new boots whether she knew it or not.

Hurriedly, you shove the used test into a previously disused makeup bag that is now full of other used tests. It's starting to smell, but you don't have time to figure out how to stealthily throw it out, so you hide it at the back of a cupboard behind a basket of sanitary products before rushing out the door.

Later

Catching up with the girls had been fun, it had really helped you forget about your predicament and just relax for a while, but it had also taken a lot out of you, keeping you out well past dinner. Your body just was not functioning as well as it used to, for obvious reasons.

Upon returning to the mansion you’d made it to the ground floor lounge, feet too sore to even consider the stairs, and collapsed on the closest couch, exerting just enough energy to pry your shoes and sock off of your swollen feet prior to falling asleep. Just a quick nap you tell yourself, to regain some energy, you’ll be right as rain in time for Damian’s bedtime. He’s old enough now to put himself to bed, especially given that he often patrols with his father until the early hours of the morning, but tonight is his night off and you’d always make the effort to wish him sweet dreams when you can.

You’re awoken by the feel of calloused fingers pressing into the arches of your feet. You hadn’t heard him enter, but Bruce is sitting on the arm of the couch, in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. Between his bare chest and cowl hair, he is a welcome sight, bruised chest and freshly cut lip and all.

“What happened to you?” You ask, voice husky from your impromptu nap. You manage to draw your eyes away from Bruce long enough to check the time on an antique wall clock, it’s 4 AM. You’d far exceeded a nap. “Where’s Damian?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Damian is asleep. When you didn’t wish him a goodnight he came to look for you, that’s how I knew you were here.” He asserts. He looks at you with a furrowed brow and pinched lips, working his thumb into the arch of your feet with just enough pressure to make you mewl in relief. “Are you punishing me for something?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks, it’s not without merit. You hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch, but you can understand how it must look to him, especially in tangent with the ways in which you had intentionally been avoiding him; sneaking out in the mornings, not allowing him to see your naked body for fear that he’ll notice your swollen breasts, and growing belly. You hadn’t had sex in at least three weeks.

All at once you are overcome with remorse. You’d been so consumed with the pregnancy and how best to approach the subject with Bruce that you hadn’t stopped to think how your actions would weigh on him. He’s so strong, your anchor, an unchanging presence for the whole family. He locks himself and his emotions behind the big bad bat or billionaire Brucie so well that sometimes he forgets he has them. Sometimes you forget. Even now, clearly hurting and concerned for his marriage, he’s rubbing your feet.

“No of course not Bruce, I’m sorry…” your mind starts to form the end of your apology ‘I was just so tired’ or ‘it’s been a long day’ and they wouldn’t be lies but they’re not the right thing to say. You can’t keep postponing for the ‘right moment’ that will never come, can’t keep chickening out. He needs to know the truth. “I’m- I’m pregnant.”

You’re not sure how you’d expected him to respond really. You’d feared anger, hoped for joy but instead, he continues to stare at you, his brows raising in a way that implied he needed more information. He swaps your left foot for your right as he awaits your resumption. When you don’t speak he nods and states; “I know.”

“You know?” As though possessed your tired body launches into an upright seated position. “How could you know?”

Bruce smiles in response, an amused, tight-lipped ‘Are you kidding?’ smile.

“Well, to name a few things;” he counts off each observation on his fingers. “You’ve stopped wearing heels because your ankles are constantly swollen, your breasts are also noticeably swollen even under your clothes, you now only drink decaf, you seemingly have ‘food poisoning’ every morning and at no other time of day, a massive increase in urination, and my personal favourite, the bag full of positive pregnancy tests behind a crate-full of menstrual products that haven’t been used in almost three months.”

He’s trying to hide it, but he’s smug about his own detective skills. His mouth might be straight but there’s a fire in his eyes that has you drawing your legs away from him with a huff, abruptly ending the massage you had been enjoying. “How long have you known?”

“I’d had my suspicions for about 6 weeks, but I wasn’t certain until I found your stash last week.” Typical of Bruce to have figured out you were pregnant before you’d known yourself. “What I don’t understand, is why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve been lying.”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I was going to but…” You trail off, straightening your thoughts as best you can and finding your composure, preparing to begin monologuing about your concerns. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, what with you know, already having so many kids. Everyone but Damian has flown the nest, Dick and Babs are married! They’re all so grown up, do you really want to start again? And then…”

Conscious of your rambling you cut yourself off, looking to Bruce for reassurance that you’re not talking too much, that he’s not offended by your worries. He consoles you by coming closer, sitting on the cushion beside you and easily coaxing your legs over his. His firm hands are gentle as they grasp your knee.

“And what?” He questions.

“I wasn’t sure how I feel, I wanted to figure that out before talking to you.”

“What do you think you feel about it?”

“I think I want to have your baby Bruce, our baby.” So caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed your husband’s hands creeping higher and higher up your body until a hand settles on your stomach, his thumb stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You’d been so self-conscious of its growth but as you look at it now, under Bruce’s sturdy fingers, you realise it isn’t much bigger than it had been pre-pregnancy. How tedious your problems seemed when voiced and put into perspective, except maybe one. “I’m just not sure about how… well I guess I never thought about raising a child within your lifestyle.”

“I understand.” He nods, confirming his statement. He’s done well to keep his face soft but neutral throughout, a staple of his Batman facade but also a careful way not to let his own emotions interfere with yours.

“What do you think?” He looks down at your abdomen as he considers his words. You follow his gaze, watching as his fingers lift your top, exposing your skin to him. Without warning he lowers himself to pepper your belly with gentle kisses, the ticklish motion causes you to giggle and writhe beneath him.

When he looks up at you again he’s smiling, the motion causing the scab on his lip to split and bleed. Without thought you pull yourself closer to him, using his broad shoulders as leverage. Once close enough you dab at the minor wound with your thumb soaking up the fluid as best you can and examining the cut to ensure no further damage.

Bruce watches you intently the whole time, cupping your face in his hand when you appear satisfied. The adoration in his eyes makes you feel sheepish even after everything you’ve been through together.

“I think,” his voice is low, sincere. “I couldn’t be happier to be growing our family together. I think this child, like all our children, will be lucky to have you as a mother, whatever life they choose to lead.”

The amount of pent-up tension in your body had not been apparent to you until now. Until your body noticeably lightens in response to his words. The relief of no longer sneaking around, no more fretting over how he might react has you wishing you’d done this a long time ago.

“Bruce?” You sag into his chest, breathing him in. His arms unconsciously wrap around you in response, pulling you in for a tighter embrace. “We’re having a baby.”

“Were are having a baby.” He confirms, pressing more, tender kisses to your neck, the curve of a smile apparent as his lips press to your exposed skin. "I've been waiting for this moment since the day we me. But, I think it’s time we got to bed, it’s late.”

Swift and practiced, Bruce lifts you from the couch, cradling you in the bridal position. You stretch to check the clock, 4:34 AM.

“Technically it’s early.” You jest, expecting him to punish your cheek by jolting you in the air or throwing you over his shoulder as he normally does, but instead, he chides you with an amused glare, clearly too concerned about the baby for play fighting.

“Neither of us has been to bed, it’s late.” His grip tightens on your body as he makes his way up the stairs, one steady step at a time. “And I expect my wife to be in our bed when I wake up.”

“Hmmm.” Your morning sickness has eased in the last few days, you’d only persisted in sneaking out to be safe, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. “I’ll try, but I might be in our bathroom.”

“I can cope with that. At least then I can care for you. And we can throw out your hoard.” You don’t fuss over the likelihood of him having to rush off to save the day or for an urgent board meeting, you just throw your head back, laughing at yourself for trying to hide anything from Bruce.

When you reach the bedroom he lays you in the bed and climbs over your form. He’s in full caretaker mode, a manner you could get used to. He carefully removes your clothes, offers to redress you in your sleepwear and to bring you your lotions, or anything you should need from the bathroom.

Dawn is breaking behind your blackout curtains by the time you’re both settled in bed, entangled in each other’s arms. Sleep has nearly taken you again when Bruce whispers; “I do have one other thought.”

“Oh?" You peer at him curiously over your shoulder. "Yes dear?”

“I think you should be the one to tell Damian.”

His request hangs heavy in the air as you consider the implication. “Tell Damian that he will no longer be your only blood child?”

The room remains silent, he doesn’t expand because you know what he’s getting at. Damian probably won’t mind, because he’ll still be the oldest, the first in line and you’re certain he’ll be a wonderful older brother, he’s great with animals, so why not babies? Right?

“… That's not fair.”

“Think of it as penance for lying to me all month.” There’s an air of humour in his voice as he pulls you closer still, squeezing himself into your back and planting sleepy kisses against your neck. “Besides, he’ll probably take it better from you. I think he likes you more.”

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne/reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman/reader #batman x reader #dc #reader insert #gilverrwrites #f reader

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sonarspace · 7 months ago

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sweet syrup, satoru gojo

synopsis: emotions are all over the place when fwb!gojo stands you up… for another girl? content: fluff (kinda). smut (food play, fem!receiving, orgasm, unprotected sex) wc: 3.1k a/n: another fic within 24hrs to make up for my absence :). (not proofread!). this is a result of listening to sesame syrup by cigarettes after sex on repeat.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

your phone chimes with a text from satoru “are you free this week? i’m coming to your city”. to which you reply almost instantly. “yeah, i can make some time.”

he texts back: “no need to cancel any plans. i can work around it. just wanna spend some time with you while i’m here.” making your heart flip.

“i have an event to attend tonight, but can i come over sometime between 2 and 3?” he sends another text.

it’s not really like you had much going on in the week so you decided to say yes. to which he sends a winky face and a see you soon.

it’s almost 2am when you’re done getting ready. it has been a while since you’ve seen each other and while satoru has seen you in all your rawness. you figured it wouldn’t hurt to dress up a bit.

you decide to wear an ocean blue lingerie set (his favorite color) and a sheer white dress over it, leaving nothing to imagination. you hope you can catch him off guard with this look.

you look at the clock and it’s already 2:30am. you decide to send him a text to confirm he’s going to come up or not. it’s not like satoru to stand you up especially on a plan he’s made.

“are we still good for tonight?” you text. but no reply comes through. he did say 3am didn’t he, you think to yourself. maybe he’ll be there by then. you sigh and decide to put on a movie.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and wait a bit longer past 3. but you regret that decision as you are watching instagram stories and see a pic of none other than, satoru gojo in all his glory at the party he said he’d be. an angry pout takes over your lips.

what gets you isn’t the fact that he may still be at the party but who he is with. some model’s lips are pressed to his cheeks – hand hovering over her back and his stupid people winning grin plastered on his face.

posted 20 minutes ago. you inhale deeply, trying to keep the tears at bay. you didn’t even know why you were hurt. after all you were just fuck buddies and nothing more. you suppose it was the anger making you cry.

feeling stupid at even trying to dress him for him, streaks of black mascara run down your face. you look at yourself in the mirror and take a deep breath, willing yourself to not cry over some rich fucker.

you wipe your make up and change into a pair of sweatpants and lay back down on the couch. continuing your show trying to distract yourself from the indirect rejection you felt.

but your mind kept going back to him. why would he wanna be with you when he can get all those pretty girls with their perfect bodies. girls who could probably make him feel far better than you do.

you were stupid to think there was something going in between the two of you. as soon as that thought crosses your mind a text chimes. “baby, i’m so sorry. almost there. 5 minutes.”

you scoff at the nickname ‘baby’ huh. “don’t bother. i’m going to sleep.” but you don’t get a reply back. instead what you get is loud repetition of knocks on your apartment door followed by your name.

he waits a beat and then continues knocking. “not leaving until you open the door” he texts you. out of compassion for your neighbors, you open the door. his hand stops mid knock as you gesture him to get in.

"i'm really sorry, i swear i didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long." he starts rambling and you look at him with a plain stare and arms crossed to let him know you're not having his bullshit — you already know he has other priorities.

"i lost track of time and i left the party as soon as i realized. my phone was dead, so i couldn't even text you. i just charged it on the way here. darling, you know i'd never keep you waiting," he moves closer to grab your hands and you let him.

you gulp hard trying to not cry. he reaches to touch your face but you jerk your head away. "don't gojo." the change stings him and you see a look of hurt pass over his face. "please" he drags out the syllable. "okay," you tell him and he almost smiles but you reach out and wipe the lipstick mark off his cheek bringing it up to his eyes "what's this then?"

he narrows his eyes at your thumb in thought, "it's nothing, i swear. she kissed my cheek out of nowhere and they took the photo and i moved away from her just as fast." and you scoff in disbelief, "you just have an answer for everything, don't you gojo."

he groans “just give me a minute,” and pulls out his phone — going through his texts to show the photos of him taken throughout the night. out of habit you take in his appearance. he looks unbelievably sexy in an all black outfit, a sheer black tank and a black overcoat with matching suit pants. you're immediately reminded of your white dress that you had picked earlier and think how perfectly it’d match his outfit. a tear involuntarily escapes your eye.

you wipe it casually before he can notice. he pulls up the photo probably going around on social media at the moment and then the one of him moving away from the lady, "see!" he exclaims. and you sigh, "what do you want me to say gojo?"

"first off, don't call me gojo. secondly, forgive me. it was an honest mistake, you know i'd never do it on purpose. and lastly, i've missed you so so much baby," he drops his forehead to yours and you don't pull away. cause you've missed him just the same.

"go home," you whisper to him. "can't." he replies in the same manner. "it's too late and i didn't get my car. let me stay. let me make it up to you."

you pull away from him and turn towards your bedroom. he lets out a sigh of relief thinking maybe you were giving him a second chance but his shoulders deflate just as quick when you say, "you can take the guest room."

and so he does. he'd take any chance to be close to you since his job makes it hard for him to stay around you for long periods of time. so whenever he comes to this city, he'd prefers to stay with you rather than at a hotel.

and although your relationship and feelings for each other were hidden under the title of "fuck buddies" you both knew it was more than that. both of you went exclusive as soon as you started sleeping with each other. hell you don't think you could find anyone who would fuck you as good as satoru does. and he doesn't even want to try because the way your pussy makes him feel is other worldly.

he gets out of the shower and opts to wear just his boxers and lays comfortably at the thought of making it up to you in the morning. meanwhile you twist and turn trying to find a position to sleep, wondering if you should give in or keep it up so he knows what he did was wrong.

you wake up to the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen and smile when you remember satoru stayed over last night. albeit not with you but still. your jaw drops slightly when you walk out and see him standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers. the early morning light accentuating the dips and curves of his muscles.

"satoru!" you shriek covering your eyes. "oh, good morning baby. why are you hiding your face?" he asks as if he isn't standing there with his dick in your face. "why are you naked?! put something on!" you exclaim. "ahh, nothing you haven't seen before princess. plus i’m not naked. I’m wearing boxers!” he grins and then adds on “can't exactly wear those clothes when i'm cookin breakfast. it's uncomfortable."

"ugh," you say out loud and march back into your room. you come out with a pair of his sweatpants and throw it to him from across the counter. "wear these!"

"whatever you want baby," he pulls them on and they rest sinfully on his hips – almost teasing you and your cheeks flush. “can you taste this for me?” he asks and you walk around the counter to stand next to him as he pushes a spoonful of syrup towards you.

your eyes flutter close and you hum at the sweet taste. “this is really good,” you smile softly. “thanks. it’s for the french toast. i just put it in the oven to keep it warm. thought you’d be asleep for a little longer.” you beam at the mention of french toast, they were your favorite. “nutella?” you ask and he nods with a mesmerizing smile “just the way you like it, sweets.”

you both gaze at each other with a soft smile. “can i have another spoon?” you meek. you accidentally let a little bit of it dribble down your chin. “oh shit,” you’re about to wipe it off but satoru holds your hand and pulls you in closer.

you feel his tongue leave a wet trail behind as he licks the dripping syrup from your chin to the corner of your mouth. your breath hitches at the sensation. he pulls back and looks at you with smirk.

before he can take too much pride in catching you off guard, you surprise him by clashing your lips to his. he bucks backward and steadies himself with a grip on your waist.

his heart picks up a beat at finally feeling your plush lips on his. tasting the remnants of syrup still sticking to your lips. your kiss felt transcendental to him. like the only way to stay alive was the air that passed through your mouth to his. and he rejoiced at that. he’d be willing to live with you as his source of oxygen.

gaining back some composure he pushes you back and places you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in further. his tongue tries to find its way into your mouth but you don’t budge. instead you giggle into the kiss and he takes it as an indication to kiss your teeth.

his lips move over your jaw, lightly nipping at the skin at the space under your ear. his tongue pokes out and traces your ear lobe once, twice and then he nibs down on the cartilage playfully with a whine of your name. the oven’s beeping brings you both out of the love lust trance you’re in.

he huffs and moves back to turn off the oven while you turn off the stove and grab another spoon of syrup. he turns back to see you leaning back on an arm and kicking your feet – dropping the sticky syrup over your clothed perked nipples. the lack of a bra evident. “oops” you pout, feigning innocence.

his breath seizes at the scene unfolding in front of him. he licks his lips once and then without wasting any more time, his mouth moves over your chest. licking the syrup off your shirt and in the process stimulating your nipples just like you hoped. he pulls off your shirt and throws it behind somewhere behind but before he can go further you stop him “wait!”.

“not in the kitchen,” you speak timidly – a flush creeping up your neck at his lustful stare. pressure builds in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you and you squeeze your thighs for a bit of friction.

“where?” he asks as he picks you up. “anywhere but the kitchen,” you whisper into the skin of his neck as you place a chaste kiss. and then he’s dropping down to his knees with you. laying you on the wooden floor of your living room

he leaves you on the floor for a beat and then comes back with the pot filled with syrup. he peels of your sweatpants along with your soaked panties. “lay still,” he tells you and you straighten out your legs and arms.

using you as his canvas he grabs the pot of syrup and tilts it over your body. creating a pattern of syrup on your naked body. he places the pot back on the counter and admires his work. a thoughtful grin on his face as he makes eye contact with you. “can i take a photo of you?” he asks and you nod without a second thought. he grabs your phone and snaps a pic. this image of yours would be imprinted in his mind forever and more.

“look at how beautiful you look,” and surely you do. sprawled out over the wooden floors of your apartment with a sticky substance covering your body. but that’s not all. the sun shines through the curtains, casting your body in an ethereal light and a ring of light on your head acting as a halo. “just like an angel. my angel. aren’t you baby?” he asks for confirmation.

and maybe it’s too early to say but you do anyway. “only yours, satoru. always yours,” you utter the words he’s been waiting for – well he feels like his whole life but in reality it’s only been three months since you two started this relationship.

the intensity of his gaze has a shiver run over your body and you can feel goosebumps erupt across your skin. he moves on top of you. taking his time with your body. licking over and over until he cleans the syrup. you almost feel like you’re not breathing as his mouth moves over your neck, collarbones, chest, stomach – lapping and littering your skin with love bites.

before moving further down he gives you a deep kiss and you can taste the sweetness of the syrup on his tongue as it tangles with yours. but it’s so incredibly satoru, to be tasting this sweet you can’t help but suck his tongue a little.

finally he spreads your thighs and makes himself at home. licking a quick stripe to test your wetness. there’s so much arousal it has him wondering if you already came. your nubs a shade darker, almost angry at being away from him for so long. he coos at your pussy as it was a separate being. “you missed me, didn’t you?” a peck to your clit. “i missed you too, but your mommy was tryna keep us apart.” you can’t help but laugh at the endearing silliness of him speaking to your pussy. faking a gasp he whispers “i know! it’s okay. going to take such good care of you now,” this time he looks at you.

his tongue moves over your bundle of nerves pressing down on your nub stimulating it just the right amount and plunging a finger into your cunt. his eyes flutter close at your taste. “nothing comes close to your sweetness, darling” he groans. your hands tangle in his head as he continues sucking your clit. you moan his name “ha ha ‘m so close toru.” so he speeds up his pace – licking ferociously, wanting you to reach your high quicker.

you come with a scream of his name. eyes shut and fingers tugging his hair but he has no complaints. he loved the sting when you tugged his hair like this – when you were too fucked out to even realize you were doing it.

he frees his cock and he feels like he can breath a bit better now. his hardened cock turns impossibly harder when you reach a hand down and pump it a few times and he watches in awe. pre cum lathering his length.

“you doing okay?” he asks you from above aligning himself but not pushing in. “yeah,” you hum but you’re lost in thought. about last night. but satoru notices everything. he squeezes your cheeks so you look at him. “what’s wrong?” genuinely concerned.

“i was hurt last night when you didn’t show up on time. and i didn’t understand why i was so hurt because it’s not like we’re dating or anything. but seeing that pic of you, out with those people hurt. cause i was here waiting for you, wanting to surprise you with a dress i bought, that i thought you’d like. but that doesn’t matter. what i’m trying to say is that this is more than just sex for me satoru. i really really like you. i want more of you. more of this. more of us.” you confess all that you’ve held in since this past few weeks of being apart from him.

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, reeling in your confession. you feel like you’ve ruined whatever you had going on. “satoru, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way” in fact it wasn’t. you’d be heartbroken if he didn’t feel the same way. “you don’t have to say anything. i just, i-“ you’re about to continue but he cuts you off with a hard kiss. “i do too. all that you said. i too, want more of you, more of this, more of us. it’s more than just sex for me too, baby. has been for a while. i’m really sorry about last night. wear that dress for me tonight, please.” he pleads. “i’ll cook you a nice dinner and we can have our first date as an official couple. what’d you say?” he smiles softly.

your heart clenches at overwhelming emotions and tears line your eyes as you repeat yes over and over again until he’s kissing you and drinking the love out of you.

he carries you over to your bedroom and lays beside you. he grabs your leg and places it over his hip, lining his cock with your cunt. slowly he pushes into you. you both moan in unison. him at the feeling of your snug walls and you at the feeling of his cock stretching you apart.

your foreheads touch as you maintain eye contact. he thrusts into you ever so lovingly. languid and hard thrusts. as if you both had all the time in the world.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

a/n: idk how i feel abt this 💔😭 but i hope you liked it. comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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radioapple-heathen · 5 months ago

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My Top 10 📻🍎 'Multi-Chaptered' Fic Recs

(A continuation of my previous post. You can find info about my fic preferences and my top 10 'Series' fic recs here.)

1.) Somewhere down the line by kj_crwn

Complete (6/6). Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

So, just like my #1 on my series recs, this fic has Lucifer and Alastor meeting in the living world first before canon takes place while Alastor is still a human, and then reuniting in Hell as the events of canon unfold. Absolutely my fav trope. It helps that the writing is absolutely gorgeous!!! This is such a comfort fic for me, could read it a million times over. It looks like the author considered making it a series but, at the time of making this rec list, it is a standalone fic.

2.) Even As A Shadow, Even As A Dream by @winterveritas

Complete (2/2). Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: AU - Hell. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Really, anything Winter touches is absolute gold, but this fic rocked me to my core. The way this author portrays Lucifer's grief during Alastor's absence, like. I've been reading fic a long, long time. It takes quite a bit to pull tears out of me, but I sobbed while reading this. Don't let that scare you away, this author is allergic to unhappy endings, but the gut punch of emotions, oh my god. Also, for those who love when extensions of the boys come into play, Alastor's shadow and Lucifer's snake have roles as well, and that is a huge headcanon of mine so it was delightful to see it in this. Writing is flawless, prose is gorgeous, dialogue is top-notch. Just agonizingly wonderful, beginning to end.

3.) Bedtime Rituals to Try out Before The Next Angelic War by @miribalis

Complete (8/8). Rated T+. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: I, like many others, stumbled across this fic due to this beautiful fanart and god. This fic is SO INCREDIBLE. The dynamics between the boys are everything????? This is a QPR take on them, and it's beautiful? Just gorgeous in every way, from the writing to the characterizations and the non-sexual intimacy exploration. ALLLLL the love for this fic.

4.) Lucid Dreams of New Orleans by @radiaurapple

In-Progress (14/15). Rated T+. POV: Switches. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Wow. Just... It's hard to put into words the admiration I have for this author/fic. In such a popular fandom/ship, it can definitely be hard to find a unique take on said popular ship. However, this. THIS. This is one of the most original radioapple fics I've ever had the joy of reading. Beautiful imagery, STUNNING PREMISE, the emotions, the prose, THE RADIOAPPLE BOYS, everything about it is perfect.

5.) The Ruination of Lucifer by @syaunei

In-Progress (31/?). Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Not sure there are words in the English language to describe how fantastic this fic is. Everything I wanna say feels lacking. This fic has some of the most beautiful writing I've ever read. And it is such a delicious character study on Alastor, the inner workings of that man's mind is just insane. The way syaunei takes such a complex character apart, strand by strand, is truly phenomenal. I mentioned in my fic preferences disclaimer that I lean more towards top!Lucifer, but lemme tell you, this is top!Alastor DONE RIGHT.

6.) Something in Me Understood by @winterveritas

Complete (8/8). Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: AU - Human!Alastor/Devil!Lucifer. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

This was written for radioapple week 2024, and Winter spoiled us rotten with the frequency of updates for this one. Bookstore AU but make it sexy? XD I am trying to keep my gushing to a minimal, but really, all of Winter's fics are fantastic. This one also includes some beautiful art. AND AND AND intersex!Lucifer, which again... a weakness for me.

7.) Awake, Arise by iffervescent

Complete (14/14). Rated E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

HOLY PLOT! As I mentioned in my previous post, I definitely prefer more romance vs heavy plot in my fanfics, but when a fic can balance them both as experty as this one HO BOY! It makes for truly a good time! 🙏 Fantastic fic!

8.) Passing Ships by @selphhelp, @androidwiththeparanoid

In-Progress. (7/?). Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: AU - Human/Great Gatsby inspo. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Please envision this gif of the man screaming "Let me tell you something! Let me tell you something!" as I ramble about this fic because its a fucking gem, and it is so so so criminally underrated. I know its niche, but I think people assume you need to know about The Great Gatsby to read/enjoy it. YOU DON'T. I'm telling you, I remember ZERO about that book, and this fic has been an absolute delight??? Yandere!Alastor??? Vox's One-Sided Psychosexual Obsession with Alastor??? Possessive Lucifer??? IT HAS IT ALL. And the writing and characterizations are superb!

9.) Strange Appetites by Gotllphi

In-Progress. (20/23). Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: AU - Human!Alastor/Devil!Lucifer. Notable Warnings: Extremely graphic depictions of violence.

Notes:

Ho boy. I... I DON'T KNOW WHAT SAY. *gestures vaguely*. ITS JUST GOOD? VERY GOOD?? but also, cannibalism, violence, Alastor being a golly ol' serial killer, consensual but not safe or sane bdsm, etc etc. Also plot galore!

10.) Born for Adversity by fourshadesofgreen

In-Progress. (2/3). Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: AU - Human!Alastor/Devil!Lucifer. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

This is a short one, but I love everything this author writes, and the ending scene of chap 2 has been living in my head rent-free since they posted it. Human!Alastor has fallen in love with the Devil and tries to summon him through his killings. Fantastic premise and writing.

❤️❤️❤️

I'll be doing one more rec list for oneshots! I'll post it in a few days. I hope you guys are enjoying the recs!

#radioapple #appleradio #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #radioapple recs #radioapple fic recs

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teenytinyjimin · 6 months ago

Text

baroque (j. jungkook)

summary: masquerade balls are all fun and games until you meet that one person that you feel like you’ve known for a lifetime, but regardless as to who he is, you can’t just let him go.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.4k

tags: masquerade, mystery, academia/renaissance/baroque (i know these are all different but its a little combination), ballroom dancing, reader is absolutely in love with this mystery man she’s dancing with, and he’s kinda in love with her too, spoiler: they know each other, kissing of course!

warnings: none

author’s note: IM BACK! IM SO SORRY BUT IM BACK! anyways i hope u guys enjoy! my last kook fic got a lot of traction so thank u so much <3 so i hope this is up to par with that one :)

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

As you stood at the steps to the entrance of one of the largest ballrooms in town, you took a deep sigh. This wasn't a sigh of distress, however, it was more of a sigh of anticipation.

Balls weren't necessarily a thing of the 21st century. Had it been, say, four-hundred or five-hundred years prior, a ball would be the talk of the town and absolutely everyone would be flooding into the ballroom to have the time of their lives dancing with one another. Alas, it was 2024, and the only people you'd see attending a ball nowadays would be people who are actively interested in Renaissance and Baroque culture and seek rare events pertaining to such.

There was something about these classical time periods that felt ageless and beautiful to you. The big gowns, glimmering jewels, and elaborate ballroom designs were absolutely gorgeous. So of course you were going to indulge in as much classical beauty as possible in modern times. And that meant going to balls whenever you could (or, in other words, whenever you were able to hear about them through the grapevine).

So here you were, in your elaborate Renaissance dress, staring at the entrance ahead of you. This particular ball was a masquerade ball, so it was even more exciting considering the fact that most everyone would be anonymously dancing behind beautifully decorated masks. You looked down at your own mask in hand, a beautiful and ornate piece strewn with jewels, glitter, and feathers. You had spent the last week perfecting the mask and had gone through nearly a dozen prototypes before you created what you thought was the best piece of work you had ever done in your twenty-something years of living. It was beautiful, and it would do a perfect job of hiding exactly what needed to be hidden to make this masquerade a true mystery for you.

Fastening the mask over your head and onto your face, you began to ascend the steps and enter the ballroom. As anticipated, the venue was covered in beautiful Renaissance artwork and ornate chandeliers. The marble pillars holding the place together really brought everything to life as they echoed the Roman influence that they possessed into the large room. Ahead of you was a sea of elaborate gowns and tuxedos, all spinning around in harmony as they danced with one another to the beautiful orchestral music that played.

"A glass of champagne, miss?" A voice called out from next to you. You looked over to see a masked waiter with a tray of champagne flutes in his hand. You gave him a polite nod and curtsy as you took a glass from him. Champagne wasn't necessarily your drink of choice, however you needed something to keep you company while you waited for a good opportunity to join the dancing or, alternatively, until you were asked to dance.

As you approached the floor of the ball, navigating through the sea of dancing people, you attempted to find someone you may have recognized. Sure, masquerades made it rather difficult to identify a person and thus it was quite hard to know if you knew anyone anyway, but it was worth a shot for the sake of socializing. For the most part, everyone seemed pretty invested in their partners, committing to the elaborate ballroom dance that was taking place to the sound of a piano and violin.

Within a matter of moments, you suddenly found yourself on the ground as you had accidentally run directly into another individual. You looked up to see a gloved hand reach down to you, begging for your touch so that it could help you to your feet once again. As you obliged, you realized the body to which the hand was connected was much stronger than you had anticipated as you practically flew back to your feet. A little lightheaded from the rush of movement, you swayed for a moment and tried to find your footing, but the hand that previously helped you was now firmly on your waist as a form of support.

You brushed off your dress once you found yourself more stable, a bright red blush creeping to your cheeks. "I'm so sorry-" You began before looking up to the person in front of you. Something about his presence left you fascinated – He was tall with wide shoulders and toned arms, something you could immediately notice through his tight-fitting shirt. Despite being fit to his body, his shirt was beautiful and contained all sorts of frills and jewels. Only one of his hands were gloved, as the other one was covered in bracelets and rings of a particularly ornate design. He had the most beautiful chain necklaces wrapped around his neck which perfectly suited his beautiful jawline, which was both sharp and soft at the same time. His lips, a perfect amount of plump, were curled into a soft smile which made him a lot less intimidating than he seemed. When you finally saw his eyes, you were met with the most beautiful black orbs that were wide with wonder and amazement. You could've sworn that you've seen those eyes somewhere, as they reminded you of all the comfort you had ever felt in your life, but you couldn't quite put them to a face you recognized. Though this man's face was hidden behind a beautiful mask, you could tell that he was breathtaking in every sense of the word.

"Are you okay?" He asked, maintaining eye contact with you. There was no way you were going to escape his gaze, not because he wouldn't let you but also because you didn't want to. You nodded softly as you continued awkwardly brushing off your dress, unsure of how to speak to the man in front of you. The soft smile that was once on his face now grew to a more toothy grin as he took your hand in his and gently pressed your knuckles to his lips. "If you'd like to make it up to me, I'd love to dance with you."

How were you meant to say no to him? Besides the fact that he had quite literally left you speechless, everything about him was absolutely gorgeous and you'd never turn down an offer to dance with someone like him. As you once again responded with a nod, you felt as he used the hand he had wrapped around your waist to guide you further into the crowd of people and to a more open area where you could properly dance. Once there, he pulled you slightly closer to him as he took your hand in his free one. You naturally placed your other hand upon his bicep, which was tense under your touch, and he began to guide you into a waltz-style dance. It felt as if this came naturally to him as you effortlessly swayed around. You continued to stare into his beautiful doe eyes which shimmered with fantasy as they quite literally pierced into your soul. Whoever this man was, he was perfect in every sense of the word. He was just so perfect.

"You look absolutely stunning, by the way. I'm not sure if I mentioned that," He said after a moment, causing you to blush and look away. "I could say the same about you," You responded quietly, letting yourself feel the air around you blow through your hair. "Thank you for helping me up, by the way. This dress is difficult to maneuver in when you're on the ground."

"It's my pleasure. After all, we bumped into each other. I had an obligation. I wasn't going to let a beautiful girl fend for herself on the ground as a bunch of people danced all over her." You looked back over to him and let out a soft giggle, watching as a grin rose to his face. Something about him was just so warm and inviting, yet you couldn't put your finger on what it was. Perhaps you two knew each other in a past life, one in which you were actually attending balls together in the Renaissance.

"I bet you call a lot of girls at these sorts of things beautiful. I mean, look at you." You say in a teasing tone, watching as his grin dropped to a smirk. "Bold of you to assume that I go to these dances very often, miss." He lets out a soft sigh as he continues to effortlessly sway you around, refusing to stop staring at you. "But even if I did, you're the most breathtaking of them all. Honest."

You remove your hand from his as you bring both hands to rest on the back of his neck, attempting to push yourself closer to him so you can talk a little quieter. "You seem like a pro, do you really not go to balls very often?" He shrugs under your touch as he wraps both arms around your waist, holding you tightly. "Not really. This is my first time coming to this place at least. I'm more of a contemporary dancer."

"Ah, I see," You say softly, letting one of your hands feel at the hair on the back of his neck. He lets out a hitched breath at your touch but continues to sway the two of you back and forth. "It's a beautiful venue, though. It feels like we're in the 1700s and not the 2000s." He comments, looking up briefly at the chandelier above the two of you. You couldn't help but agree. Sometimes when you go to events like these you forget about the chaos of life and pretend that you're still in the Renaissance, which is beautiful in and of itself.

"Have you been on the balcony yet? It has a beautiful view of the city if you want to go take a look," You propose, looking back down at the man in your arms. You watch as his eyes soften and a small smile grows on his lips, pulling away so he can offer you his hand. "You lead the way," He says as you take your hand in his and gently pull him away from the crowd.

As soon as you reached the fresh air of the empty balcony, the two of you stood in silence as you admired the shimmering lights of the city in front of you. "Wow..." He muttered, clearly surprised at the sight in front of him. "You can see pretty much everything from here. How is that possible?" You approach the railing of the balcony and lean against it, taking a moment to look around. "The ballroom is on a hill, even though it doesn't really feel like it. It's actually above the rest of the town so the balcony is able to look down on everything around us."

"I hate to say it, but it seems like I might have found something more beautiful than you." Letting out a small gasp, you turn around to face the man behind you, noticing a huge grin on his face. You smile in return. "I guess I don't blame you. A good view beats a pretty face any day."

"Mmm." He hums, approaching you slowly. He secures his hands on your waist as he picks you up with ease and places you on the railing, keeping contact with you at all times to ensure that you don't fall. Once you are steady on the railing he wraps both arms around you and presses himself tightly to you for extra support, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to stay safe. "I'm only joking anyway. I don't think it's possible to be more beautiful than you."

"Well, I think you're living proof of that, because you're definitely more beautiful than me," You mumble as the distance between your faces becomes much shorter than it once was. He lets out a breathy laugh as he removes one of his arms from your waist and attaches his hand to your face, stroking it gently before closing the gap completely and bringing you in for a kiss.

Kissing someone under the stars is one thing, but kissing someone mysteriously under the stars is another thing. You have no idea who this man is, you don't even know his name, yet here you are, lips connected to his. This is perhaps the best kiss you have ever experienced, as he is so soft yet so passionate with his movements. He never once lets go of you with his other hand, keeping you secure on the railing so that you don't accidentally slip. The one on your face is so soft and gentle, holding onto your face in the most perfect way. It is only now that you are able to really breathe in his scent, an obviously expensive cologne that you would kill to drown in at this point. He was consuming every part of you and you wanted him and only him.

The two of you pulled away briefly so that he could stare into your eyes for a moment. "You really are breathtaking," He mumbled, fiddling with the bottom edge of your mask. As he began to slowly pull it off of your face, you watched as his expression went from lovestruck to shocked. It looked as if seeing your face without the mask scared him. He didn't like how you looked.

"I'm sorry-" You begin to say, tears welling up in your eyes. However he stops you as he takes his own mask off, revealing a face that you could never forget. Jeon Jungkook. Your childhood best friend. The boy you had a crush on for years several years ago. He wasn't disgusted by how you looked. He was shocked that it was you.

"Jungkook?" You said breathlessly, unable to say anything beyond his name. He only stared at you in response, unsure of what his own next move would be. This wasn't something you had ever expected. Not the whole 'kissing your childhood best friend' part, but the fact that somehow in an event of anonymity, you would find your way to each other. And now that you have shared this night together, it's almost as if all the feelings you ever felt for him over the years have flooded back to you as you once again felt head-over-heels for him.

Finally, you watched as a toothy smile returned to his face. He placed his hand once again on your cheek and brushed it as you watched him admire your features. "Thank god it's you. I've been waiting for this moment for years," He mumbled before pulling you in again for another kiss.

#teenytinyjimin #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts jungkook #bts jk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jk fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jk fanfiction

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revasserium · 7 months ago

Note

Hello, Rain! Congrats on the 2k followers! 🎉💖 Hope your day is going well!! For the event, may I request Marius and butterfly lovers? ☺️

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

14. butterfly lovers

marius von hagen; 5,103 words; fluff, no "y/n", slightly canon-divergent, highschool sweethearts to lovers, marius being the simp he is, mentions of dif socioeconomic backgrounds, verbal bullying from other students

summary: marius does not have many friends at starhigh; you see fit to change that fact.

a/n: this is loosely based on both his "precious mornings" ssr and also his "world of glitz" ssr so vague spoilers for both and you'll understand this more if you kinda sorta know those but otherwise it's just a cute lil fic to feed my marius obsession (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

001. want and need

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Those are the first ever words you say to Marius von Hagen.

It is, by all accounts, a strange kind of meet-cute (if you can even call it that, years later, with his arms curled around your middle, his chin hooked over your shoulder — the pair of you reminiscing on your school days, marveling on the passage of time, how quick things flash by. But back then, time had seemed an infinite thing, ticking solidly through from morning till night, Monday to Friday and onwards), but even then, Marius had an alarming amount of charm and self-awareness, a shockingly prurient view on the world.

Rich and spoiled as he may be, no one could say that he wasn’t brilliant.

“Sorry?” he says, blinking over the stack of notes he’d been going over in the library as you slump down in the seat opposite, tossing your bag onto the table and propping your cheek on your hand.

You shrug, “Just wanted you to know that… I don’t want anything from you. So, yeah,” you repeat, pulling out your own set of notebooks. They’re a bit battered but full of multi-colored tabs that bulge out the sides and top, your textbooks, clearly secondhand. Marius blinks for a second but doesn’t comment, leaning back slightly to look you over.

“Then, senpai…” an easy, self-serving smirk twists the corner of his lips, “why’re you here?”

You pause, fingers hovering over a pink gel pen, your shoulders tensing.

“All the other tables were full.”

It’s a bold-faced lie, but Marius makes a show of turning to look at the tables around you both — sure, they’ve all got one or two people but none are full. You could’ve chosen to sit at any of the other tables, with any of the other students. And yet.

“And,” you add, rather sniffily, “how’d you know I’m not in your year?”

Marius considers his answer — because Payton had presented him with a roster of everyone in his class (with headshots) the week before his first day and asked in that smooth gentle way of his for Marius to “make sure he’s done his homework”, because since then, almost every single person in his grade has tried to come up and introduce themselves, toppling over each other to try and make an impression, to stake their claim on his friendship and by proxy, Pax Group.

Because he wouldn’t have forgotten a face like your’s.

“Cause…. I know all the pretty girls in my year already.” He winks.

Easier to play up the foppish, rich fuckboy facade than admit any of those other things which are infinitely more true, but no less harrowing for a growing teenage boy to try and admit.

Predictably, you roll your eyes and continue on your journey of emptying the entire contents of your schoolbag onto the remaining space of the table.

“Right.” Your tone is disbelieving and Marius feels a thread of intrigue twang in his chest against the initial shock of your blunt appearance. You don’t believe him, and yet you’re still here. You claim that you don’t want anything from him, and yet.

“So? Are you gonna introduce yourself? Seems kinda rude to sit down at someone else’s table and not even tell them your name.” Marius taps the heel of a pen to his cheek, the intrigue slowly festering into curiosity. It itches inside his chest and he finds himself leaning in as you slate him a long, piercing look.

“Fine.” You say, and then you tell him your name — first and last, with no title, no frills, no mention of a family dynasty or some kind of foreign conglomerate empire. In fact, Marius realizes as he runs through his quick mental list of all the who’s who of society, he has no clue who you are or who you might be related to. It’s a difficult thing to achieve at Starhigh. And then he remembers —

“I’m on scholarship,” you say, dropping your eyes back to your now open notebook, twirling your pen once before setting in to scribbling along some sort of complicated looking diagram. Your voice is flat, almost curt, cut short by the implication of those three words.

Scholarship.

Marius knows that the prestigious academy accepts a handful of scholarship students a year, mostly as marketing fodder to pander to the masses — look at us, opening our gold-gilded doors, our marble-foyered halls, peeling back our velvet curtains to accept commoners who are driven enough, who are brilliant enough to shine amongst the ready-born stars.

“Well, guess someone’s gotta keep the test scores up,” Marius says, now entirely taken with the task of watching you take notes. You pause again, glancing up. There’s a spark behind your eyes that makes his heart stutter.

“Ah… so you do know about us.”

Us. You say the word so casually but it still makes Marius flinch inwardly. An “us” precludes a “them” — one group, and the other. Somehow, Marius doesn’t like the thought of you and him being othered from each other so obviously by your respective social circles, even though he knows it’s unavoidable.

“Sure I do — I mean, none of us study hard enough to make the numbers we post every year,” he says, with a stab at casual nonchalance, putting an extra emphasis on his use of “us” just to be a tad more self-deprecating. That should be the tactic here — people like to feel superior, so debasing himself a little from time to time is necessary.

So he tells himself.

You, however, don’t seem to be buying it.

“I’ve seen you in here every afternoon for the past two months.”

Marius leans back, stretching his arms over his head and yawning hugely.

“Nowhere else to be, so…” but even he hears the strained edge to his voice, the flatness that drops at the end of his would-be cheery tone. You hike an imperious eyebrow and Marius feels heat cresting up the back of his neck.

“Nowhere else?” you echo the words back at him, but in your voice, they sound softer, more wistful.

He slumps back forward, making an exaggerated face.

“Yeah, my brother’s busy with the company and my dad’s… off somewhere in Europe doing whatever he does in Europe,” he waves a would-be careless hand and sighs dramatically, “what’s a guy to do with all that time but —” he motions around the gorgeous library reading room with it’s floor to ceiling windows and endless stacks of priceless reference books and first editions.

“But to study,” you finish for him, amusement dangling off the end of your words like a comma, hinged there, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the remainder of the story.

Marius chews on the inside of his cheek and doubles down with a light laugh and another good-natured wink. Meanwhile, he can’t help the way his mind is racing. Why would a scholarship student randomly come up to him in the library, loudly declare that she “doesn’t want anything from him” and then proceed to invade his personal space?

It reminds him, outlandishly, of the story of a man who’d struck gold, and then, terrified that someone would come steal it from him, proceeded to bury it all back with the sign “NO GOLD BURIED HERE” tacked up over the mound of freshly dug earth. The denial so egregious that it rebounds back into confirmation instead.

Were you really trying to get closer to him by telling him to his face that you had no such intentions?

His chases down the line of thought, the speculations spiraling wilder and wilder until your voice snaps him sharply back into focus.

“Oi! Are you okay?”

Marius blinks, jerking back as you click your fingers in front of his face.

“Huh? Oh yeah sorry —”

You cock your head, that strange, knowing spark still flickering behind your eyes.

“Where’d you go off to, hm?”

Marius opens his mouth before shutting it again, shaking his head.

“Just… never mind.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” you ask, cocking your head to one side, birdlike.

“Do what?”

“Keep things to yourself.”

And this time, Marius feels himself being caught off-guard — there’s a skip to his already arhythmic heartbeat, a skid in his breath, a click-shuffle-snap in his mind’s eye as he tries to refocus his attention on what you’d just said. And when he does, heat and heat and heat claws its way up his skin, bleeding into his cheeks before he can force it back down.

“I - I don’t know what you mean.” There — that quaver in his voice. He curses himself for it. The vulnerability of it all.

“I’ve seen it, y’know —” you say, sighing as you drop your eyes back onto your notes, now highlighting something in a bright, blinding chartreuse, “the way people flock to you. But I mean, everyone titters over everyone else here, don’t they?”

Marius stares, nearly open-mouthed at the casual, almost bland way you’re laying it all out, as if he weren’t the storm-center around which all of this social grandstanding spins.

“What do they ask you about first? Oh, lemme guess — is it the fact that you’re confirmed to be Pax’s next CEO or whether you like girls with short hair? I guess the short-hair thing is a bit less on the nose, right?”

You flip a page in your notebook and methodically tab it with a pink sticky note.

“What do you want?” the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Marius realizes too late that he’s staring, wide-eyed and desperate, his heart now pounding inside him like some angry, caged thing, thudding so hard against the back of his throat that he actually feels like it might leap right out of his mouth.

Placidly, you raise your eyes back to look at him, meeting his wild, bewildered gaze with the steady, solid one of your own.

“Like I said… I don’t want anything from you.” Your voice is calm, your words sure.

Disbelief roils inside him like sickness and he swallows hard as he realizes his hands had clenched into white-knuckled fists on the table between you.

“Then why —” his voice isn’t light anymore, instead it's jagged around the edges, raw and torn and bleeding.

He feels naked, exposed, stripped in a way that he hadn’t felt since the first time his father had taken him to visit the family shrine.

You purse your lips and sigh, and this time, you look just as tired as he feels as you slowly start to gather up your things.

“Because… you just looked a bit lonely and I thought you might like some company.”

You tuck your last gel-pen back into your bag before hoisting it onto your shoulder, turning and walking away.

002. oh bully you

“Senpai… you know it was super mean of you to just leave me like that yesterday.”

You jump nearly a foot in the air as Marius drops into the empty desk directly in front of you, straddling the chair back with his legs on either side, crossing his arms over top of your opened textbook and peering up at you from beneath his damnably long lashes.

He bats them at you as you blink down at him, trying to reconcile the sight of him with the space of your classroom — which is not his classroom, because — right, of course, you’re not in the same grade. So, why —

“Oh~ reading even during lunch period? You’re so studious — hey d’you think you can help me with the history homework? I suck at names and dates.”

You stare at him for two whole seconds longer before narrowing your eyes.

“What’re you doing here? This isn’t your classroom.”

Marius pouts, feigning hurt, “But senpai… it’s lunchtime! Didn’t you say you wanted to keep me company yesterday?”

“Yester — “ you break off, understanding finally settling over your confused expression as you soften in your chair. casting him a reproachful look.

“Well you didn’t seem like you wanted the company so I thought —”

“Wha — I never said that! You just caught me off guard! I was just asking what you wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon, but you stormed off. Ah… I thought you were angry with me — you’re not angry with me, are you senpai?”

You let out an exasperated sigh at his antics, but a smile still breaks across your lips.

“Did I say I was angry?”

Marius’s grin widens by degrees.

All around you, people are beginning to stare. What is Marius von Hagen, society’s most elite golden child doing with a no-name scholarship student like you? And acting all chummy when no one had ever seen you two together before? Whispers gather like a rising tide but Marius doesn’t seem to notice as he casually reaches over your textbooks to peer into your bento.

“Whoa! That looks so delicious! Did you make it all yourself? Can I have some? I’ve always wanted to try home-cooked food from someone my age!”

You smack his hand lightly and click your tongue.

“Manners! And if you wait patiently, I’ll let you have half.”

Marius smiles cheekily, looking all too pleased with himself as the whispers and murmurs gather in strength and volume. And by the end of the day, there’s not a soul in school who doesn’t know about the strange new friendship between you and Marius von Hagen.

003. rumors

“Did you hear?”

“Yeah — and with Marius —“

“Everyone says he’s nice but hard to get close to, so how the hell —“

“Maybe it’s some kind of… arrangement?”

“But why would a von Hagen need any kind of arrangement?”

“Dunno, but maybe it’s a charity project?”

“What? Adopt-a-pleb? Ha!”

“I’ve seen them around campus — he’s always following her around —“

“Ugh, so weird! Unless they’re dating? But god, he’s so out of her league it’s not even funny.”

“Hey do you know anyone who knows her?”

“Ew, no! Who would any of us know who knows her? She’s scholarship!”

“Maybe that’s why he’s so into her? Like… y’know those kids who grow up in the desert and have never seen snow?”

“What, like he’s never seen a poor person before?”

“Up close? Have you?”

“Ugh, it’s just so… weird. I bet he’ll lose interest in her by the end of the month. There’s no way they’re actually friends.”

“Yeah, that or… they’re…”

“Oh… that.”

“You don’t think…”

“Well… if she’s really that good… I guess a guy could overlook anything, right?”

004. in place

He has always been quiet when he paints, but there’s something in the thick, churning silence today that makes you pause, looking up from the book of sewing patterns in your lap. The sun’s long since set, and there’s only the two you left in the arts classroom.

Marius frowns as he leans back, a streak of dark blue paint smearing his cheek.

You glance at the canvas, pressing your lips.

“Okay. What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” he sounds distracted as he picks another brush and leans in to carve a thick slab of black through the heart of the already dark and chaotic painting.

“You’re stewing. What’s wrong?”

“How do you know I’m stewing? I’m not stewing,” Marius huffs, tossing the paintbrushes into a can, his lips pursed into a pout as he turns towards you.

You snap your book shut and sigh, “Because. I just do. And you just admitted it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Did too — now spill it.”

“I —” Marius lets out another loud sigh before knitting his arms across his chest, turning back toward the canvas and picking up his brushes. He squints at the painting as if it’s done him some grievous personal harm, and then jams his brush into the middle, his strokes going wide and harsh.

“Have you heard the rumors?”

You scoff, “What, about us?”

“Yeah…” his voice drops, and you almost laugh at how childish he sounds before you realize that you’re both still children. You wonder if things will change when you grow up — the thought of it seems so far away. Like this, in the fluorescent brightness of the empty art classroom, the night outside stretches like an uncertain future, unfurling into impenetrable darkness.

“Sure I have,” you say, watching him as he pulls back to examine the dark blob on the canvas.

“You’re not mad?” He doesn’t look at you and you don’t make to look away.

“Why would I be mad?” You open your book again to mark your page before tucking it away in your bag. Marius pauses as you start to pack.

“Because it’s horrible! The things they’re saying — I mean, I’m used to it because I’ve grown up around people like this but you’re —” he cuts himself off as you whip around, eyebrows raised.

“I’m what? Different?”

Marius gapes, scrambling for words that do not come.

You pack up the rest of your things in a terse silence, then you push out of your chair with a loud scrape.

“But y’know, the people who talk behind your back? They’re right where they should be.”

Marius frowns.

Your lips pull into a wide smirk as you shoulder your bag, “Behind you.”

You’re barely out the door before Marius lets out an incredulous laugh and topples back into his chair. He lets a second pass and then he’s launching out of the chair, grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his back.

“Senpai! Wait for me! Hey, you wanna go to that really cute restaurant that just opened last week? It’s got a Michelin Star but I’m sure I can get us seats!”

005. be-friend

“Marius! You’re so funny!”

“Wow, Marius — that’s incredible! You’re so smart!”

Marius laughs, carding a hand through his hair, his expression bright and open and unassuming, but the group of people around him all inch in closer, as sunflowers might strain towards the sun.

“Hey.”

You lean against the doorframe with an amused grin.

Marius looks up, his eyes visibly brightening as he sees you.

“Senpai! I was waiting for you!”

“Bullshit. We’re gonna be late for the show.” You tap at your wrist where a watch might be as Marius bounds out of his chair, shaking off his hoard of simpering admirers.

“W-wait! Marius! We’re all gonna head to the Ace Club later — you know, the super exclusive one? Don’t you wanna come with us?” one of the girls asks hopefully.

Marius turns, smiling as if he doesn’t hear the strained desperation in her voice, the flash of annoyance in her eyes as she looks you over.

“Sorry! Maybe next time — I’ve got a theater date I can’t miss. Bye!”

“You know if you keep calling them dates, people are going to get the wrong idea, right?” you ask breezily, sounding less concerned and more amused.

“So? Let them get the wrong idea.”

You cast him a mischievous grin, “Ah… the prince in love with the pauper. Tale as old as time.”

At this, Marius pouts, “Senpai… so mean to me… and you were the one who wanted to be my friend first.”

You wave him off with a flap of your hands, “Sure, but you’re the one who stuck around.”

“Hmph, maybe after tonight’s show, we’ll go our separate ways then,” Marius makes a show of harumphing and stomping off in front of you as you laugh and jog to catch up, swatting him in the side with your bag.

“So you’re just hanging out with me for the theater perks?”

“Yep! Well, I knew you’d find me out eventually,” Marius smiles, teasing as the pair of you make your way off campus and turn towards the community theater.

After a while, Marius bumps you with his elbow, “You really are super good at costume design… are you sure you don’t wanna —”

“I don’t want a handout, Marius.” Your voice has gone cold and clipped, and Marius bites his lip, shoulders shrugging up as you continue to walk.

“I wasn’t offering one. It’s just… there’s a Pax program for young aspiring artists to study abroad in Europe and…”

“And you’re offering to get me in? That’s literally the definition of a handout.”

“No! I’m just telling you about it. I swear I won’t say a word about your application — if you even apply, that is…” he sounds eager in a way that you haven’t heard in a long time. Not since he’d entered the school fine arts contest under a pseudonym.

You give him a sidelong look before sighing, “I’ll… think about it.”

“Okay! That’s —” he reigns himself in as he skips out in front of you, looking not unlike an over-excited puppy, “that’s… good! Wah — I’m so excited for tonight’s play! Hamlet, right?”

You laugh as you hurry to catch up to him, “Yeah. But it’s not like you haven’t seen it before — didn’t you say that you dad took you to see it in London or something?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How?”

Marius rolls his eyes, smiling cheekily down at you, but when you catch his eyes you see them go soft, the light in them somehow molten as he looks and looks and looks at you.

“Obviously, because Ophelia’s dress wouldn’t have been made by you!”

006. stay and leave

“I got in!”

Marius blinks at the flat beige of his bedroom ceiling as your voice rings out from across the phone line. The bed beneath him is perfectly made, the silken sheets freshly pressed from this morning.

“A-ah! Congrats, senpai!” he tries to sound like his usual cheery self but he’s not sure how successful it is.

A beat.

“Marius?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Another beat. Marius shifts, curling onto his side, cradling the phone to his ear as he stares at the halo of light cast by his artisan bedside lamp.

“For… telling me about the program. And… for not pulling any strings on the back end.”

Marius grins, flipping onto his back again, “How’dyou know I didn’t?”

Your laugh comes through the line, soft and sweet.

“Because. I know you.”

Something inside Marius squeezes; he fists his fingers into the soft silk of his nightshirt. Warmth spreads from the base of his spine up through the rest of his body till he’s tingling from his toes to his nose. He wrinkles it, feeling abashed as he scratches at his cheek, even though he knows you can’t see the gesture.

“R-right — so! When do you leave?”

“End of the summer — so…”

“So?”

You sound hesitant in a way that he’s not used to.

“I’ll miss you.”

He almost misses the words, they’re so soft, so quiet that he almost thinks he might’ve imagined them. But he knows your voice almost better than he knows his own, knows the color and shape, the weight and temperature. Knows how it gets pitched when you’re excited, and flat when you get mad. Knows the giddiness that fills it like sweet champagne bubbles when you know something and want to share. Knows the dull coolness of it when you’re done or tired or annoyed.

“Senpai…” Marius presses his cheek ever closer to the face of the phone, “if you keep saying that, I might ask them to rescind your acceptance letter just so you can’t go.”

He smiles, bracing for the sharp bite of your reprimand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears you sigh.

“Just promise you’ll come visit, okay?”

“Sure! I’ll come every weekend if you want! My dad’s old jet’s been sitting in the hanger anyway.”

“Mm, maybe not every weekend.”

“Aw… senpai, I thought you’d want to see me!”

“I do! Just… you know what I mean.”

Marius chuckles, throwing his free arm over his eyes, reveling in the temporary darkness. A strange, hot tightness gathers at the back of his throat as he sighs. He feels the tickle of words on his tongue — and what is it about the nighttime that makes it so much easier to say the things he might never have the courage to in daylight?

“Senpai… if I asked you to stay… what would you say?”

“Hm?”

“If I — I mean… if I told you, right now, that… that I didn’t want you to go…”

You hum as if contemplating his question. Marius squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’d tell you you were being a spoiled brat and very selfish,” you say, but there’s a lightness to your tone that makes Marius smile.

“Well… I’ll never escape allegations of either of those things,” Marius replies.

“And then, I’d tell you that you’re being stupid because — why ask me to stay, when you can just come with me?”

Marius sits up, “Ha?”

“I’ve seen your art, Marius. You’re brilliant. You’d be the first to get in, even without being the next CEO of Pax.”

Marius stares at his own hand, now lying limply in his lap. He’d never considered entering the program himself — it’d be a huge conflict of interest. But… if he didn’t apply as himself then…

“Aren’t you being a little selfish too, senpai? Asking a guy to move across the entire world with you.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Marius drags his hand down his face, feeling his heart thudding right beneath this throat, a strong, startling hoofbeat that thrums through him. It beats behind his ears, rushes blood to his fingertips. He squeezes at the bridge of his nose, a recklessness filling him like helium to a balloon and suddenly, he’s weightless as he lets himself fall back onto this too-big mattress.

Later, long after he’s hung up the phone, your voice still echoing in the recesses of his half-asleep mind. He smiles to himself, pressing a palm to his chest to feel the rhythmic, certain beating of his own heart.

That, he thinks, is the girl I’m going to marry someday.

007. want and need (redux)

Years later, long after he kisses you for the first time at the airport in Florence, when you’d come to meet him for his first year in the young artists program, Marius flies you back under the guise of an anniversary trip.

You have a feeling you know what he’s going to do, and he knows you well enough to know that you do too.

Still, when he gets down on one knee, your eyes are gleaming with unshed tears.

“Remember when you told me you didn’t want anything from me the first time we met?” he asks, grinning up at you, a velvet box in the palm of his hands.

“Well… I can’t the same because… the truth is, ever since that first meeting in the library I’ve wanted so many things from you — I wanted to hear you laugh, to watch you when you designed your clothes, to listen to your voice every night on the phone till I fell asleep…”

There are flowers everywhere, and the sunlight is magnificent on Marius’s white tux. He looks like a prince stepped right out of the pages of all your favorite fairy tales; he looks like a daydream. You briefly wonder if this is a dream, but Marius charges on, and amongst all the tittering guests that surround you in the gallery, you’re the only one who notices the slight tremor in Marius’s voice, way his breath is just a tad more shallow than it usually is.

You reach down to pull him up, and you shake your head.

“Y’know, I lied to you — that first time, when I told you I didn’t want anything.” Your voice is scratchy from the tears, but Marius grins.

“Oh? Then… you did want something from me?”

You press your hand to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thudding beneath your palm.

“Yeah. I wanted… this.”

It’s a horrible, cheesy line, but all things considered, you think it feels right.

Marius laughs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours, cupping your cheeks.

His smile is radiance itself.

“Good… because I want this too,” and he reaches down to open the lid of the tiny velvet box. You barely notice the ring for the feel of it as he slips it around your finger.

“But… I want so much more than that too — I want your everything — your body, your mind, your soul, your life — I want you to spend it with me, because even though you never wanted anything from me… all I’ve ever wanted to do was give my everything to you.”

You swallow, wiping at your eyes with an exasperated laugh.

“Dummy, you’ve always had it,” you hiccup as Marius tips your chin up with a finger, his eyes going soft as he looks over the planes and contours of your face — ever an artist, his gaze always both hungry and admiring. As if he could never get enough, but that won’t ever stop him from trying — from wanting.

“I’ve always been yours,” you say, and time itself is caught in the negative space between your lips.

Marius nods, reaching down to thumb at the solidness of the ring now circling your finger.

“Then… that’s the only thing I’ll ever want or need.”

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xxblairexxss · 1 year ago

Text

Jealousy (part 4)

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

The end! Thank you for loving the short series. I think this might be my best one yet because I didn’t limit myself to include everything but it was longer than my usual ones. Apologies it long fics are not your thing!

Your week went by with no more phone calls. Charles didn’t ask for another chance to speak to you and you were so glad he didn’t because you weren’t sure if you were gonna find it appealing or irritating. Deep down, you knew there was still an enraged flame in your heart that you couldn’t ignore regardless of your feelings for him.

You stopped replying to his texts too but you still read it from the notifications bar. He would tell you about what he did on the day, would ask you if you had eaten, how was your day but none of his questions were answered. He went to Maranello right away and stayed there until the next race so you were glad you didn’t have to meet him.

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Charles was demented with worry. He knew he was hoping too much when you unblocked his number but he never thought you would stop replying to his texts. He didn’t know what you were up to and that made him agitated.

Y/F/N has added to their story

You hadn’t unblock him on his Instagram but he would still be able to see your friend’s. He saw pictures of you on your friend’s Instagram story, all smiles and grinning ear to ear. He missed you a lot. He would stare at his phone every night before he went to sleep, anticipating your name popping up in his notification or phone call but none of it actually came. He was disappointed, of course, but he knew he deserved this.

But he still hadn’t lose you, had he?

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You had declined Charles’s offer to join him on his private flight to Mexico because you still had things to do at work on Friday so you had to miss practice rounds. You even forced Y/F/N to come with you so you wouldn’t be left alone with Charles because you didn’t know how to act and what to say around him. As if he wasn’t your boyfriend for 2 years.

“Please come with me! Please please please!”

Y/F/N rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning her back on you to which earned her a pillow threw at her head. “No, thank you. Hey!” She then sat up and threw it back at you and chortled at the face you made.

“I need you there! I can’t be with him alone!”

“He was your boyfriend for 2 years. Why are you acting as if you haven’t done anything nasty with him.” You stopped peeking inside your closet and glared at her.

“That was so unrelated.”

“You get what I mean! If you don’t want to be left alone then just ignore him! Plus, he’s gonna be so busy he won’t have time to chase after you.” Y/F/N shook her head at the navy top you showed her and you placed it back into the rows of clothes.

“I know but he even asked me to go to the after party. You know what happened the last time I went to a social event.” You picked another top and earned a yes from Y/F/N so you folded it into your small luggage.

“There’s a party?” You heard her sounded intrigued. You should have known this better. She would never say no to parties. The conversations could have been a plain sailing one if only you mentioned this topic first.

“Yeah. There’ll be hot guys everywhere. It’s a shame you couldn’t come.” You packed another pair of pants and saw in the corner of your eyes Y/F/N scrammed away, leaving the room.

“Wait for me!”

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You arrived at the hotel early in the morning and Charles had arranged everything. Y/F/N was passed out as soon as you guys checked in while you immediately gotten ready to go to the paddock before the qualifying round started.

Once you arrived, there were still a lot of people waiting at the entrance meanwhile the paddock was already packed with a few interviews being done at every spots. You only took a few steps when you heard your phone rang.

“Hi.”

You looked up from your phone and saw your boyfriend, or ex boyfriend, whichever you preferred walking towards you and you hated yourself for feeling this way. You felt like a kid who bumped into their crush at a school hallway. That silly, giddy with excitement as if it was your first time meeting him. Your heart was throbbing so loud that if he told you he could hear your heartbeat, you would have believed him right away. The butterflies in your stomach went wild and it made your knees weak. You smiled back at him and he took your hand in his, clasping it as he turned and walked back to the entrance. The sound of the fans around the paddock area screaming his name turned into a mumble as you kept your eyes on his back.

You were so glad you didn’t get to see and talk to him that much throughout the rest of the qualifying round. You didn’t even stay until the end though he offered you a ride back to the hotel.

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“How was it?”

“It was okay?”

Y/F/N mocked your face and you squinted your eyes at her. “What?”

“Tell me more! Did he say anything? Did he hug you? Tried to kiss you maybe?”

“No! He just held my hand. It’s not like he had any free time to even talk about us.” You took off your earrings and tied your hair in a bun.

“Such an asshole, isn’t he? When is he gonna apologise? Is he even gonna say sorry? Does he know how to say sorry?” You heard her blabbered with a mouth full of chips.

“We are not talking about this anymore. I’m gonna take a bath.”

As you started shampooing your roots, you heard the doorbell ring and thought it was just another room service that your best friend might had ordered.

“Hi, can I talk to Y/N?”

“She’s busy. We’re busy.” Y/F/N looked at the guy up and down and was going to close the door on him when he propelled it back.

“Wait! Please, I just want to give her something.”

Y/F/N stretched her arm forward and Charles blinked in confusion. “Give it to me. I’ll pass it to her.”

“Can I see her instead?”

“No. Either you pass it to me to you can go back to your room.” She replied sternly to which made him obediently handed the paper bags to her and walked away.

“Look,” Charles stopped in his trail when he heard her broke the silence.

“I’m not mad at you. Wait, I am mad at you. I’m pissed off, actually. But as much as I want her to leave your ass, she still loves you and I think that’s more than enough confirmation you need. I’ll give you a space to talk to her tomorrow so do whatever you need to do.” Charles was going to say something but the door slammed on his face faster than he could even blink.

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“Who was that? Did you order room service?” You walked out the bathroom in robes with wet hair, gasping when you saw boxes of pizza and doughnuts on the coffee table. “This is a lot! When did you buy them? Oh, this is my favourite!”

“I didn’t. The delivery guy came all the way to our room to deliver these.” You saw the displeased face on her and frowned in confusion.

“He also left you that. I don’t know what you told him but you could open a Dior pop-up shop with those stuffs.”

You looked to the side and saw a Dior paper bag full of different shades of the new lip gloss. It was the one you briefly mentioned in your last phone call with him. There was also a small note written on it. “I might forgot or had missed you said your favourite shade during our last call so I got them all. And I don’t think you have eaten anything after the qualifying round today so enjoy the food.”

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The race ended with Charles getting P3, letting him to get the podium spot again after missing it a few races. Y/F/N has asked you to head back early because she needed hours to make sure she looked hot to flirt all the guys at the afterparty. It always made you wonder how both of you ended up being best friends even with all those contrasts in your personalities.

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You arrived with Y/F/N a few minutes late so it was already crowded with people. As much as it made you feel nervous, Y/F/N was thrilled.

“You look beautiful, angel.”

“Oh?” You turned around and was greeted with Charles, hands in his pocket, a few steps away from you. You opened your mouth to reply to the compliment, but Y/F/N cut you off.

“Right? Too beautiful to be treated like a shit.”

You nudged her on her waist and glowered. “Okay, this is not the time!”

“I’m off! Charles, she’s yours.” Y/F/N fixed your hair before leaving both of you, too fast that you couldn’t even catch her arm to force her to stay with you.

“Thank you..” You awkwardly smiled, your hands were clasp together, trying not to look at his green eyes that much.

“Thank you?”

“For yesterday. You really didn’t have to, but , thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing compared to what you actually deserved. Anyway, do you want to—“ Charles turned around and saw one of his friends calling out to him. You looked at the source of the voice and saw his group of friends standing at the end of the room.

“You should go with them.”

“No, come with me.” He was going to seize your hand when you stepped back in defence.

“It’s fine, I’ll be somewhere else.”

“Y/F/N will kill me if she finds you alone. I know you hate me and you don’t want to be left alone with me but stay with me this time. Please?”

You felt his hand gently taking yours in his as he looked into your eyes, as if he was asking for consent and you gave in. Sure, you despised him a lot but the moment he held your hand, feeling his thumb stroking your knuckles, it reminded you that he had always been your solace in life. It took everything in you to not embrace him right there and then.

He introduced you to the rest of the groups and immediately engaged in a full conversations. His hand never left yours. You were just standing by his side, playing around with your heels when you were greeted with Y/F/N and a few people with her. She would always brought her group of friends with you at any party just to introduce you, her best friends with her new friends. Charles turned around when he felt you accidentally tugged on his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were so glad for Y/F/N and was simply amazed with her social skills. Though you had a hard time engaging in a conversation and preferred to just listened, she kept on pulling you into the conversation by constantly asking you series of questions.

“That’s the worse. Right, Y/N?”

“Isn’t Y/N so pretty? I did her hair.”

“Y/N is very good at mix and match her clothes. Right, Y/N? But she still needed my help.”

Throughout the conversations, Charles still kept your hand in his but then it got uncomfortable when your hand started sweating so you ended up holding his pinky finger, occasionally fiddled with his fingers since you didn’t have your ring on. You thought he would pull away but he didn’t. He didn’t even budge.

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“Do you wanna go back to the hotel?”

“Can we?”

“Of course, angel. Let’s go.”

Charles had took you back to the hotel but it was only when you had arrived in front of your room when you realised you didn’t have your access card with you. He had asked you to stay in his room first until Y/F/N called.

It had been a while since the last time you were with him in a small space. As soon as you walked in, you were greeted with his smell, the mixture of scent between the different collection of his perfumes, the smell of his shower gels it was all too overwhelming it made your eyes teared up instantly.

“Sit down, silly. Why are you standing?”

You let out a sob, looking down and he stoop down to look at your face, sounding all worried and anxious. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Y/N?”

You continued to sob uncontrollably and he enfolded you in his arms, one hand around the back of your head and another one wrapped on your waist. “It’s okay, angel. I got you.”

“I hate you.”

His arms around your figure tighten when your body shook and he planted a kiss on the side of your head. “It’s okay, I hate myself too.”

“But I miss you so much, I miss your touch, your kiss, your voice, everything about you. I tried so hard to ignore you because maybe it would be easier for me to end everything, to end us but it was so hard.” The silent tears kept on running down your cheeks that you were so sure his shirt was already soaked.

Charles’s blood ran cold when you mentioned about ending things. Both of you had always been so optimistic with the relationship. You would always talked about how you would grow old together and he would have to assure you that he would always find you beautiful or you would have sulk.

He pulled away and crouched down to hold your cheeks in his hands and level his eyes with yours. “No, please, no. Please don’t leave me. Please, angel. I know I fucked up but give me another chance to be better. To fix this. I know it makes me selfish but I can’t see you with anyone else. Please.”

You didn’t reply but kept on wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, harshly, because of how frustrating everything was.

“I’ll kneel down if you want. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I can’t lose you. I really, really can’t.” His eyes were red from holding his tears and it smashed your heart. He looked so broken with compunction it made you cry even more.

“I’m sorry for what I did. I should have listened to you. I just got so mad when I saw you with other guys when I should have known better. I was too blinded with jealousy.” He took a shaky breath and wrapped you back in his arms so you wouldn’t see him cry.

“And when I saw what happened to you that night, I was just so furious at myself for being so stupid and allowing that to happen to you so I just blew up at you when all you needed was just my commiseration and assurance.” He left a few lingering kisses to the crown of your head and mumbled against your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, angel.”

“Do you miss me?”

You felt his chest quivered as he tittered to your silly question. Had you got a glimpse of his life during the absence of you, you would have seen how miserable he actually was. “I don’t think the words I miss you is enough to express how much I long for you.”

You were no longer hugging his middle but your body was flushed against him as you stroke his cheek, feeling it damp from the tears that he tried to hide from you.

His arms left your waist briefly as he unhooked the necklace around his neck, pulling the end of it so the ring would slip out into his palm. “Do you… accept my apology?”

“I’ll think about it.” You giggled when he looked taken aback. “You are forgiven, Charles.”

“Can I put this back on you?” He looked nervous, as if he was going through every words he was about to say, too scared if you would slip off his fingers again.

“Are you proposing to me?”

“Not yet but I will. Mark my words.” He slid the ring back into your ring finger and lifted your hand to peck on it. Your arms circled around his neck as he locked you in his embrace. Your face was just an inch away from him that your nose would collide into his every time you moved your head a little. “I love you, Y/N.”

“And I love you more, Charles.” He dipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours, his arms cinching you to him as you kissed him back, your hands feeling the silken strands of his hair against your fingers.

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“Hello?” Charles squinted his eyes and put the phone to his ear, slightly whispering to not wake up the sleeping beauty in his arms.

“Charles? Do you happened to know where Y/N is? I just realised she’s not in the room.”

He laid his head back on the pillow and yawned. “Go to sleep, Y/F/N.”

“Where’s Y/N, you dick!”

“My girlfriend’s here with me. All safe and sound. You don’t have to worry.” His hand ran up and down against your back,when he felt you stirred on his chest.

“Oh, okay. I thought she was kidnapped or something. Break her heart again and I’ll make sure you won’t get any podium in your entire career. I mean it.”

You tilted your head a little to look at him, your eyes barely open. “Who was it?”

“It was just your guardian angel making sure I don’t fuck things up again. Let’s go back to sleep, baby.”

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662 notes · View notes

bqstqnbruin · 2 days ago

Text

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?”

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.”

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving.

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning.

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other.

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates.

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life.

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you.

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason.

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person.

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately.

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.”

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.”

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.”

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to.

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks.

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car.

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice.

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.”

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.”

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was.

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.”

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know.

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them?

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.”

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call.

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice.

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level.

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.”

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that.

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week.

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles.

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink.

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.”

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly.

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.”

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them.

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway.

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him.

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car.

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.”

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.”

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.”

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.”

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.”

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it.

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now.

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.”

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.”

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.”

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before?

You call Lena while you were getting ready.

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.”

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you.

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit.

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door.

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place.

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front.

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.”

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car.

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together.

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his.

“I have no idea, actually.”

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?”

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out.

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view.

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you.

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you.

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.”

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you.

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.”

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine.

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.”

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.”

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?”

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?”

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.”

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.”

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people.

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer.

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today.

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine.

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged.

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.”

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there.

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first.

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.”

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.”

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you.

He was faking it.

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head.

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you.

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.”

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others.

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.”

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time.

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport.

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park.

“Can I admit something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.”

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.”

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk.

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag.

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him.

“No.”

#brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #canucks #canucks fic #canucks imagine #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine

83 notes · View notes

aayakashii · 4 days ago

Note

Helloo Aya love your content as always and I have a request if you want to do it😊

Could you write "how would the Vagastrom and Jabberwock ghouls(+jin cause he's the only one I care about from frostheim lmao😭) propose to you/mc"😩

Anyways either way I love your fics and headcanons pls never die❤️

I love when ppl say "pls never die" to someone and now I feel elated that I'm on the receiving end of that too LMAO thank you for enjoying what I write <3 and thank you for helping me get out of my writing slump holy crap 😭

Warnings: none. Just tooth-rotting fluff, I might need a shot of insulin after writing this.

proposal headcanons

Jin

It depends on you, first and foremost.

If you're introverted, he'll make sure it'll be just the two of you, in the dim light of candles, with a dinner catered entirely to you.

Gentle music will be playing in the background as you two talk, and he tries to calm down his nerves by holding your hand tightly throughout the night.

You barely feel when he slips the ring into your finger, only noticing it when a precious gemstone glints brightly as he kisses your ring finger and murmurs the question into your trembling hand.

If you're extroverted, he'll throw a party just for the occasion. Whatever theme you like, you can consider it done.

You'll have the prettiest dress, the tastiest foods, the most delicious drinks with all the people you love surrounding you, despite you not knowing what warranted such a grand celebration.

Laughter and happy conversation suddenly quiet down as Jin brings you to the center of the room and gets down on one knee and the guests swoon over your fairytale romance.

Either way you prefer will be more than perfect for him, as long as your answer to his question is "yes".

Alan

Oh, he's so nervous. Almost can't look at you in the eye for an entire week before he gets the ring ready.

However, Alan isn't the type of guy who would prepare a special event for the proposal (but if you love him, you know this would never be his type of thing).

He does, however, want privacy to say whatever he needs to, if his heart finally decides to pour out of his mouth.

So, he takes you to a small hike.

Once you two can't hear anything besides the sound of leaves crunching under your feet and birds singing, he holds your hand tightly and turns towards you.

It's quick but soft and brimming with emotion: Alan only needs to tell you, through stutters and endearing mumbles, that you mean everything to him and that he wants to spend a lifetime with you.

He doesn't even need to ask whether or not you'd marry him. You're already hugging him so tight that you vanquish all of his anxieties in a fell swoop.

His heart thumps loudly in his chest, right under your ear, and he buries his face in your hair. You stay like this for a while, grounded and almost merged into each other.

You two only let go only when he finally remembers to slip the ring in your finger.

Leo

It's a show for the ages. It's not surprising at all that Leo would plan the fanciest, flashiest, trendiest proposal.

It will all be going straight to his TikTok right away.

But you already knew that. You know all the things that come with dating Leo. You know that his online career is way too important for him. You're fine with letting millions of fans ogle at him as he winks and vlogs and dances for them.

Because they will never see what you see.

They'll never really see how Leo's eyes look brimming with tears, nor how his hands tremble a little bit as he puts a ring on your finger.

They can't hear the little crack on his voice as he rests his forehead on yours and quietly asks you to marry him.

And when he turns to the camera, internet persona covering the tender little parts of him that he only lets you see, a smug smile on his face after you said yes, you know that you're the only one who truly knows him.

You're the only one who will marry him.

Sho

You're in for a ride, quite literally.

You don't suspect anything when he invites you to ride his motorcycle with him – Bonnie is his baby and you're his favorite person, it's more than common for him to get the two of you together.

Sho, however, can barely hide his anxiety. The dark blue band in the ring box feels like it weighs a ton, tucked deep in his pockets.

You notice his uneasiness. Of course you do. Your mind races with awful thoughts, and, as you two get off Bonnie, you immediately hold his hands, begging him to please let you know if you did anything to make him upset.

Sho feels like a dumbass. He thought he was hiding his emotions well, but it was silly of him to expect that you, of all people, wouldn't see straight into him.

But it's such a pretty day, and the air feels crisp, and the sunset paints you with orange rays of sunlight, and you look prettier than ever in his eyes.

He sighs and pulls the ring box out his pocket, putting it on your hand. His face burns with embarrassment as he says the words out loud, squashing any doubt you could ever have about the strength of your relationship with him.

You say yes as tears of relief escape your eyes, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, a small laugh bubbling out of your mouth as you feel how warm his skin is.

Haru

From the moment he saw you holding Peekaboo in your arms, Haru knew what he wanted.

He waited and waited, wondering when it could be considered socially acceptable to ask you to marry him.

Oh, if only Bahnti could make him run fast through time as well.

He tells you so once he finally decides to propose, holding the ring box he had bought right after meeting you. It was now old and muddied after all those long, agonizing months in which he kept it hidden inside his pockets.

He tells you of all the times he thought of buying other rings, one exponentially different than the other, because it was so hard not to think of you whenever he saw anything bright and pretty.

It's easy for him to see his future with you, and he promises to also make it easy for you to live with him.

He doesn't expect you to tend to his wounds nor work like he does. No, he would never even think of having you break a sweat for him.

Haru only wishes to be on the receiving end of your caring hands as well.

When you accept his proposal, you pull him onto your lap, fingers threading into his hair, and he sleeps, knowing he would wait it out all over again if it always meant you'd be his.

Towa

It doesn't take long for Towa to propose. In fact, he probably proposes every single day ever since you two got together.

But it's always light-hearted, like another way for him to say "I love you" without actually saying it.

He's given you countless rings made of flower stems, which you keep tucked safely inside a box, despite all of them withering way too soon.

When he's serious about it, however, you know.

There's not playfulness nor mirth in his eyes – just deep, infinite adoration. A seriousness on his face that shakes you to your core.

When he slips yet another ring in your finger, you notice: this one was made to look like a flower stem, but it was made of a silvery, hard band.

"This one will never wither," he says under the night sky you two had been watching. "It's a proof that I want to be with you forever".

His proposal is more of a statement than a question. You will marry him, he knows and you know as well.

And you couldn't be happier.

Ren

He hates the idea of proposals. Hates how much attention is drawn to a couple during marriage, hates the huge parties, the self-importance of couples who think the world should clap for them for just being together.

Therefore, he really doesn't expect to have marriage popping up in his mind every time he looks at you, a little into your relationship with him.

It's more of a reassurance than a romantic gesture to him.

Whenever you laugh at his jokes, spend time watching his awful horror movies, listen to his ramblings about games–

Whenever you look at him, kiss him and say his name–

Whenever you exist next to him, he wants, needs the reassurance that you won't simply go away in the blink of an eye. You won't leave him behind, back into a solitude he doesn't think he can handle anymore. Not after you.

So when he asks you after a binge of awful movies, if you'd like to spend the rest of your life with him, he does it out of desperation.

If he likes it, he needs to put a ring on it, right? Or whatever it is that someone said some time ago.

Your smile when you say you do is almost blinding. He nods and looks away, noticing his reflection on his notebook's screen seems awfully flustered.

"We'll go out to buy rings tomorrow, then." He murmurs. You lean onto his shoulder, agreeing and he sighs.

It will definitely feel good to see the proof that you're his right there, glinting on your finger.

#tokyo debunker #ask #tokyo debunker headcanons #jin kamurai #alan mido #leo kurosagi #sho haizono #haru sagara #towa otonashi #ren shiranami

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rinchfest · 4 months ago

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Coming this September to an internet near you: Rinch Fest 2024, a ship week for Harold Finch/John Reese from Person of Interest! This is a low-pressure event meant to encourage the creation of more fanworks for Finch/Reese or Finch & Reese’s friendship. Fic, art, gifs, vids, podfic, you name it—all are welcome, as long as they’re Rinch-centric.

Posting for Rinch Fest will run from September 24 through September 30, 2024

PROMPTS:

Day One – September 24 Fluff• Pining• "Always" • Dark• Domesticity

Day Two – September 25 Be Nice To John• Established Relationship• Road Trip • Food/Drinking/Cooking • Art

Day Three – September 26 Be Nice To Harold• Belly• "Beach Cabin in the Woods• "Five+1" • Pets/Animals • Music

Day Four – September 27 Kids/Babies/Pregnancy• Hugs• Clothes • Setting/Genre Change AU• The Machine

Day Five – September 28 Bed Sharing• Wedding/Marriage• Crossover • Canon Divergence • Tropes

Day Six – September 29 Finch Whump • Reese Whump • NSFW/Kink • Retirement • Home

Day Seven – September 30 Free-For-All/Catch-Up Day

Keep reading for more info!

Who’s running this? ArgylePirateWD. Hi! Now with mods @alexsrousseau and @stingalingaling

Any changes since last year? None! As in previous years, Reese&Finch friendship is also allowed

Why not call it Rinch Week? It started out as Rinch Fest on The Rinch Loft on Discord, and that’s what stuck.

Plus, Rinch Fest and Reese & Finch share the same initials.

What’s allowed? Complete fanworks focusing on Harold Finch and John Reese in a romantic or close platonic relationship with each other. Fic, art, vids, remixes, sequels, you name it! No length requirements, no style requirements, all ratings allowed—do what you want!

Anything not allowed? Works where Finch/Reese or Finch & Reese is not the primary relationship (additional ships are fine), works that are incomplete at the time of posting, and remixes or other transformative works for other people’s fanworks that are done without the original creator’s permission. Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled.

Also, don’t be a jerk.

What about [insert controversial topic here]? Can I make something with x?/OMG someone made something with x! Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled. This includes works featuring tropes and kinks that you may not like or approve of. As long as it’s warned for, it’s fine and allowed.

Please warn for the usual AO3 warnings (Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, and Underage) and any subjects others may find deeply unpleasant, and clearly label any NSFW works.

What about poly? Gen? Poly is wonderful, but this is a Finch/Reese or Finch&Reese event. Sorry.

Finch & Reese gen is allowed!

What do I do with x prompt?/Can I do [insert concept here]? Anything goes! Seriously, however you want to interpret a prompt is fine.

Do I have to make something for every prompt? No! You can if you want, but it’s not required. Feel free to skip days, combine prompts, create multiple fills for each day, anything! This is as flexible as it gets.

If it fits multiple prompts, when do I post it? Whatever day works best for you!

What if I want to do something NSFW? There's no nsfw prompt this year. Is it still allowed? YES! Bring on the spicy if you want!

What about a multi-chapter/piece thing where each chapter fulfills one day’s prompt? When do I post that? Post an update each relevant day until you’re done! (Just make sure you can finish it by the end of the event.)

What if it doesn’t fit a prompt? That’s what Day 7 is for! :D

What if I need to post my fill(s) on a different day? Life happens. The AO3 collection is set to Unrevealed, so I can reveal early submissions on the right day, but if that doesn’t work for you, I’m sure we can work something out.

Can I work on a previously-posted WIP? As long as it’s finished when you make your post for the event, sure! If you’re just updating a WIP without finishing it, no.

Can I start working now? Absolutely! That’s why I’m announcing it now—so there’s plenty of time for people to make things.

Can I talk about/share previews of what I’m working on? Sure!

Wait, there’s a Rinch Discord server? Do I have to join to do this? Of course not. We’d love to have you at The Rinch Loft, and it’s a fun place to hang out, but Rinch Fest is for anyone into Rinch.

If I want the Discord link… Send in an Ask to the @rinchfest Tumblr, contact ArgylePirateWD somewhere, or ask around. It’s open to anyone who likes Rinch or Person of Interest. I’m happy to give it out to anyone who wants it.

Where do I post? On Tumblr, post to your blog and use the #rinchfest23 or #rinchweek23 tags. You are They are being watched. 👁 And maybe add @rinchfest in your post to be sure. Tumblr is as hungry as Bear and Shaw.

Submissions are also open.

On AO3, you can post it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/rinchfest23/

Do I have to have a Tumblr? AO3? As long as you’re on some kind of platform and can get a link to the work to me somehow so I can share it with the world, you’re welcome to play.

On October 1st, I’ll make a round-up post full of links to all the shiny things people made. If I know you made it, it’ll go in!

What time zone? The daily prompt posts will be going up at 12 am Central Time, but as long as it’s the relevant day for your fill somewhere in the world, go ahead and throw it in!

(And if you want to sneak in some Day 7 things a little after, as long as they get posted before the Master Post goes up… 😉)

Sounds fun! How do I sign up? No signups! Just post your stuff somewhere on the right day(s), and you’re in!

#rinch #harold finch #john reese #person of interest #poi #person of interest fanworks #person of interest fan art #person of interest fanfiction

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crazyunsexycool · 11 months ago

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A love as sweet as honey

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: this series is set in the My little love universe and after the events of that story. While you don’t have to read it there are characters from that fic that will definitely make an appearance or will be important parts of this fic!

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Extras: snack time • happy dance for bee• Bee’s-Steve’s Shield •Tiny Hands • FaceTime • slow dancing in the dark • pregnancy pillow • Watermelon baby • America’s Ass • The Barnes protection squad • Shots • That’s you? • Love Songs • dancing in the rain • Snack mobile • Bee’s Bocci doll • Introduction 🎃 Halloween 🎃 Attitude with Auntie Nat

The friendship you had with Steve Rogers was odd. At least to you it was. Steve was well liked, social, kind, friendly and always there to lend a helping hand. You saw it in the way he cared for his best friends’ kids or how he looked after the team. On the other hand you weren’t too much of a people person. You preferred solitude, were easily annoyed by others and most people would describe you as a grump. Yet these differences didn’t stop the friendship from blossoming. It didn’t stop your attraction either.

That attraction combined with alcohol and loneliness lead to the one thing you never thought possible. A one night stand with Steve Rogers. You thought it would be one night and done but you were wrong. A few weeks later and a fainting spell later you get the news that you’re pregnant. The news turned your world upside down. You had to tell Steve but you weren’t sure what his reaction would be. More than that what will happen with the baby? Will you have to fight to stay in his or her life? What will Steve think of all of it? Does he even want kids?

Steve likes you. Even if you try and hide behind this wall of solitude you've built. He can see right through it. The trust issues, how you’ve been burned before. None of that stops his growing affection for you. So when you both get drunk and wake up naked, he’s slightly shocked but mostly glad it was you. Then you tell him the best news anyone could have ever given him. He was going to be a dad. Will you finally let that wall down and let him in? Will you finally stop pushing him away? What if this was just a ploy to create another super baby that can be used as a weapon?

#a love as sweet as honey series #Steve rogers x reader #Captain America #Steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dad!steve rogers #dad!steve rogers x mom!reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #Steve rogers series

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jordosprout · 1 month ago

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And With Thunder Comes Rain

Pairing: Wrecker x GN!Reader SFW

Can be read platonically/Mutual Pining

Dividers: @stars-n-spice

Word Count: 3,443

Warnings: Angst, Descriptions of storms, Nightmares, Sleep deprivation, Grief, Wrecker feels guilty

Summary: Wrecker comes to you looking for comfort after the events of Eriadu.

AN: Look at me all punctual when I'm the one making the due date? But nooo when someone else tells me I need to have something done at a certain time, that's just not possible /lh. Please note this is my first time really writing a fic for Wrecker! If need be I might make edits to this. Gender neutral pronouns are used at the end, other than that none are used. Please enjoy!!

It has been a standard week since the events of Eriadu and the capture of Omega that followed.

There was so much uncertainty that puddled inside you and the squad—every day you spent tense and on edge, not knowing what the future would bring—having little to no sense of familiarity or consistency. You didn’t know how to adapt to the rapid changes around you—how to move around the physical and emotional wounds that persisted you during every task. Everything was going faster than you could process. But eventually, it became clear that you couldn’t just do nothing.

That was when the obsessive need to become a better pilot for the Batch started. It was the only thing you could think of that would make you useful right now. Flying like your life depended on it was the only thing that distracted you from the turmoil of such a detrimental loss.

You started one of your runs after Hunter’s briefing, notifying you and Wrecker that Echo would be leaving with Rex later that day cycle. It must have been 3, no, 4 hours before you were commed by Hunter “Havoc 6, it’s time to come down. You’ve been at it long enough.”

You shook your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you, “No can do Sarge, I need to get this down.” you explained, using the nickname you started calling him when you first joined his squad. He wasn’t ever technically your sergeant, and you found it fun to pull his leg with that fact.

He said your name in a warning tone, “That’s an order.”

You groaned, you hated when he pulled that card. No, he wasn’t your sergeant, but you still followed and respected him as the leader, and he knew that. You probably shouldn’t continue to test him.

Turning the Marauder you made your return to the cliff you stationed yourselves at, camping out in a large cave on the side of it. You completed your landing sequence, exiting the shuttle begrudgingly with a displeased Hunter to greet you, a hand on his hip; Echo was beside him shaking his head. You simply responded putting both of your hands on your hips and childishly poking out your tongue at Hunter. You looked behind him, finding Wrecker sitting on an old crate. He had been more open about the hurt caused by the last mission. Often quiet, saying little to nothing. You felt your eyebrows press together in worry.

You moved past Hunter taking a seat beside Wrecker on a separate crate. You looked down at his hand resting next to his leg. You wanted nothing more than to hold it.

But instead, you rubbed his shoulder attempting to soothe the hurting giant next to you.

Echo’s departure wasn’t making the changes any easier for anybody. You all knew it was coming, that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. That his heart was in the fight. But you hoped all of you would have a few more days before Rex took him back. You enjoyed his presence, and even if they didn’t outright say it, so did the rest of the squad.

You stayed with Wrecker whilst Echo and Hunter awaited Rex’s arrival beside the Marauder. Wrecker had kept his gaze on the floor, his eyes carrying a sad gleam.

Once Rex’s shuttle arrived, Echo approached you and placed his hand on one of your shoulders.

“Make sure they stay outta trouble.”

You nod, trying desperately to not let your emotions get to you.

“And quit drinking so much karking caf, it’s not good for you,” he said light-heartedly as he gave you a squeeze on your shoulder.

You gave a playful scoff, “No promises,” you responded causing him to roll his eyes.

“Just try, yeah?”

You look away from him and rub your head, mumbling, “Yeah yeah, I’ll work on it.”

Moving over to Wrecker, Echo gave him a reassuring squeeze on the bicep, “Everything will be fine, don’t worry.”

Wrecker only gives a faint nod in response, his eyes slightly wincing at the pain from moving his neck.

Echo gave you both one more nod goodbye before he turned around to head to Rex’s ship. Rex wrapped an arm around his shoulder and walked him up the ramp. Echo turned his head and gave you all a wave of his scomp before the doors closed, and the ship took him with it.

You all stood there, watching as Rex and Echo left the atmosphere. Even Wrecker lifted his head to watch the man he had come to care for leave. You couldn’t help the pang in your heart. You wanted nothing more than to keep your boys with you, so you could know they were safe. But you knew that what Echo was doing was important work that he needed to do for himself—for his brothers.

Once Rex’s shuttle was no longer visible, Wrecker stood, heading inside the Marauder, leaving only you and Hunter outside.

“What do we do now, Sarge?” you asked, unable to hide the waver of doubt in your voice. You hoped your leader would give you a plan you could hold yourself to.

Hunter sighed, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. “We keep searching. We… don’t let Tech’s sacrifice go to waste. That’s what we do.”

“But how?”

He turned to face you, “I don't know,

but we’ll figure it out. We always do. We have to, for all our sakes.”

It’s been only three days since Echo left, and Wrecker became that of a ghost. Spending the past few days in the gunner’s mount. The silence that came made the Marauder feel foreign; as if you walked onto the wrong ship. You wished he’d talk to you, to Hunter. You just wanted him to say something. You hated it when everything was so quiet. At least when he and Omega were making a ruckus, you knew they were okay. A loud crew was an alive one.

You had spent the entirety of the day helping Hunter take count of inventory. And with your final numbers, the pit in your stomach deepened. There were only two days worth of rations to split between the crew. And when you told Hunter he was, expectantly, just as concerned. You saw his heart sink, and the bags under his sleep-deprived eyes deepen.

“I need to comm Rex,” he mumbled, running a hand down his face before heading to the cockpit and immediately attempting to make contact with Rex. He only patched through after his second attempt. The conversation wasn’t long, as Rex and Echo had a mission to pick up a clone wanting to leave the empire. But miraculously, they had someone in mind to help.

As soon as Rex gave him the information he needed, Hunter moved to the Navicomps and began mapping out the route you were to take. You offered to give him a hand, but he insisted he had it covered. So instead you left him with a cup of caf before you went to the cockpit.

You hoped Rex’s contact would be able to help as he said. That once you had a full inventory, everyone’s minds would be able to settle. That you’d be able to get on your feet to start searching for answers.

The cloudy day transitioned into a stormy night on the planet you and the boys managed to station yourselves on; the drumming of rain becoming a hypnotic lullaby. You have a hot cup of caf in your hands. It makes sense to stay awake instead of disrupting your sleep later since you’d need to be awake in three standard hours to meet Rex’s contact. However, you couldn't help the calm, empty daze coming over you. It was pleasant to have an empty mind, to say the least, even if it was only for a moment—even if it was hard to maintain when the ship's silence matched that of your head.

It felt wrong trying to enjoy the calm after losing so much—after losing everything. As if, you weren't allowed to have it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing yourself for not enjoying the moment. Who knew when you’d have one like this again?

You grumbled inaudibly to yourself, finishing the last of your caf as you stared out the transparisteel. When you were about to get up to refill your cup, you could almost feel Echo’s disapproving gaze.

So you decided that maybe one would be enough.

You rubbed your hands together, it was freezing in the Marauder. You wanted nothing more than to turn on the heating systems, but Hunter told you against it earlier; he wanted to conserve energy when possible. You tucked the old Republic-issued blanket on your lap, the thin fabric doing little to keep you warm.

“When have we ever followed orders?”

“No!”

“Tech!”

Wrecker’s body shoots up, banging his head, thunder challenging him as it crashes loudly in the distance. His body is ridden with shivers, unable to regain control as he takes in his surroundings—frantically looking for Lula. A relieved sigh escapes him once he sees her arm poking out from behind him. Wrecker immediately went to lift her to his face. The soft and familiar fabric was a nice contrast to his sweat-covered skin. He moved to sit crisscrossed, resting the tooka doll in his lap. Tears fell as he fiddled with the ears of the doll Tech had made him when they were cadets.

Nightmares have been pursuing Wrecker as their prey since they got back from their failed mission. And while Lula used to chase them away, she wasn’t able to this time. Because the nightmares were real.

They happened, they weren’t a reality he could run from.

He had always thought that he would have been the one to call out Plan 99—to go down for his vods. But here he was. Still here, still alive, while one of them wasn’t. Because he wasn’t able to reach him fast enough.

Because he failed.

Wrecker wiped away the tears before they fell, his lip pulling to a frown as he refrained from letting out a sob.

He was convinced that this was supposed to be easier. The Kaminoans made it seem like it would be. They all went through so much conditioning in case a vod was lost. Yet, despite that. Despite what he was told, he sat there, unable to grasp the idea of losing one of them, for as much as he knew, forever.

He gulped hard, he needed to be around someone. He shifted in the gunner’s mount and made his way down, beloved Lula still in hand.

He looked to his side at the Navicomps, finding Hunter asleep. He hesitated in waking up his vod and decided to see if someone else was awake instead.

The silence was suddenly broken when footsteps began to thud throughout the shuttle, and you immediately recognized them as Wrecker. There was a momentary quiet before the door to the cockpit wooshed open. Wrecker, or who you assumed to be Wrecker, stood quietly at the entrance.

“Y’ up?” He finally asked, attempting to be quiet in case you weren't. His voice was more graveled than usual from the lack of use.

“Yeah, I'm awake.” You responded, turning your seat to face him. He still had his neck brace, and had Lula in one of his hands.

He stayed where he stood, shifting his weight again with a hand on the back of his head while the other continued to hold Lula.

“S’ okay uh… if I sit in here?”

You nodded, offering a gentle smile. He made his way to the copilot seat before easing himself down. He leaned back into the chair, eyes fixed on the sky in front of you.

“What’s Hunter up to?” you asked casually, attempting to make light conversation.

“He fell asleep at the Navi. I didn’t wanna wake 'em up.” He told you, rubbing one of Lula's arms between his pointer and thumb.

You hummed, not surprised. You’ve found Hunter like that a few times yourself recently; only sleeping in short bursts before he was working again. And while you’ve insisted on him simply sleeping on a rack instead, he couldn’t bring himself to. The idea of not doing anything made him restless. That was clear. But some sleep is always better than no sleep.

You both stared up at the water droplets coming and going. Lightning expertly streaked the clouds like they were a canvas and it was a master painter; thunder shaking the sky above not long after. Wrecker was almost completely silent beside you. After a few moments of shared quiet, you glanced at him, his form silhouetted in darkness, the glow of navigation screens illuminating the edges of his face. You cleared your throat.

“So…How’re ya holdin’ up?” you finally prompted. You already knew that answer. But you wanted him to know you were here for him.

Wrecker continued to face the windshield as he glanced at you with glassy eyes. He cleared his throat before he looked back to the glass as his lips tightened into a line. Only then did you notice the shake in his hands. How long have they been doing that?

“Wreck?” you called for him softly, but he didn’t give you a response. He merely put his head into his right hand, the flesh of his thumb and pointer finger covering his eyes. You shifted in your seat and leaned in, grabbing his left hand into yours. It continued to shake as his shoulders began to follow suit; Lula being left in his lap. You squeezed, and his calloused hand squeezed back. “Wrecker…” you gently pleaded.

He breathed in through his nose sharply before the thoughts that plagued him fell like an avalanche.

“I miss em’. I miss Omega I miss Crosshair- I-” he swallowed hard, before trembling out, “I miss Tech. I should’ve been able to reach him- he was right there but I couldn’t,” his lips tightened “I’m sorry I couldn’t-” was all he could get out before a sob interrupted him

You grabbed his cheek, “Wrecker, look at me…” you asked, silently begging him to oblige.

He lifted his head from his hand, looking at you with guilt-ridden eyes. You tilted your head to get a better look at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Wrecker you need to understand that it’s not your fault. There was nothing you or anyone could have done. Tech… did what he knew would give us the best chance to get out. If there was another solution, he would have seen it,” you explained, tears pricking your own eyes. “There was no time left.”

He leaned into the palm of your hand as it became wet with his tears.

“What if- what if he’s still out there? And we just left him behind?” Wrecker questioned, causing you to stiffen at the suggestion. You paused to think about what to say as he searched your eyes for answers. You haven't been able to accept such a permanent loss yourself. Instead, you had convinced yourself that he was out there. That you wouldn't allow yourself to admit to him being dead unless you had unshakeable proof. That's what kept you going. At Least for now.

“Tech is a smart and strong man Wrecker. If he survived that fall… he’d find a way to get back to us- to contact us. But we can’t risk going back, Wrecker. Not yet. Not when we have so few hands. Not when we're so low on everything. But… if he’s out there… we’ll find him.”

Wrecker nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He had a hand on top of yours now, inaudibly pleading for touch. You leaned forward to press your forehead against his.

“M’ so scared. I don't know what I'd do- you, Hunter, and Echo are all I have left I-”

“We know Omega and Crosshair are still out there Wrecker. We’ll find them, we’ll bring them home,” you assured, wiping away his stray tears as you spoke.

“What if-” he choked, not needing to finish his unspoken suggestion. You moved your hand from his cheek to the back of his head, holding it to your own.

“No ifs, Wrecker. There are a lot of unknowns right now, and honestly, I’m scared too. But we can’t lose hope. We will search the ends of every galaxy if we have to. If it means our family will be together again. No matter how long that takes, we'll do it together,” you promised.

He gave you a quiet ‘okay’, tears continuing to fall down his cheeks. Not a moment later you felt him leaning his body forward before pulling you into a desperate hug. You didn’t hesitate to hug him back. His body racked with bone-deep shivers as he held onto you. As if you'd vanish if he didn't anchor you down.

You stayed there like that for a few moments. And part of it was admittedly for yourself just as much as it was for him. The hardships you've all experienced in just the past two weeks alone weighed on the depths of your soul. And now you felt you could finally permit yourself to feel them. You both needed to take a moment to cry it out. And that was easiest to do when you had Wrecker wrapped around you like this. The weight of his grip reminds you that he's real and that he's here. That you're here.

“I’m… happy you’re with us,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder as he gave you another squeeze.

You sniffled and gave a small lighthearted laugh in an attempt to ease him, “‘Course I’m still here. Who else’ll keep you boys outta trouble when Echo’s away?”

He sniffled before giving you a short chuckle at the comment. You grinned to yourself, happy that you were able to get something out of him with that.

“But in all seriousness, everything will be okay. We’ll get em’ back. Nonna’ us are giving up on them, I promise.”

He pulled away to look at you before wiping his eyes and smiling at you, wiping your tears off your cheeks when he saw them. “Yeah…you’re probably right,” he agreed sheepishly.

You shivered when the front of your body met the cold air, earning a concerned look from Wrecker.

“You okay?”

You looked up at him confused until you realized what he was referring to.

“Oh- yeah I’m just cold,” you explained, leaning back in your seat, wishing you had a nice hot cup of caf in your hands.

Wrecker stared at the floor of the cockpit in thought before having an idea.

“C’mere,” he offered, patting his lap.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Ya sure?”

He nodded, placing his arms on the rests to give you more room to get onto his lap. You hesitantly accepted his offer, climbing onto him and disregarding your blanket. Immediately you were met with his warmth, it only increasing when he wrapped his arms around your middle. Lula ended up between you and his arms. Wrecker placed his head on top of yours, ignoring the momentary pain in his neck.

The clouds dissipated over the next hour, the rain softening in turn. You remained with him, both of you sinking into the co-pilot seat. You found yourselves admiring the constellations of this planet together, attempting to lock away the image of them into your memory. You don't remember the moments that came before sleep cradled you both. All you could remember was the feathery kiss that was placed on your head.

Hunter awoke with a crick in his neck from the odd position he had slept in. He attempted to rub out the discomfort with a groan before giving up and meekly accepting it to be his companion for the day. He could feel the rising sun, his senses easily picking up on the wavelengths it emitted.

He knew that if the sun was rising, that meant the time to leave and meet their contact was approaching. He stood up, rolling his shoulders before heading to the cockpit. He figured that was where you and Wrecker would be, picking up on your distinct scents.

And he was right. There you both were, sharing the copilot seat as you both slept; your hearts beating in time with one another. Wrecker held onto you like you were his Tooka doll, and you slept there comfortably. Though to Hunter's surprise, Wrecker moved his head to face him.

“Shh, they’re sleepin’,” he scolded in a loud whisper.

#clone force 99 #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #sw the bad batch #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb fanfiction #tbb wrecker x reader #wrecker x reader #wrecker x you #Wrecker x Reader SFW

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dont-offend-the-bees · 4 months ago

Text

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #PHEW #WE MADE IT GUYS #i think there's some things about this one i might have tweaked/restructured given a little more time #a few things i would have gone into more as well #idk if it's a thorough an exploration of the concept as I'd planned #but all in all not half bad!#and working with olly has been an honour and a delight!!#thank you so much everyone who's been cheering me on this week 💛💛💛#and now i have time to finally go and read all the great stuff you've been writing!!!

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