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gimmethatagustd · 1 month ago

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blood on the sheets | kth

Despite what some people may think, your roommate isn't a monster. You know Taehyung; he'd never hurt anyone.

Pairing: Vampire Taehyung x Human Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Fantasy, roommates to... lovers, dead dove, angst, smut

Word Count: 4,693

Content Warning: Fantasy, ambiguous/open ending, blood, biting, homicidal tendencies, yandere Taehyung, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, period sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, face-sitting, blood as lube

A/N: I wrote this for @taehyungcentral for Halloween 🦇

Soundtrack: this vampire kpop playlist hali showed me

‣ Main Masterlist

“Doesn’t he, y’know, creep you out?”

Robin takes a sip of her cocktail with lips so accustomed to being pursued in snootiness that little wrinkles have formed around the edges of her mouth despite her young age. It’s a shame, but the look is fitting. Sometimes, a person’s ugliness on the inside does reflect on the outside.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with thinly-veiled irritation.

You haven’t known Robin for a long time, though you suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew her for a day or an entire year. She’s the type of person you could spend hours talking to and walk away knowing nothing about her. You’re simply coworkers, and that’s enough for you.

Robin shrugs and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder when she turns to blatantly stare across the room. The bar isn’t big, just large enough for a few tables and booths lining the walls and a small dancefloor in the middle of the room. It’s intimate, so your coworkers picked it for the office’s monthly night out. Alcohol, catchy pop music, and hipster bars are perfect ingredients for morale-boosting activities, but Robin doesn’t know how to not be nasty.

You follow her gaze, and a small smile lifts the corners of your mouth despite her rude question when you see who she’s looking at.

The cup in Taehyung’s hand is colored glass. In the dim lights, the cup appears to be a dark forest green that pairs prettily with his fire-engine red hair and the contacts that turn his dark eyes a mossy color. You helped him pick out the contacts while the two of you got ready for the work outing. The green are just as alluring as the other colored contacts he owns, but they’re less intimidating than his favorite gray ones.

The colored cups are the bar’s effort to hide the deep crimson liquid inside. Supposedly, it’s for the comfort of all their patrons, but everyone knows what passes through Taehyung’s plush lips when he brings the cup to his mouth.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. The v-cut of his shirt exposes his elegant neck and collarbones, not that you’re looking or anything.

“He eats people, for Christ’s sake. How could you live with something like that?”

Your vodka-cranberry drink is down to the ice, and your patience for Robin has melted with it.

“Fuck you,” you snap. “Taehyung doesn’t eat people. And he’s not a thing; he’s a person.”

It’s so unlike you to be this aggressive, but something mean twists inside your stomach whenever you’re forced to interact with people like Robin, who use their prejudice to infect everyone around them. Vampires have been integrated into human society for decades with very few incidents, yet there are still humans like Robin who hold onto the horror stories of the past.

Besides, Robin doesn’t even know Taehyung. You’ve brought him around your coworkers before as a plus-one to work events, but Robin doesn’t actually know him. She doesn’t know how kind he is, how he looks after you when even your friends rarely do, how he goes out of his way to prove that just because he’s a vampire doesn’t mean he’s a monster.

The pounding of your heart is enough evidence that you aren’t used to this hostile behavior. You nearly knock over your chair when you stand, and your hands are too shaky to pick up your drink from where it sits on the table before you.

Robin glares at you with eyes that pierce through your tough facade. Her cherry-red lips part to expose teeth more dangerous-looking than a vampire’s fangs, but whatever she has to say dies on her tongue.

“Hey, love.” Taehyung’s fingers skirt your lower back, and the cold of his fingertips bleeds through your thin shirt. “You okay?”

“Yup!” You give Taehyung a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was just telling Robin that I’m going home. Is that alright?”

Taehyung hums in understanding, his fingers now pressing against your hip bone. The pressure is light, but it’s enough to force your body to turn slightly to face him rather than the table where Robin still sits.

You naturally gravitate toward him regardless. When you first became friends and shortly before you decided to live together, you’d playfully accused Taehyung of using his vampiric charms on you.

“I don’t need magic to make you fall in love with me, baby,” Taehyung had replied with a lopsided grin, no fangs in sight.

Admittedly, you spent far too many of the following nights replaying that comment in your head.

“Of course,” Taehyung slips his index finger through one of your belt loops and tugs on it absentmindedly, “I’ll leave with you; I’ve lost interest in listening to Seokjin’s passionate rambling. There’s only so much video game lore I can handle.”

Robin mutters something snarky under her breath that you can’t hear, but your heart hurts because you know Taehyung can. You’re sure it’s his superhuman hearing that set him off to rescue you from Robin’s bitchy attitude, considering how your heart is beating at a worrying pace. This situation is yet another example of how kind Taehyung is.

Robin doesn’t know shit.

Going home is a good call for more than just escaping Robin’s bitchy behavior. From the time it takes Taehyung to drive home, your lower stomach begins to hurt with such extreme stabbing pain that you can barely walk upright once you arrive. Taehyung has to wrap his arm around your shoulders and slowly guide you up the elevators and down the hall to your apartment’s front door. Once he enters the passcode, he helps you inside and leads you into the kitchen.

“You weren’t supposed to start for another week,” Taehyung comments off-handedly as he fetches you a glass of water. He speaks with the casualness of discussing the weather or your weekend plans.

It makes your cheeks warm, and you stare at the water in your glass once he hands it to you. “How do you know that?”

“I pay attention to you, love,” Taehyung murmurs. You should think it’s weird when he inhales deeply through his nose, but you only feel warm as goosebumps scatter across your skin. “I can also… smell it.”

With a gentle grip on your waist, Taehyung draws you closer to where he leans against the kitchen counter. Once you’re standing directly before him, he slips his hand beneath your shirt to press his cold palm against your lower stomach. The gut-wrenching pain is still there, but in the mix of the pain, butterflies are swirling about, and the cool of his skin feels good against your too-hot body.

Some of your friends have commented on how you act with Taehyung - or, more so, how Taehyung acts with you. He’s touchy, and personal boundaries mean very little. For some, it would be off-putting how Taehyung initiates touch without asking, but you find it comforting. You don’t mind; if anything, you’re endeared by it. It means he’s comfortable with you and knows you trust him.

Trust, you’re quickly learning, is important for vampires in a world that distrusts them.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s really gross.”

“Gross?” Taehyung rubs his thumb along the sensitive skin of your stomach and watches you intently with his mossy green eyes. It should be unnerving, but you’re too captivated by Taehyung to think anything of it.

“All my ex-boyfriends never even wanted to talk about periods, let alone…” You’re too shy to finish your sentence; repeating what Taehyung said seems too embarrassing. It’s embarrassing enough that you’re comparing your roommate to your ex-boyfriends.

You let out a quiet sigh when Taehyung removes his hand from beneath your shirt. He takes your empty glass from your hands and places it on the kitchen counter. Letting Taehyung take care of you feels nice, especially when your period cramps make breathing difficult.

“Humans are strange,” Taehyung murmurs as he gently turns you around by your shoulders to guide you to your bedroom. “There is nothing dirty or disgusting about blood. It is natural. A life source, in more ways than one.”

After changing into a new pair of underwear and comfy pajamas, you slip into your bed and patiently wait for Taehyung to finish getting ready for bed.

It isn’t unusual for you to spend time together at night, especially since you don’t have much time that overlaps due to Taehyung being nocturnal. He doesn’t sleep all day, but getting all covered up is a hassle just to brave the sunlight, so Taehyung prefers to spend his days inside.

You get cuddled in your blankets with a heating pad pressed to your lower stomach. At the same time, Taehyung sets up his laptop on your bed before you, pulling up your favorite reality TV show because he knows you’re too sensitive to handle anything emotional.

Taehyung is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and form-fitting grey sweatpants. It’s a deadly combination, and you hate that he can hear your heart flutter when he climbs into bed with you. You’re close enough that your shoulders press together, and Taehyung’s cool temperature seeps into your body, contrasting nicely with the heating pad resting on your stomach.

Sometimes, you wonder if Taehyung has figured out that he’s the reason you’re a jittery mess. You wonder if he knows that your heart races around him, not because you’re afraid of him but because you’ve considered what it would feel like to let him sink his fangs into your flesh.

He probably has no idea, you think as you appraise him out of the corner of your eye. He’s charming and naturally flirty. He probably thinks you’re just matching his energy.

You’re terrible at flirting anyway.

Clearing your throat, you adjust the blankets and try to focus on the TV show. However, it’s difficult to concentrate with Taehyung snuggled against your side. He’s being more affectionate than usual, likely because you get more sensitive when you’re on your period. You can’t complain. It feels nice to have his strong arm curled around your waist and his large hand resting against your hip.

“Comfortable?” Taehyung turns his head to the side to speak against the curve of your ear. His cool breath against your skin makes you shiver.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Are you?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Shut up,” you hiss and give Taehyung a sharp slap to the leg that you know won’t hurt him.

You slide further into the blankets to rest your head on Taehyung’s shoulder. There’s no reason for you to be whispering, but you do. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere, your bedroom dark except for a single bedside lamp casting a shallow yellow glow, and Taehyung’s laptop lighting up your bed sheets a pale blue.

After a few minutes of silence between the two of you passes while the show plays through, Taehyung begins thrumming his fingers against your hip.

“Were your exes truly mean to you about something so natural?”

“What?” You twist your torso slightly to look up at him. “Like, not wanting to talk about periods and stuff?”

Taehyung nods. He’s no longer wearing his contacts, so you can see the lamp’s yellow light reflect in his deep red eyes, making them burn orange. Having known Taehyung for a year now, you’ve learned that the color of his eyes changes pretty regularly. You aren’t sure what the colors mean, though you’re pretty sure they have more to do with his mood than his hunger levels – contrary to what vampire films and novels might lead you to believe.

“Well, yeah. Guys think periods are gross. A lot of people do, honestly. Because of blood, and also, y’know, misogyny and all that shit.” You shrug, having come to terms with these facts long ago. “Like, one time I told my ex about this article I read that said orgasms can temporarily relieve cramps, and he went on this whole rant about how period sex is disgusting. It made me feel like I was disgusting, honestly. But whatever.”

Throughout your explanation, Taehyung’s face slowly contorts until he looks legitimately upset. It startles you because why should he care about any of this?

Sweet Taehyung is too empathetic for his own good, you think.

“Human men are pathetic,” Taehyung finally says with a snort. “Period sex sounds fun.”

You struggle to swallow with how dry your mouth and throat have become. Why did you bring up sex while you sit halfway leaned against Taehyung’s chest in your bed, with the lights off, quite literally Netflix and chilling on a Friday night?

“W-well,” you start to stutter but quickly try to pull yourself together, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung hums and then falls silent again, so you assume the topic is dropped. That is until a few more minutes pass with Taehyung’s fingers playing with the hem of your t-shirt, and he eventually leans toward your ear again.

“Would you like to find out?”

This time, you turn around to face Taehyung. He keeps his head bent, which positions his face to be level with yours. You can smell the woody notes of his cologne that make you salivate.

“What?” you squeak, but you hear him more clearly than you hear your own thoughts.

“You still have cramps, don’t you?” You nod. “I could help you, love. You need not suffer.”

Blood rushes to your ears, causing your heartbeat to throb inside your brain. The pounding has a ripple effect, creating beating waves that roll throughout your entire body. It’s as though you’ve become a giant heart trembling and pulsing from the prospect of having sex with the man you’ve desired in secret for far too long.

Likely noticing your body falling into distress, Taehyung cups the side of your face with his free hand. Using his hold on you, he tilts your head slightly. His eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t think it’s physically possible for you to look away.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” you respond without hesitation. You aren’t.

Your response pleases Taehyung, and you’re reminded of the importance of trust. When he smiles, you think his canines look slightly pointier than usual.

“You know,” Taehyung begins slowly, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your slightly parted lips. “Humans drown themselves in shame. I have never understood it. What is so reprehensible about pleasure, hm? Is it so wrong to seek it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit through a breathy exhale when Taehyung brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Your ex made you feel ashamed, didn’t he?”

You nod, rendered speechless from how Taehyung trails his fingers along your jaw and neck. Gently, he presses his index and middle fingers against the soft spot of your throat where your heart panics beneath your skin.

Taehyung wets his lips.

“I could make you feel good.”

All it takes is a light tap of his fingers against your hip, and you’re leaning into Taehyung’s chest. His large hand slides from the side of your neck to the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. It’s deep and demanding, sending your head spinning as you struggle to keep up with Taehyung’s soft lips.

You moan when the tip of his tongue flicks against your mouth, coaxing you open for him to taste. You fall apart for him willingly, ready to bear your soul if he so much as whispers the request against your lips.

Taehyung could kiss you forever; he doesn’t need to breathe. You have to force yourself to pull back to gasp for air when you begin to feel lightheaded, and you struggle to register that you’ve somehow ended up in Taehyung’s lap. You straddle his firm thighs with your knees on either side of his hips and your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. It’s embarrassing, the feeling of suddenly having no control over yourself, but Taehyung squeezes your hips when you try to get up.

“Will you let me?” His eyes are a deep red, nearly black, as he searches your face for your answer when you don’t immediately respond.

Your entire body throbs with anticipation. Sleeping with Taehyung is everything you’ve forced yourself not to imagine - out of shame because what is more shameful than thirsting over your roommate who has no interest in you?

Except he does. You can feel his hard cock underneath you, and when you subtly scoot your ass against it, his fingers dig deeper into your hips.

“Please,” you whisper. The word barely leaves your lips when you’re suddenly tossed onto your back.

Taehyung’s nimble fingers slip beneath your t-shirt and push it up, murmuring, “Lift your arms, love,” and discarding it onto the floor in one sweep. Leaning forward, Taehyung kisses each of your now-exposed nipples, flicking his cool tongue over them until they’re hard and wet.

You moan and instinctually arch your back, pushing your chest against his open mouth.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Taehyung groans into your skin as he slips his hands into the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts. The fabric easily slides down your legs. Taehyung flings them onto the floor, where they melt into a pool of blood-red silk. “You smell delicious. Always do.”

Understanding Taehyung’s praises is difficult when he lights up your nerves with every kiss and harsh suck of your skin into his mouth. You don’t feel anything sharp for now, but you want to. Again, it’s shame that squanders the urge to admit your desires to Taehyung. All you can do is tangle your fingers in his pretty red hair and stare into his eyes as he sucks wet kisses down your stomach.

Your thighs are already slightly wet with your arousal and, unfortunately, blood. It’s hot and sticky. You try to close your legs, but Taehyung keeps them propped open. To your horror, you watch him drag his hands up your inner thighs, smearing the little traces of arousal and blood that have rubbed off onto your skin. It leaves light pink streaks on his palms.

With dark eyes, Taehyung holds your gaze as he brings one hand to his mouth and licks up the entire length of his palm.

“Fuck,” he lets out a shuddery moan, eyes fluttering closed. “Goddamn, love.”

It shouldn’t be hot, the feral look in Taehyung’s eyes when he opens them again. It shouldn’t be hot, the way his fangs naturally drop. He snaps his mouth shut, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows a few times. His fangs are gone the next time he opens his mouth.

“Sit on my face.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

Reaching behind his head, Taehyung pulls his t-shirt off with one hand. Smooth, unblemished skin glows honey gold in the dim lighting. Possessed, you can’t stop yourself from reaching out to run your hands down his chest. His abs tense and contract when you caress them. By the time you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, you’ve lost the little bit of courage you had.

“I want you to sit on my face.” Taehyung’s voice is thick and gravelly. There’s a dangerous edge to it that you can’t quite name.

“O-okay,” you whimper.

A thrill pulses through your body when you remember what Taehyung is.

He’s a person, not a monster. But he’s dangerous all the same.

Taehyung lies on his back and holds his arms out, coaxing you forward. His large hands squeeze your thighs, just below your ass, to haul you further up until you’re hovering right over his face.

“Are you su-”

“It is impossible for you to understand how painful it has been to wait for this moment.” Taehyung holds eye contact with you as he slides his hands up to squeeze your ass cheeks and pull your pussy down onto his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you moan, scrambling to grab the bedframe to steady yourself.

Taehyung licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, lapping up the mouthwatering mixture of arousal and blood gushing from you with every pulse of your pussy. Using the tip of his tongue, he swirls your clit, flicking it repeatedly until he gets tired of that and sucks it into his mouth instead.

Your thighs quiver, and chants of Taehyung’s name flow from your lips like honey as he tongues your entrance. His mouth is relentless, nipping, licking, and sucking your clit until you’re trembling so severely that Taehyung has to prop his arms up to hold most of your weight. It only gets worse when he presses his tongue inside your pussy, fucking into you as he devours your sweet blood and juices with the moans of a starved man.

“T-Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching down to dig your fingers into his hair. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and the rumble of his moans into your pussy is to die for. “I’m gonna come, oh my god, oh, pl-, ah, please d-don’t-”

Your eyes, which had fallen shut as you focused on the feeling of Taehyung’s mouth on your pussy, fly open when something sharp presses into the inside of your thigh. You look down to see Taehyung’s fangs buried into your flesh, just at the crease of your inner thigh, where the skin is soft and supple. The pain quickly morphs into mind-numbing pleasure, so white hot that it feels like your brain is melting out of your ears when you finally come.

You slump forward with your face pressed against the wall and your hands weakly gripping the bed frame as your body convulses in Taehyung’s hold.

“Tae, Tae, Taehyung, oh god.” It hurts how deeply he bites into you, but the longer he clamps on, the more intoxicated you become by the venom all vampires carry in their bite.

It’s distracting, the way you feel like you’re floating. Your eyes flutter as you feel Taehyung pull you onto the bed on your back. He hovers over you, the bloodied face of a fallen angel closing in on you.

“I’m your first,” Taehyung states the question, already knows the answer, but you nod your head to confirm. Taehyung is the first vampire to bite you. It’s why the effects are so intense; your body has no built-up immunity.

He’s smug as he leans forward to kiss you, shoving his tongue into your mouth to force you to taste yourself on him. It doesn’t taste good, but you aren’t thinking when you stick your tongue out to lick the blood and cum off his lips. You lick and suck his lips, cleaning them off just to let him dirty you up.

“Fuck, love, you’re so fucking sexy,” Taehyung growls once you release his bottom lip from between your teeth. “Mine. All mine. You’re mine.”

You give him a sleepy smile and loop your arms around his neck. “Yours.”

Taehyung nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and runs his tongue along the crease, swiping back and forth between wet kisses.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby.” He rakes his fangs down your neck, drawing blood in thin parallel lines. “Mark you, ruin you. Do you want that? Want me to make you feel good?”

Blood trickles down both sides of your neck to pool in your collarbones. Eventually, the pools overflow, sending rivers of red cascading down your chest, past your hardened nipples, and the hickeys Taehyung sucked into the skin of your abdomen. Between your legs, a giant black bruise spreads in your inner thigh, and blood trickles from the multiple puncture wounds there.

“Please, fuck me, please,” you beg, eyes half-closed. Your head lolls to the side to watch Taehyung remove his sweatpants. Red splotches cover the grey fabric like a homemade tie-dye.

“Look at you,” Taehyung’s voice is saccharine. He kneels in front of you on the bed and squeezes the thigh he bit into. With a yelp, your entire body jerks from the pain, though the haze of Taehyung’s venom makes the discomfort temporary. “So pretty.”

Your blood drips from Taehyung’s fingers and follows the lines in his palms down to curve around his wrist. Something stirs inside your stomach as Taehyung smears your blood all over his cock, using it as a lubricant to jerk himself off. His skin turns slick and shiny red.

With his free hand, he cups the back of your knee to hike your leg up, adjusting you into the perfect position for him to swirl the head of his cock in the blood on your thigh. Gathering more on the tip, Taehyung gives himself one last squeeze before positioning himself between your legs.

He isn’t gentle when he enters you, sinking his cock into you in one bloody thrust. How his hip presses into the crease of your thigh hurts, applying pressure to your wounds that still bleed, but the pleasure of Taehyung’s thick cock pounding into you is enough to block out the pain. You’re so high, your soul barely attached to your body as Taehyung fucks you, each stroke fast and deep. His grip on you is supernaturally rough. Bruises immediately bloom across your skin, and his blunt nails dig crescent cuts into your skin.

More blood.

“Feel good, love?” Taehyung’s voice is on edge. He practically growls, and his words are slightly slurred from his fangs dropping down once again. This time, he doesn’t try to retract them. When he kisses you, you feel them press against your lips like cold daggers. One slices a small cut in the corner of your mouth, and blood collects in the creases of your lips until Taehyung sucks it all up.

“Can’t, fuck, get enough.” Taehyung punctuates his sentiments with a snap of his hips. Pleasure rolls off of you in waves, dragging your mind deeper and deeper into a blank void. Taehyung is dizzying, so pretty with his bloody mouth and wild eyes.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his lips press against your neck, leaving kisses far gentler than the way he fucks you. The coil building in your stomach is so hot and tight that you don’t even feel the pain of Taehyung biting your neck. You immediately come, your orgasm ripping through your body as Taehyung’s fangs rip through your flesh.

Taehyung moans through his teeth as he comes inside of you, filling you up at the same time he empties you.

“Taehyung,” you try to whisper, but your mouth hardly moves.

He’s drinking too much.

The realization hits you too late. There are bite marks all along your neck, the inside of your thighs, your tits, your wrists. Taehyung has his lips latched onto one of your bloody nipples, lapping up your skin. Your bed is flooded in red, soaked through the sheets and into the mattress.

“You’re mine, love.” Taehyung runs a bloody hand down your face, leaving streaks along your temple. “Fuck those bitches you work with. Those pieces of shit who think you couldn’t possibly love someone like me. They’re wrong, baby—all this shame. Humans drown in it, but not us. We won’t drown.”

Red tears stream down Taehyung’s high cheekbones. You want to comfort him but realize in a panic that you can’t move. With wide eyes, you stare up at Taehyung in a silent plea.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. You have to let go. Let go for me, and then I’ll keep you safe. Forever, I’ll keep you safe.” Taehyung brings his wrist to his mouth. There’s a sickening crunch, and thick, black blood slides down Taehyung’s forearm like tar.

His elegant fingers squeeze your jaw, forcing you to keep your mouth open as he presses his bleeding wrist to your lips.

“Mine,” Taehyung repeats as he smears his black blood on your lips and lets it leak onto your tongue. “And I will be yours, just like you wanted. No one else’s.”

Leaning down, Taehyung digs his fangs into your throat one final time and drinks until your last breath dies in your lungs.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #bts smut #bts angst #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #gimmethatagustd #blood on the sheets

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omgfangirlland · 5 months ago

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The Shadows That Nurture 3

I'm on a roll- don't expect it to last :)) but as of right now, Chapter 4 is done, Chapter 5 will be started, and I feel like each one will be longer and longer than the last- hope ch4 was just a one in a trillion thing

First || previous<< Chapter 3 >>next

Sleeping that night seemed to be a struggle on its own, nightmares plaguing your mind left and right. You’d fall asleep for 30 minutes and wake up, fall asleep for another 30 minutes and wake up again, and again, and again, giving up once you woke up at 03:33 am. No use in trying to sleep if you’re just going to wake up crying and gasping for air, heart pumping so hard you could hear the blood running through your veins.

You needed air, wanted something less stuffing than the four walls that seemed to close in around your shaking form. With bare feet, you made your way across the manor towards the garden. May as well try and do something productive.

The garden was loved and taken care of, once upon a time. The plants were dead, the trees dried beyond help, and the dirt may need to be changed as well if the roots have gone putrid and rotten, just to be sure. It’ll take years to bring the space to its glory, to how it looked in the painting, but you could feel it in your bones that it will be worth it.

Diverting your attention from the nightmares to the garden helped ease the shaking, the fear. The more you thought about the nightmares, the more you didn’t know which one scared you the most. Between relieving your mom’s death, accepting she was dead, that you’ll never see her again, that you didn’t even know where they buried her- and seeing Bruce as the one holding the gun, firing it at your mom, at you, and then laughing with glee, saying something you didn’t quite remember… You couldn’t decide which one you hated the most.

Your eyes trailed the walls of the manor, up to the roof, and back down. You wanted to call him dad, hug him, have him come to your recitals and activities, and have him love you like Officer Gordon said he would. And yet, no matter how close he seemed to you, he was farther away than the moon. You hoped it was just your awkward self, that maybe your anxieties were putting ideas where there shouldn’t be any. Today’s breakfast only seemed to fortify said anxieties.

“When will I go back to school?” The question fell from your lips so quietly, and the silence it created made you sink into yourself. Bruce’s eyes had been glancing at you non-stop, but now they were fixated on you, non-blinking. He hummed, low and thoughtful. “You’ll be moved to online schooling. After what happened to your mom, I feel it will be safer for you to stay inside the manor for a while”

“For forever.” The shadows hissed in his ear, but Bruce simply cleared his throat, checked his watch, and left, Richard following soon after at the man’s nudging. Bruce will drive Dick to school. Your eyes remained on your plate as they left, remaining quiet for a while.

“Mama said I should make friends.” Your teary eyes met Alfred’s again as your lip trembled. “How will I make friends if I can’t go outside?” The older man’s hands were rubbing together behind his back. He felt as inexperienced as when Bruce was a toddler, as unsure of what to do as when he was with his father. That was a rare feeling for the man.

With a soft sigh and a shaky hand placed on the young kid’s shoulder, Alfred did what he did best. “I am sure you will have many opportunities to make friends, young miss.” He lied. You knew he was, and yet you held onto the hope. Bruce said it’ll only be for a while- so maybe, just maybe, in high school, you’ll have tons of friends.

You finished your plate, eyes still wet, but at least you didn’t cry. Your insistence to help Alfred was only met with a soft smile and a shake of his head, the man insisting on you enjoying the free time you have, telling you that perhaps you should go and buy some clothes, some decorations for your room.

Again, you mentioned the insanity of leaving a kid to buy whatever they wanted, but Alfred only laughed. “Can- is there a laptop I can use? Mama always let me on hers when we ordered something online. It’ll be easier for me…” You asked so softly, almost going into rambling as anxiety of sounding like a brat, like you were ungrateful for the phone, settled in.

Alfred didn’t even blink, no muscle on his face twitched as he only nodded, saying he’ll bring one to your room straight away. That was easier than expected. You were so used to your mom saying no, or bargaining with her for new shoes, and you understood- you didn’t have that much money, could barely scrap by… But the way the Waynes threw money around felt irresponsible. Does Bruce truly make that much money that he doesn’t have to worry about losing his home? What if he loses it all one day? Does he have a savings account? Your tummy didn’t feel good worrying about all that, mama always said that only adults should worry about money.

You don’t think your mom would like Bruce very much. That thought filtered through your brain for quite a while as you looked up how to take care of a garden and specific plants you wanted to see bloom. He was so cold, distant, creepy, and secretive. Your mother always dreamed of a loving man, strong but gentle. You never understood why she put up with the men she hung out with considering they were exactly like Bruce.

Alfred interrupted your musing as he knocked, opening the door only when he heard your voice. He left the laptop and its charger on the desk, and his only words were to inform you of the timetable for eating. “But, of course, if you get hungry before then, you’re more than welcome to the kitchen, young miss.” And he left just as fast as he came, barely having the time to ask where your mother would be buried. You doubted Bruce would hold a funeral for her. Alfred just said he’ll look into it.

With a small huff, you went and plugged the charger into the wall and laptop before opening it. Bruce gave you the card to use, and if he can’t be bothered to go with you to stores, you can surely get whatever you want. He’s so rich, you can bleed him dry a bit.

In the end, you didn’t. You felt too guilty about buying clothes and things for the garden, so your desires for those shiny metallic watercolors and 360 markers were exchanged for a few sketchbooks and graphite pens. Your mother is rolling in her grave at how much you spent, you were sure, so you rationalized the guilt to simply wanting to perfect your skills before buying those fancy things.

You got the clothes a size or two bigger, just like mami did, so they’ll fit you for longer. Simple things, pajamas, socks, underwear, and a few pairs of jeans and T-shirts, things she’d buy for you since you were unsure of what you were supposed to get.

You hoped Bruce wouldn’t be too angry, he was a scary man now, and you dreaded to see him angry. On the garden side of things, you may have overindulged. From all the tools you got, to the kind of soil, to the types of flowers, to making sure you got beds for the plants. The soil outside truly looked beyond saving. But if he was okay with Richard’s desire for more gymnastics equipment, surely he'd be fine with this.

At lunch, you were informed by Alfred that Bruce and Dick won’t attend dinner. It didn’t surprise you, however, it still felt like they were avoiding you, and it still hurt. Perhaps this will be the new normal, the everyday occurrence. Maybe this was normal for them, you were sure high school and work kept them both busy… Will they ever have time for you?

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae Forgot the tags D: my bad

#dc crossover #dc x invincible #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily

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jaggedamethyst · 7 months ago

Text

golden boy (part 3) | jayce talis x f!reader

3.3k words

content: fawk it!! part three of jayce making reader a vibrator with hextech. everyone round of applause for golden boy!! (part one, part two)

notes/warnings: 18+ minors dni, angst, oral (female receiving), some sub!jayce, unprotected sex (dont be like them!), lmk if I missed anything as always

ps: while this is the end for now, I may consider adding some parts when inspiration strikes. its been fun writing for my best guy for a few weeks now...the arcane brain rot is real and I will never stop adding to the madness. thanks for reading in advance. - amethyst 💟

series masterlist

⭑·ﾟﾟ·*:༅。.。༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅。.。༅:*·ﾟﾟ·⭑

Being from the Undercity meant that from a young age you were particularly skilled at evasion. When Enforcers arrived, you were able to lie at the drop of a dime. At the mention of your now nonexistent family you could mask your emotions. Most importantly, you could get out of Piltover undetected.

Slyly turning corners, you’d finally emerged on the outside. Regret filled you, then.

You didn’t want to think of Jayce there—the fact that he would wake up alone. Truthfully you’d often reason that this was for the better, that you leaving would soften the blow of having to explain how fucked up you were. It was something you found yourself discussing often.

“I have a particularly vested interest in this…seeing as though I also fell for a Piltie.”

It was hard to be a Zaunite and not at least know of Vi. You’d actually met when you were younger. You swapped stories of lost families, hate for authority, and a penchant for being hardasses.

“I didn’t fall for him, Vi. He was just there when I needed someone.”

“Sure, but I was here, too. When that piece of shit lied to you…got married…I was here. You’re not all over me like you are with Jayce. So how do you explain that?”

You knew it was more than just sex with him as much as you hated to admit it. But there’d been countless examples of the between-worlds love story simply not working.

“Vi, you and the Kiramman girl didn’t even work. Again and again you two have tried and nothing…”

“Sometimes it’s just worth saying you tried. That despite everything, you opened up just that little bit.”

You’d downed drink after drink that night—the sting barely masking the nagging at your mind to just go see him. But the sadness you’d feel was always overrun with hate. He proved you right. The cycle continued. A month had passed and he hadn’t even looked for you.

You and Vi proved similar, again. When she suggested you take up fighting to release your tension, you hadn’t even thought twice. It was yet another way to remind yourself that you deserved to feel this. Every stupid decision you’d made up until this point warranted the physical pain.

It quickly got out of hand.

Before Jayce became a member of the council, he didn’t make a habit of leaving Piltover. Now that he was in a position of power, he found himself in Zaun often. It was important to him that he didn’t see you, though. The twinge in the pit of his stomach had only subsided moderately at the thought of you. Until the embers in his body had completely burned out—he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of giving in. Of being good.

The opportunity to walk the Undercity afforded him time to observe things he’d later note in his proposition for a large-scale integration. He figured this was bigger than you somehow. If you ever did will yourself to feel even a modicum of what he felt for you, it’d be worth it to have made it safer for you. Regardless, he was still taken aback by how gritty Zaun was every time. He thought of his partner living here—hardly able to walk.

You saw him, then. He was passing a corner, clearly in thought. Something that crossed his mind had upset him. You wondered if it was about you. What you would give to be able to smooth the creases in his face, to tell him that whatever it was would be okay, to make certain it was.

But it wasn’t. You’d left. Again.

He should’ve expected to run into you. He’d never seen you look so disheveled; there was always an air of composure about you. But looking at you now, you’d been neglecting to take care of yourself.

It happened so fast. As if you felt the magnetic pull of his eyes on you. In the second that you’d turned to examine him, a crack hit the side of your face. You wanted to swing back, finish the fight you started, but you figured you deserved this. You’d let the rage take over. So when the punches came down and you started to black out, you couldn’t help the smile on your face.

_________

You jolted awake later, observing a man hobbling across the room.

“Viktor?”

He turned to you, “You know who I am?”

You sat up a bit, “Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You must be the Zaunite girl.”

You interrupted, offended by the remark. “Excuse me-“

Viktor held up a hand to stop your incoming rant, he knew the feeling too well.

“My partner…is nothing if not consistent.” He sat down next to you, “Taking two helpless Undercity residents beneath his wing seems quite…fitting for Jayce.”

“You’re…from Zaun?”

He nodded. “I’m sure you understand the feeling of being around someone like Jayce.”

You nodded in response. The feeling of unease not needing further explanation.

“Jayce mentioned to me this plan he has. To consolidate Piltover and Zaun into one entity. Again, my partner fails to recognize the intricacies of having such an ambitious plan.”

“I…didn’t know about that. Makes sense that he would be so set on creating a utopia.”

You both laughed at that, knowing the man all too well.

You continued, “With Jayce, I feel like I’m always seeking something out. Like I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?” You shifted in your seat, trying to explain. “If I get ahead of the bad I know is coming, I can avoid getting hurt. But that feels so…pessimistic?”

After a while, Viktor stood again. “I would be remiss to call a person such as yourself a pessimist.”

He slowly made his way over to a cabinet, pulling out an umbrella.

“Despite my life's work here, I truly have nothing else to offer you except this…and time.” He pushed the umbrella into your hands, “It should rain soon. If you want to get away before he comes back, you should go now.”

You slid off of the bench that you were seated on. “But why?”

He motioned toward the door, following behind you. “Jayce Talis is the most brilliant man I have ever known, and yet he fails to see the world with the nuance it demands.”

There was an understanding between you again. That reconciliation was a lot to face. That although there was an inexplicable care for the man, it was hard for him to understand you both sometimes.

“Thank you.”

——————

The umbrella did little for protecting your body as you ran through the storm, yet you’d left a mental note to thank Viktor at some point.

Fury had bubbled in you in a split second, “Shit!” You kicked one of your chairs in frustration. The thought of Jayce going out of his way to make sure you were safe and arriving to you gone again was painful. You wanted to feel numb. The desire for nothing about Jayce Talis to ever harm you again was debilitating.

A banging on the door made you freeze. It couldn’t…

A knock again, and the voice you longed to hear from.

“It’s me.”

Jayce called your name, his voice breaking with every repetition.

You swung the door open. He looked so defeated—out of breath and covered in water. He’d clearly not thought to grab anything to shield him from the rain.

With your usual feigned annoyance you broke the silence. “I told you to never come here.”

There was an agreement made between you two, that you would always come to him. You weren’t embarrassed of your home, far from it. But you did hate the feeling of relinquishing control. When with Jayce, you always reserved that right to leave at your own discretion—with him here you instantly felt the restraints.

He huffed at that, his usual apprehension replaced with exasperation.

“Shut up.”

He pulled you in by your neck, kissing you as if to punctuate the command. He moved you back into your house, closing the door behind you both. Every fear had evaporated from your mind. It was always so good with him. You knew he would take care of you in every way.

Everything between you remained unspoken for now, your rain-soaked clothes finding their way to your floor.

Jayce’s physique is one that you loved, but became rather daunting the more he’d taken control.

He pushed you again, this time leaving you on display for him on your bed. He looked you up and down slowly. It made you nervous—the lack of readable expression on his face. When you’d finally made eye contact, he broke it quickly, reaching toward his clothes on the floor. He returned to you quickly, his body fully enveloping yours.

He kissed your neck sweetly, a way only he could. He made note to suck down on your telltale spots—where you’d been the most sensitive. Making his way to your chest, he looked up at you with a mix of desire and hurt in his eyes. In his left hand he’d massaged your nipple between his fingers, his mouth finding the other. Your chest heaved. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were distracted. He knew the trick very well, seeing as you’d fooled him more than he could count.

A sudden pulse and sucking sensation jolted you to attention. Jayce had a coy look on his face—and his free hand was on what you had to assume was a new prototype.

You instinctively circled your hips toward him, craving more. He pressed you down, stopping your movement. The way he continued rubbing on your clit made you fight the urge to writhe against him.

Your face was suddenly met with his and a peck was left on your lips. When he broke contact, he simultaneously turned the vibration up to the max. You were completely inconsolable. He watched your coherence leave your mind with a menacing smile—still refusing to utter a word.

You wanted to say something, anything. You fought to question what this sudden change was about, why he was so adamant about tearing you apart right now. But part of you could tell that this was his way of keeping you silent. A sensation this good always left you speechless—your jaw slack and eyebrows pinched together.

The max setting was a continued pulse and grip on your clit that you couldn’t even process. You weren’t sure where the pain and pleasure met but it was too damn good to stop.

He kept looking at you. He knew you’d be done soon. All of the signs were there. It was sort of torturous for you to try and form words in your mind and have nothing come to fruition.

Having him stare at you with a look of disdain in his eyes was even worse. The once yellow color that would wrap you up like the warmth of the Sun now pierced into you.

He still coaxed you along, needing to prove a point—for you to finish. Within a few more seconds you jolted and froze against him, your legs tightening around his waist.

He quickly brushed off your grip on his torso, moving to stand. He turned his back to you, discarding his prototype, and steadying himself with his hands on his hips.

“Is this what you wanted?” He didn’t look at you. He didn’t have to; he knew you were confused by this entire thing. “Is this all you ever need from me? To show up, make you feel better for a while, and then watch you leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know? Because at this point I can’t tell.”

“Me either.”

Jayce finally turned to you, observing your head in your hands. “W-we can’t keep doing this. It’s not healthy.”

“I know.”

He moved a bit closer to you, surely angry now.

“Are you going to say more than a few words to me or will this be the same as always?”

You spoke under your breath, barely audible over the sound of the rain. “What else do you want me to say, Jayce?”

Words threatened to spill from you. The force with which you’d pushed them down had left you. A figurative steam had started to escape you, a bubbling on the verge of spilling over. Looking at Jayce was often the only catalyst you’d needed, that remained a constant today, it seemed.

You peered over at him now, “What do you want me to say, hm? That I feel fucking stupid because I let myself feel something I swore I would never? That you’re the only person to make me feel something other than fear?” You dropped down from the bed, looking up at him. Tears that you’d held in finally met the brim of your eyes. “That,” you paused, “I care about you so much that the thought of it being more makes me want to die. That because I felt that before…with someone else…and was ruined entirely because of it that I can’t let myself be happy. Is that what you want?” You wiped your face swiftly, looking away, “Is it?”

He surprised you when he carefully brought you into a hug. The grip of one hand on the back of your head, the other on your back was cathartic. You recounted every instance for which you’d felt safe with Jayce, there were too many to count.

He inhaled slowly and let out an even deeper exhale. “What I want is for you to meet me where you can.”

He pulled back a bit, his arms trailing your arms as he grasped both of your hands. He slowly sank to kneel in front of you, both knees planted to the carpet. Despite you both being completely bare, his grip around your body was far from sexual. He laid his head on you, his forehead relaxing into your lower abdomen.

“For every night that you’re willing to stay, I promise to be with you the next day.”

You stared ahead, the man’s head in your lower peripheral. The sheer magnitude of that kind of commitment already weighed on you. But you figured, who better to carry the load with than Jayce? You didn’t need to be strong enough to bear it alone; you knew the golden boy had enough fortitude to make the heaviest of burdens feel light.

“Say something…please.”

You blinked, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He leaned back, looking at your face.

You nodded.

The tough exterior the man had worn soon dissipated. A veil so uncomfortable for him that he didn’t recognize himself in the last few minutes. He nuzzled into you, grasping at your skin like you would disappear into thin air.

The whole ordeal had happened so quickly, you didn’t even get to comment on the way his appearance had changed.

“I like the new hair. It really says tortured scientist to me.”

He hadn’t actually noticed his lack of upkeep these last few weeks. He chuckled, knowing he’d pinpointed how you didn’t take care of yourself—and yet here he was.

“Do you see what you’ve done to me? I didn’t even shave my face.”

You brushed a piece of hair behind his ear. “I actually think the rough look is pretty sexy. Maybe we should stop talking for another month.”

“Too soon.”

“Is it?” You lifted a leg over his shoulder, “We shouldn’t talk about it then, right?”

He tilted his face, rubbing into the inner skin on your thigh. He nodded, but got distracted by the sight in front of him. You were already dripping, a mix of arousal from before and now. He looked up through his lashes, asking for your approval.

“Go ahead.”

You would think that Jayce was starving the way he started to devour you. His head between your thighs, his tongue pushing into you, and his hands kneading at your legs was a combination that always had you weak in front of him. If you somehow could stay this way forever, spread thin, you would. The added friction of the stubble on his face hurt so good. You were sure there’d be a burn on you later—but you would wear it with honor.

In the way you admired his fingers you would give the utmost praise to Jayce’s mouth. You shivered, his tongue flattening over you, a long and final swipe collecting every drop of you. He tapped your leg on his shoulder twice before lowering it. He made a show of licking his lips while he laid back on the bed.

“Come take what you need.”

You’d been in this position before—the man beneath you dripping in precum. You straddled him, the muscle memory kicking in. You let your lips trail across his collarbone. You’d yet to let him in you, rubbing your wetness up and down him. You made certain he was rock hard as you slowly connected his shoulder blades in an assortment of bruises. Eventually you gripped him, circling your hole with the head of his dick.

He rested his hands on your hips, pressing down a bit. “Please-“

You slowly sank onto him, letting out a puff of air at the stretch.

Leaning toward his ear, you spoke again. “I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Without missing a beat, you pushed up and down on him. He instinctively met you, slapping into you at a slow rhythm he knew you’d loved. You rolled your neck, the piercing in your stomach was worth the time apart. You’d wait for him, you thought. It was the least you could do after he’d been so understanding with you. A month…a year…any amount of time was worth seeing him splayed so pretty beneath you.

The wet sounds of you two slowly working each other could have been considered lewd had it not been for Jayce’s whimpers. Suddenly, the sounds bouncing off your walls seemed rather sweet.

“Mmm, f-fuck,” and he continued like that for a while. Resounding sounds of pleasure and pain vibrated in your ears—urging you to speed up.

Your deliberate circlings into him had become less controlled bounces. You were close. It didn’t matter how much longer, Jayce always found a way to finish with you.

“C-can I?” He looked between you, the way you molded together so well. He always asked before he came in you. You definitely should’ve cared more about the implications, but your fervent nods made him snap up into you even harder.

He noticed your irregular movement, flipping you two over. He was above you now—a sight you were getting more familiar with these days. An inadvertent smile found your lips, then, as he scrambled beside you. He immediately started the vibration on your clit, pumping into you at the same time. You clawed at his back, your walls squeezing into him, coaxing the release out of him.

“Need you to cum, baby. Let me feel you,” he uttered between moans.

“Jayce, I-“

“Its okay…its all okay.”

He always had a way with words. Even when the situation found you both entangled with one another—he found a way to reassure you that you were safe. The thought alone had your legs wrapped around his back, finally finishing with him. Your entire body pulsed as he worked you thoroughly. He slipped away from you with a groan, his hand swiping at you. Before you could protest, he sucked on a drenched finger, cleaning it completely.

“Sweeter than I remember.”

You both laid there, heaving for breath but not a word exchanged. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jayce fighting sleep. Without thinking, you reached to turn off the lights, draping yourself over his chest. He sighed and kissed your forehead—finally allowing himself rest.

——————

Jayce woke in the morning, the Sun’s rays meeting his eyelids with a heat that forced him to relinquish sleep. He felt around for you but as he’d suspected…nothing. He craned his head to the side, eyebrows raising a bit.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

You were there.

You scrambled a bit, “I’m sorry, I stepped out and went to the Lanes really quick. Vander’s not the best cook but I figured you might be hungry…I’m starving-“

He let out a breath he’d been holding, “It’s good to see you.”

You smiled, “You too.”

#jaggedamethyst #angst #jayce talis #arcane jayce #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #arcane #arcane x reader #jayce x reader #golden boy #jayce talis arcane #jayce arcane #jayce league of legends

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wcnderlnds · 3 months ago

Text

taste | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

BIGBANG APRIL CHALLENGE - APRIL 1ST

・❥・ summary: there's only one bed, he's your boss who you just happen to have a huge crush on so what happens when you get jealous seeing him having to kiss someone? ・❥・word count: 2.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. oral (f & m receiving ), swearing, female reader. ・❥・ authors note: hi this is day one of the bigbang challenge. pls excuse this if its awful. i may have been out of my depth and it took me all day to write.

It wasn’t like you’d meant for it to happen. It had been the furthest thing from your mind when he’d offered you the job many years ago but time was a funny thing. The more time you spent with Seunghyun, the more you began to see him in a different light. The kind of way that you definitely shouldn’t think about him in but you couldn’t help yourself. He made it so hard with his dazzling smile, his insane sense of humour and not to mention how unfairly gorgeous he was.

So, yeah, maybe you were a little bit in love with your boss.

Seunghyun had asked you to be his manager when he first started out. The two of you had gone to school together, sitting next to each other in classes often so he knew how smart you were. He also knew you were incredibly determined so at his young age, he figured that was someone he needed on his team. He had been correct, of course. You had been the right person for the job. Nobody could wrangle Seunghyun like you. For some reason, you were the only person that he listened to. It was all well and good but it didn’t help the feelings that you started to harbour for him.

Each time you saw him or he looked at you, your stomach would flip, hoping that maybe he would look at you the way you looked at him. Had he noticed? Maybe not. You’d always teasingly flirted with each other (yet another thing that didn’t help the whole feelings thing), it was part of your daily routine at this point. Where was the line between professional and friendship? Neither of you knew it. Seunghyun often treating you like you weren’t his employee and he wasn’t paying you to look after him. It was often times like today where you had to remind yourself that first and foremost he was your boss.

There he was, sunglasses covering up his gorgeous brown eyes as he tugged your bags into the elevator, mumbling to himself about the mistake the hotel had made. Seunghyun began filming for Tazza later that day so all he wanted to do was relax for an hour or two while he could but no, they’d messed up the rooming reservations. Now, maybe it was unusual that you shared a room with twin beds but neither of you seemed to care. This hotel, however, had mistakenly booked you a room with just one bed. No matter how much you’d argued it, they were fully booked up so they couldn’t find another room for one of you.

So, there you were, stuck with just one bed.

Seunghyun pushed the door open to the suite, instantly throwing himself down on the couch. His sunglasses now perched atop his head, his gaze following you as you checked around the place.

“I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed,” he said simply.

“Yeah, no. You’re the one that needs the rest so I’ll take the couch,” your voice was firm, eyebrow raised almost challenging him to fight you on it. This was Seunghyun so of course he did.

“You’re cute but no. I can’t have you sleeping on the couch, I’d feel terrible. So, suck it up. I’m couch bound, you’re bed bound.” His arms stretched out along the back of the couch, a tiny hint of a smile on his face at the pout on yours. “Nope, not going to work this time, princess.”

You stood directly in front of him now with your arms folded across your chest, pout still plastered on your face. Usually that would make him cave but he seemed very determined today. You were about to give in knowing this could go on all day between you both — stubbornness a trait you shared — when an idea struck you. “Let’s just share the bed.”

He tilted his head to look at you, almost as if trying to read if you were serious or not. Deciding you were, he gave a simple nod of his head. “Yeah, okay, if you’re sure.”

It was decided. You were sharing the plush double bed. It was either going to be the best or worst decision you’d ever made.

——

The day had been a disaster. Everything had been going fine until the second Seunghyun had stepped on set. It had nothing to do with him — he was perfect like always, it was all on you. Seeing him there in the white button up shirt half undone, tie lose as he had to repeadetly make out with his co-star made you burn with jealousy. The twisting feeling in your stomach every time his lips met hers made you want to vomit. You had to clench your fists at your sides, occasionally looking away before you did something stupid. The only thought running through your head was ‘that should be me.’

It was ridiculous; the rational part of your brain told you that. It’s not like actively wanted to kiss her, he was just doing his job. That didn’t stop the rage from burning inside you. Unfortunately, the only person you could take it out on was Seunghyun himself.

You had snapped at him when he’d asked you a question, ignored him when he tried to seek you out. It was childish but you didn’t know how else to protect your feelings and hide your emotions. Thankfully, he’d given up, taking the hint that you were in a bad mood. That was at least until you were in bed.

There you were lying on your side of the bed, back facing Seunghyun’s side so you didn’t have to look at him. Your usual nighttime attire of a baggy shirt and shorts adorned your body. Seunghyun side, getting into his side of the bed. Usually he’d wear his full pyjama set but it was a warm day so instead he’d just opted for a shirt and some grey sweatpants that hung loosely on his waist.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

His deep voice so close to you sent a shiver down your spine. As much as you wanted to turn and look at him, you couldn’t. “I can.”

He scoffed, his hand gently reaching out your shoulder to roll you to face him. You turned around so you were facing him, the look of concern on his face making you feel bad until he spoke. “You know I’m your boss. It’s your job to make sure that I’m taken care of, it’s your job to help me and today you’ve been acting like a spoiled brat. I should give you a warning.”

“Really, Seunghyun? You’re going to try and give me this talk while you’re in bed next to me. Super professional.”

“I figured since you don’t know how to be professional, this would be the perfect setting,” he shot back, never one to back down. It was like a war, to see which one caved first but Seunghyun finally did, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Seunghyun.” You tried to turn away but he wouldn’t let you.

“It matters and as your boss, I’m ordering you to talk to me so spit it out,” his voice his stern, embarrassingly turning you on.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Fine.” Before you could realise what was even happening, Seunghyun had you underneath him, his body pressing on top of yours as he held both your hands in his above your head. “Stop being a brat and tell me. I can stay like this all night.”

With him on top of you like this, it was hard to think. Every dirty, depraved thought you’d ever had about him coming to the forefront of your mind. His gaze was intense, the grip on your hands not tight so you could easily pull free but did you even want to? With a sigh and an embarrassing lilt to your voice, you finally spoke. “I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Seunghyun’s eyes shone with confusion until it hit him, a cocky little smirk gracing his features. “Because I was kissing someone?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, turning your eyes away from him.

“So, you decided to throw a tantrum and act like a brat because you’re jealous that I had to kiss someone for work?” He pulled one of his hands back, using his thumb and index finger to grasp your jaw, turning you to face him. “Answer the question.”

“Yes, sir,” you couldn’t help yourself. The second you uttered the words ‘sir’ you saw his entire demeanour change, the desire swirling in his eyes.

“Then all you had to do was say.”

There was barely any time to register what was happening before his lips were on yours. His lips were eager, tongue tracing along your mouth, begging for entrance. You more than happily obliged, parting your lips and tangling your tongue with his. It was better than you could have even imagined. The way he hungrily claimed your mouth was better than you could have dreamed off. In his haste to kiss you, he had realised your hands which had now found their way to his hair, running through the dark locks. You gently tugged on them, Seunghyun groaning into your mouth.

“Not very professional now, huh, sir?” You teased, mumbling against his lips as you pulled apart for air.

“You’re the one that’s practically begging for it,” Seunghyun leaned in to whisper in your ear. Lost in his lips, you hadn’t realised his hand was now inside your shorts, his fingers ghosting over the edge of your panties. “I bet if take these sweet little panties off, you’ll be soaking.”

“Why don’t you find out then?”

He needed no more encouragement, his hands quickly ridding you of your shorts. He looked at the wet patch on your panties, feeling his cock twitch and harden. It filled him with some sense of pride that he’d been the one to bring you to this state, you were this wet because of him. His fingers rubbed soft circles on your clothed pussy, his lips finding yours once again. It was hard not to buck your hips into his hand, the kiss growing more and more heated by the second.

Somehow, you managed to catch a moment of weakness in Seunghyun’s resolve, moving so that he was beneath you now. You straddled his hips, the hardness of his length pressing against your core. Teasingly, you grinned your hips against him, pressing soft kisses against the skin of his neck. He moved his head a little, allowing you more access. Your teeth grazed against his pull point, a breathy groan slipping past his lips as his hips bucked up into yours.

You pulled back, hands sliding up his shirt to feel the bare skin of his chest. “Hmm, didn’t you say that as your employee I should help you out?”

“Mhm,” Seunghyun hummed, his hand has found their way to your hips, pilling you back and forth against his clothed erection. “Might even get yourself employee of the month.”

With a wicked grin, you slid down his body, tugging his sweatpants and boxers off. His thick cock sprang free, the sight only fuelling the wetness pooling between your legs. You took him in one of your hands, thumb swiping across the reddening tip, rubbing the pre cum that had begun to form there. Seunghyun almost whimpered, his hips bucking up — he was at your mercy, desperate for more. Slowly, you began to pump his length, stroking him from tip to base, squeezing occasionally. It was so tempting that you leaned down, tongue ready to taste him when he moved. It was almost like the speed of light that he flipped you around, your face facing his cock, your hips almost but straddling his face.

“Fuck that. If you’re getting a taste, so am I.” His long fingers slid your panties to the side, his finger teasing along the slit. “Don’t be shy, baby. Put that pretty mouth to use.”

“Yes, sir.” You leaned forward, tongue swiping across the slit of his tip. Seunghyun moaned, wasting no time in pulling your hips flush against his mouth. His tongue flattened, licking a long stripe along your pussy. He groaned at the sweet taste of you, finding your clit. He flicked his tongue quickly against you, his lips sucking on your sensitive bud. The obscene sound of him feasting on your soaked pussy was one of the most erotic things. It was like you were entranced, too focused on what his magical tongue to realise you were supposed to be sucking his dick. Luckily, Seunghyun was more than ready to remind you. His hand found your head, roughly (but in the sexiest way imaginable) pushing your head down onto his aching length. You sucked on the tip, his moan muffled as his tongue dipped inside you. It was on instinct that you started grinding against his face, Seunghyun’s hands on your hips to encourage you to grind on his face.

It was hard to focus but you were determined to bring him the same pleasure. You took him fully in your mouth now, fitting as much of him in as you could. Your cheeks hollowed out, tongue flattening against the underside of him as you slid your mouth down. A steady rhythm was set. Your lips moving up and down his cock, his mouth eating you out like it was his last meal.

Seunghyun bucked his hips up as you took him in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag. You heard a muffled ‘oh fuck’ as you held him there for as long as you could before pulling back for air. You worked your hand furiously against him, spitting on his length to help ease him back into your throat. You wanted to impress him, take him nice and deep. As you were about to take him in your mouth again, you felt him suck harshly against your clit.

“Seunghyun. Fu- Oh, god, I’m close.” Your hips moved wilding against his mouth now, chasing your high with your whiny voice echoing off the hotel room walls.

“Me too,” he said, redoubling in his efforts. You took him back into your mouth, taking him all the way in to hit the back of your throat. Seunghyun couldn’t help it, he didn’t mean to but the exquisite feeling of being so deep in your mouth made his hips buck up. The choking sound you made was his undoing, his hand tangling in your hair as he held you in place. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby. You better swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

That’s when you felt it, spurt after spurt of his hot, thick come pulsing down your throat. You swallowed what you could, unable to really think when your own orgasm crashed over you. If his cock wasn’t stuffed in your mouth, you were sure you’d be screaming his name right now.

Finally, Seunghyun’s hand pulled off your head allowing you to pull off him. You moved off his face, turning around so you could see him. Seeing his mouth glistening with your essence was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen, the smirk he wore only adding to that factor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sitting up slightly. His finger swiped at the corner of your mouth, collecting the bit of his seed that you hadn’t managed to swallow. He pushed his fingers in your mouth, your tongue licking them clean.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he chuckled exhausted, lying back. His arm wrapped around you to pull you tightly against his chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

A comfortable silence fell between you as you basked in the afterglow of your releases. Seunghyun’s hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, your eyes fluttering closed until you heard his deep voice rumble. “So…. jealous, huh?”

He really wasn’t going to let you live that down.

challenge taglist: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @sevendaysummer @gdinthehouseee @eru-vande @bluesunss @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @currentloser @makeitworse @berfgrimm @sherxoo @aizshallnotbefound @keiraryan

#choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun smut #top x reader #bigbangaprilchallenge

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applejusue · 26 days ago

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violet kiramman ─── marine encounters #001

Everyone knows you shouldn't dive alone, but the shallow waters and promise of photos with the sea life were too good to pass up. You'd swim around, snap some shots, and paddle back to the surface. The last thing you expected was to have an encounter with an orca.

◟`# cw: orca!vi, killer whale, size difference, injured!vi, water pollution, deep waters, near-drowning, comfort, fluff

marine encounters | arcane masterlist . . .

The warm sand scuttled against your feet as you trudged down the beach, the rising sun just beginning to coat your scuba suit. The beach was desolate other than some young lovers who'd clearly spent the night there. You made your way down to the shallow rocks, adjusting your tank and sliding your mask up onto your face. The weather was as good as it would get today, a little bit of clouds but mainly smooth waters and an empty coast.

You knew you were taking a risk going out alone, but nobody else from the local team was free today. Trained as a lifeguard, you knew that diving alone was the last thing you'd recommend someone to do, but curiosity will do what it may. You tugged your mask down, adjusting the mouth guard before you dived off one of the rocks. For the first few minutes you simply swam along the surface to preserve your air since you'd only get an hour and a half of water time. The plan wasn't to go too far, maybe thirty feet or so, just long enough to get some photos for study.

With your compact camera around your neck, you dived deeper, legs kicking gently as you adjusted to the lukewarm water. You'd always loved the ocean; the vastness was intimidating, sure, but the beauty outweighed any anxieties. You swam along the soft coral, snapping pictures of sea pickles and parrotfish that tickled your arms. You followed some of them around, taking in all the vibrant patterns and fins that fluttered around you. As you swam along the seabed, you noticed something else, a tanked ship.

Approaching the old wreckage, it was a 2000s Sylvan, rusted over and lodged into the ocean floor. It dug into bundles of coral and reeds, small decorator-crabs twindling between the motors, munching on algae. You frowned, swimming closer and taking some more photos to show to the local beach team. It didn't seem like a wreckage, as the boat was still in good condition. It must've been motor damage or heavy currents that dragged her under. It didn't seem like there were any fatalities, at least.

You hovered in the water by the boat, fiddling with your camera settings and scrolling back through all of your photos. All of them were quite stunning, even if the focus wasn't great on images. As you flicked through the ones of the shipwreck, your blood ran colder as you got a glimpse of a black and white tail near the back of the boat. Your heart raced faster, but you didn't dare start moving just yet.

Better trained on shark encounters than whales, you weren't entirely familiar with an encounter with an orca. Very slowly and gingerly you began to swim backward, keeping a safe distance from the boat. You could see it now, that large tail that was fluttering from around the side of the sailboat, but remained calm in the water. When it came to any large mammal like this, thrashing was the worst thing you could do. Once at a great enough distance you felt confident enough to turn and swim off, but then you paid more attention to the sounds.

Loud, piercing whistles that fluttered through the water and cut through your mask. They were quite vocal creatures, but this amount of noise in quick succession signaled that something else was happening. Against your better judgment you paused, gliding around in the water to get a better look while still keeping your distance from the killer whale.

There was a faint red tinge to the water surrounding, and for a moment your heart dropped. But then, you noticed that the orca had a half-broken harpoon pierced straight through the tail, tangled up tightly by fishing wire and netting. The creature rubbed itself up along the boat-wreck, likely trying to free itself.

That's when you saw it, or rather, you saw her.

The orca had a human upper body, sort of. She was covered in gills, black and white splotches that coated a muscular body. Along her spine was a smaller pointed dorsal fin, and her chest was littered with scars and punctures likely from hooks and territorial disputes. Oh, and she's twice the size of you. Her upper arms were also entangled in the fishing wire, body language punctuating her frustration and distress as she shimmied against the boat remains in an effort to free herself.

For a moment or two, you just floated wide eyed. Your jaw would be on the floor if it wasn't hooked to your breathing tube, and you were too shocked to even lift your camera. Sure, you knew about mermaids and all the sorts, and you weren't the type of adult to deny any sea life considering how much of the ocean was unexplored. But to see one? A half person half whale of all things, it was difficult to process. She was massive, and incredibly intimidating.

You still had about a half hours worth of air left in the tank, and you were torn. Sure, wild mammals like nurse sharks and other sea life you're not meant to interact with to prevent them growing familiar with humans. But what about an injured person? Because technically she was half that too, if she even knew that. You had no idea what you were up against, and could already spot bared teeth and a maw the size of your shoulder. Your anxiety was palpable, and she soon made that decision for you.

Her big jet black eyes stared right through you, and it was way too late to swim away now. Any sudden moves and she might startle, or worse. The orca pushed away from the boat, swimming toward you with strong, smooth glides and beginning to circle around you. It should've been scary, and if it was a regular orca it might've been but you could tell that she was just curious, like you were. Her stress was still perceptible, so you made great efforts to stay as calm and slow moving as possible.

Now that her large form was up closer to you, you got a better look at her. She had murky, muscle ridden skin that was thickened from the coarse ocean waters. Gills glittered along her neck, and beneath her eyes were darkened blotches that seemed like squid ink. You presumed she used it for sun protection when breaching, or perhaps it was more of an appearance thing. She was fascinating.

Her tail though, vast and powerful was truly suffering. You could see the way she was trying to intimidate you with long thrusts of the water, but each one clearly made her fins twitch. The blood still pulsed through the water, the rusted fishing hook appeared like it'd been pieced through her for some time now. No wonder she was so stressed, the bleeding putting her in an exposing position that would alert both potential predators and prey. It also didn't help that her arms were still constricted with fishnets.

You managed to catch her face when she stopped before you, looking down and still very much doubling you with her length. She had a scar along her upper lip and through her brow, skin dulled from the coastal waters and salt. Dark wet hair floating around her jaw and the back of her neck, allowing her easier camouflage in the lower depths. She was beautiful, in an oceanic way, and you were fascinated. Her eyes sparkled, glistening with a mixture of fear, stress and undeniable curiosity. The large orca tested the waters, pushing you back gingerly with her tail.

She was investigating you, and you let your body go pliable so she could push you around through the water. It seemed to amuse the stressed orca, a small funny shaped thing to play with dark blubbery skin. She continued to circle you, a mixture of whistles and playful clicks that almost had you smiling. After a few minutes of gentle play and letting you get used to her, you tried something new. You swam a little closer, slowly of course.

The large mammal froze at your approach, staring down at you with big eyes but not necessarily backing down either. You knew not to sneak up on a predator animal from the back, so instead you floated near her side, gazing along the misplaced areas of her tail. You avoided the hook for now, that was too far. Instead you decided to start at her torso, very carefully beginning to unravel the mess of fish wiring and net that she'd caught herself in. She writhed uncomfortably at first, but when you managed to free her she all but split through the water.

With her muscular arms now unrestricted she rips the net from her tail, freeing her body and flushing around through the water with pleased echoes and whistles. It made you dizzy watching her whirl around you, but it was obvious how relived she was from the discomfort of being restrained that way. You expected that the large creature would handle the harpoon herself now that she was free, but instead she looks to you. You're pushed back gently against as she swims to you, pressing her big head to your shoulder and nudging you around. You weren't so sure if this was a good idea, but it seemed like she wanted you to do it.

Her large tail swung toward you and you flinched back, but nothing made contact. Instead she was floating bent, her tail pushing up to you and her face leering back over her shoulder with big nervous eyes. You took a deep breath, bubbles filtering the water as you gently rested an unsteady palm against her tail. It shifted under your touch, but she made no moves to stop you just yet. Observing the old hook, it was lodged deep and you could only imagine how painful it must be whenever she tried to swim.

You rubbed along the side of her tail soothingly with one hand, while the other wrapped itself around the fish hook. She looks away from you, braced like she knows exactly what about to happen. You take a deep breath, counting down from three before──

Her tail thrashes, batting you backward with whistles of pain as the harpoon is ripped out. You'd expected this level of panic, but her tail thrusts you in the face, smacking away your scuba mask and sending a flurry of pain and panic through your form. You thrash through the water, anxiously foundering as you attempt to swim upward. Water floods your eyes, pouring down your throat and all caution was thrown to the wind as you tried to push yourself up to the surface. At now forty feet deep though, you'd accepted that it was likely a futile effort.

Before you your fate could be sealed as another idiotic scuba diver that bit off more than she could handle, you felt two large arms circled your entire torso. You were pressed against cool, tough skin and rapidly propelled upward through the heavy waters. You breach the current with a gasp, spluttering out water as you finally make contact with the air. The grip around you disappears, and you manage to will your stinging eyes to open. You can barely see the coastline, and you knew for a fact you wouldn't have enough energy for the swim back. You'd likely have to float, but at this far of a depth you grew more anxious, frantically glancing down at the abyss. Would she breach? Or would some other predator tear you down before you'd even get to have lunch?

Feeling around your neck in an effort to calm your racing heart, you found it empty. Shit, the camera. It was likely knocked down with you when her tail hit your face, cheeks still stinging red though you knew it was an accident. You see a shadow from below, rising from the murky water and your heart flutters once again. But then her head pops up in front of you, two big black eyes staring up at you and her ink black hair sticking to her skin. Her arms encompassed you again, your lower body pressed to her firm torso as the water hums against your back. She whistles happily, gratefully squeezing you just a little too tight. When she pulls back though, you notice that she continues to stare curiously for a moment or two. You realise it's because she was now seeing your face for the first time, realising that you looked a little like her.

The orca seemed to take into account that you'd lost your funny mask, and in a swift moment she dove back beneath the waves, tail splashing you back in the process. Vi dives deeper, finding your mask resting along the ocean floor and scooping it up. Her head tilts curiously as she notices a little glow, finding another small device with a picture of the nearby boat. Presuming it is a treasure of yours, she collects that too and travels swiftly back to the air where she can see your kicking legs.

The current lapped at you angrily, clearly having gotten stronger whilst you were on the seafloor. When the orca breaches again she ushered what was left of your mask into your palm, and your eyes widened as you noticed your camera too that was somehow still functional. Assertive girl. You were so enthralled by her, and thankful too that she'd been surprisingly friendly this far. She kept bumping and rubbing you playfully, her large head bigger wider than your shoulders. The large mammal seemed to sense your unease and exhaustion, the way the waves shoved you around with ease.

Vi glanced down at your little legs, tilting her head with interest. They didn't seem to do much. You were like a little fish with no tail or fins like her, and she was confused on how you'd even gotten out here in the first place. She pushes closer, grabbing onto you again. You barely had a moment to even latch on before she began to propel through the water, swimming rapidly just along the surface. You clutched to her desperately, fingers digging into her thick skin and arms tight around her large back. You hid your face away against her damp chest in an effort to avoid the water spray from her swift movements.

After a few minutes of swimming that would probably have taken you at least half an hour, you were back at the shore. She proudly dumped you onto the muddy sand with the all the grace of a whale. The sand stuck to every inch of you, but you weren't exactly complaining about being back on dry land. She hung gingerly by the shallows, tail flicking playfully. It was cute, but worrying. This was the exact reason you never approached wild marine life directly, knowing that if someone had taken a swing at her before it certainly wouldn't be the last time. You waved back through the shallow waters, just far enough to be near her again.

"Thank you.. but you have to go back now, it's not safe here.."

Her eyes were dark and dilated, yet despite the language barrier between you it seemed she was aware of your warnings. She glanced toward the empty beach, one she often did see packed with scary people wearing white face paint and big hats. The last time that her curiosity had over taken around a large group of people, she'd been speared. The orca brushes up against your legs, large maw mouthing at your stomach in a way that was so ticklish. You giggled, stumbling back and falling back onto your ass in the sandy water. You pushed her away with gentle exasperation, but she followed over top.

Once again you were very much reminded that she was double your size, her large weighted torso and tail holding you effectively down to the sand, your head tilted up to keep you above water. Your cheeks were rosy, wet skin sticking to each other as she simply observed you curiously. Gently reaching a hesitant finger up, you patted the side of her soaked hair and traced that small Ⅵ on her cheekbone. The two of you were still, water dripping down onto you from her hair and her eyes staring with no ounce of shame. However, the sound of a sharp whistle from the local lifeguard had her quick to leap back into the water, leaving you half drenched, covered in sand, and a flustered mess with a potential domesticated nightmare on your hands.

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padawansuggest · 10 days ago

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Qui-Gon was walking to the Room of a Thousand Fountains with his Master when they had heard the muttering, a frantic sound that was a mix between a child sobbing and occasionally talking about the dreams, and how they were getting worse. They found a small child sending tight little swirls of panic through the force between mutters and drawing something in the dirt with a stick. Orange hair, big blue grey eyes full of pain and paranoia, and trembling just a little.

Young Obi-Wan was ten years old, had not slept in over three days, and was having a set of visions set on a planet he had never been to, and an armored man that he didn’t know the name of. He had been holding himself together until today, and things were no longer holding steady. He finally flinched, scrambling back from the masters when he noticed them, scrambling to the root of a tree where he looked up at them with wide scared eyes.

Normally, Dooku would have been the one to approach a child, since his own Padawan was still aching in the force from Xanatos leaving the order with anger, and Dooku had had his fair share of raising rambunctious children, but two things came to mind that stopped him: the child reminded him far too much of Sifo-Dyas during vision psychosis, which made him want to Throw Up with how much it disturbed him; and the way the boy flinched when he’d tried to come closer.

He couldn’t have gotten further into the tree roots he was hiding in if he tried, but Qui-Gon’s heart was clenching, and shaking little arms raised towards him, more like a toddler than a child. ‘Master, please help.’

They could do nothing other than acquiesce, and Dooku went off to find some mind healers and masters of the unifying force to help figure out what type of vision this was, and how to help it. At least this meant that Dooku knew who to contact right now, since he knew half the seers in the temple and all their healers and masters.

‘Hello, little one.’ Qui-Gonnkept his voice low, letting the child crawl into his arms with no complaint. He knew that some seers had trouble telling who they were, much less how old, and the boy could very well be so deep in this vision that he was simply struggling to ground himself without touch. He let the boy look into his eyes, those big child eyes so hazy and worried. ‘Master, we have to stop it. If he dies, the chains snap and everything falls apart.’

Qui-Gon didn’t want to scare the boy, but he did need to try and break him of whatever this was. ‘Sweetling, a vision is just a possible future, this may not come to pass. Do you know who’s going to get hurt?’

Obi-Wan, who had yet to introduce himself verbally, but Qui-Gon could feel his force signature more clearly than any name could be said; simply shook his head. ‘He has armor, and the man that kills him pretends to be his friend. When he dies, an entire sector will fall to war, and his heir will be wrongfully blamed for crimes.’

Qui-Gon sighed; gently rocking the boy shaking in his arms. ‘I’m so sorry, little one, but we cannot help people that we don’t know. The future is always in motion.’

The boy sat back in his arms again, looking him in the eye. ‘That’s exactly what I’d expect from someone who can talk to plants.’

Qui-Gon felt like a piece of his brain had been hollowed out, and for some reason… for some kriffing reason… he knew that he could hear the thoughts of plants if he focused on them…

What?

Obi-Wan had been sedated, gently moved onto a stretcher by Master Che, who had briefly informed Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan was not a seer. He was a user of the Cosmic force, and whatever he had been seeing, was likely to happen within the next couple days because it was being planned.

Qui-Gon moved over to the dirt the child had been drawing in, and took a picture of what he found there.

A communications number, and a drawn picture of a Mandalorian.

He shouldn’t call it. He wouldn’t.

He sat in his apartment two hours later, after a long tea time with Yan that he had twitched through until his master had told him to go finish whatever he needed to do, and not to come back until he did.

Qui-Gon tried to meditate… and instead, listened to the thoughts of the spider plant in the bathroom; that was complaining about the stray tooka Qui-Gon had let in last week that ate one of it’s leaves.

Kriff…

Obi-Wan woke up almost as soon as sedation had worn off, and Master Windu was there, sitting in a visitors chair while he did council work on a tablet, something he would camp in Obi-Wan’s healers rooms whenever a vision epicenter caught him up. He didn’t even remember why Mace had done it the first time, but finders were always drawn to their initiates.

‘Master Jinn came by to see you. He’s outside, actually.’

‘Who?’

Mace gave him a slightly worried look. ‘The master that helped you when you were found in the Room of a Thousand Fountains?’

‘Oh.’ Obi-Wan did NOT remember that. ‘Does he want to talk to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’

Apparently, Obi-Wan had written down the communications frequency of one Jaster Mereel, who was desperate to know how a child had come across his frequency, and how he was supposedly going to be assassinated.

Apparently, he was already on his way to Coruscant, and Master Nu was super mad about it because Jaster was ALWAYS trying to get into her archives even though that wasn’t allowed, and she was going to have to post extra guards if he was actually allowed in the temple for once. He was also bringing his son, since a warning of Jango Fett becoming a target was enough cause for the Mand’alor to never let his child out of his sight again.

Obi-Wan was confused.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #Jaster Mereel #AU where Obi looks him dead in his shit and tells Qui gon he talks to plants #and the force is so amused by that that it makes it happen #and now Qui gon thinks this one is the chosen one and follows him around on missions from the force #Jaster gets saved and is in a constant competition to see who’s the better dad #Jango is Ori’vod and even more vod shaped after Obi comes home with a confused Arla one day #cosmic force user #Obi isn’t scared of Dooku normally but he was deep in that vision had no idea what was reality

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val-of-the-north · 13 days ago

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Most of the "lesser" Nightlords are creatures who think differently from humans, with the clear exception of Fulghor, Libra and Caligo.

Among the three, Fulghor is the odd one out, as he is a warrior and champion of an ancient age who lacks the inquisitiveness of the other two. He is there to fight on behalf of the ancient gods he worshipped, and I am not sure if he is on the side of the Night or if like Adel he has simply found himself in this position due to his sheer power allowing him to claim the title. He did gain a new arm out of it, but he is also not the "Champion of Night" but the "Champion of Nightglow", in stark contrast to everyone else. He even wields a "sacred form of the Night's power", which is interesting since the true Nightlord and Gladius, his personal companion, are both really weak to sacred power... he is also the only Nightlord visibly affected by the Night's power, as his skin features blueish spots all over it. Perhaps he isn't as willing as the others to see the world vanish, but he is too prideful to side with the people who replaced his pantheon. After all, it seems the Nightfarers are drawing from the power of Grace left behind by the dominant culture of the time. Maybe he could have been an ally, but he couldn't forgive the changing of the ages.

This leaves us with Caligo and Libra, who are both very intelligent beings with a wealth of knowledge, acquired for vastly different reasons. Caligo seeks to know and remember, observing history and committing everything to memory, while Libra seeks to reach balance and enlightenment, walking a thin line between blessing and madness. Both also have the ability to pretend to be human, but while we see it for Libra, it is only implied for Caligo, since she is an Ancient Dragon, judging from her appearance, and they could all shape-shift into a more humanoid form if they wanted. However, I believe they are kind of opposites in the way they operate.

Libra, as the Baphomet-inspired creature that he is, gives me the vibe of someone who was there for many points of history, and maybe even interacted with some of the more important people when they meant nothing yet. I can imagine him knocking at Midra's door or meeting a young Marika before she is pulled away by one of her elders who knows the guy is bad news lol. However, he does not seem to be on board with the whole "Lord of Frenzied Flame" thing. He is just as susceptible to madness himself, and something like that would tip the scales on one side rather than the other, which goes against his desire for true balance. Libra's choice to peer into madness is simply a way to reach enlightenment, as it brings you closer to the concept of the One Great.

I think Libra is a force that tips the scales in favor of whatever power is lacking at the moment in an attempt to reach balance. So in an Age where Frenzy is at its lowest, he'd stir up chaos and madness, while in one where Frenzy rules and begins melting the world away, he'd show people the boons of gold and order. He wouldn't necessarily be the one who shapes the course of history, but rather someone who can guess based on his calculations, simply "nudging" others towards the direction he thinks would be best for achieving true equilibrium, which he finally found in the Night that he views as the equalizer of all things. He basically wants a world of unity but without individuality being destroyed, believing balance can exist in the current state of the world without having to renounce it. Quite an insane thing to aim for, but it's respectable in its own right, especially since he did manage to marry order and chaos into his own form of alchemy.

Meanwhile, Caligo is a watchful eye that has probably been around since time immemorial, possibly even being a contemporary to Metyr, or someone born very soon after her arrival on their world. She has observed history and sometimes shows up for its most important events so that she may remember them. In stark contrast to Libra, who feels like he'd be considered a mythological figure, historians would know of Caligo and her importance. And again, unlike him, she would show up when events are already in motion and worth memorizing. She could even show up in her human form to converse with the current world leaders, hear their side and maybe even impart wisdom if they choose to listen to her words. But maybe her years of witnessing cycles upon cycles have made her detached, which just leads her to make either cold or sardonic remarks on certain things she knows for a fact will happen, and they often do just as she predicted. Because she has learned the pattern of history and can correctly identify how things will go.

Maybe in endings that aren't the Age of Fracture, Stars or the Lord of Frenzied Flame, the Tarnished protagonist would be visited by her, curious of the new developments. Maybe she even paid a visit during the Shattering, if only to laugh at how predictable the civil war between Demigods was. The Night, however, seems to be something new and worth investigating, which is no doubt a source of great relief for someone who must have been growing weary of the stagnant nature of Marika's reign.

Now I am wondering if Gideon Ofnir looked for either of them in his quest to be all-knowing... he seems smart enough to have found a way to peer into the mind of Marika and discover the truth of the Fingers, so he could have communed with either Caligo, or Libra, or both in an attempt to expand his own knowledge. Cool to think about.

#elden ring nightreign #nightreign #elden ring #libra creature of night #caligo miasma of night #fulghor champion of nightglow #didn't expect to find these guys so interesting lol #now I keep imagining all of these guys in base Elden Ring too #I expect them all to be modded in by crazy modders in the near future ahah. you know it's coming!#but yeah. I love the knowledgable ones among them #val-post

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mazamba · 1 year ago

Text

Baby Steps

Dani slurped her milkshake noisily as she shifted back to the visible spectrum, interrupting the argument between the so-called adults. It'd been a hectic week, she'd been part of Young Justice for less than a week, yet they already had a crisis in the form of a maybe-evil clone.

"Do you mind?" growled Batman.

"Try a different word."

Superman raised an eyebrow.

""Father" is too heavy, try "brother" instead," she continued, "I mean, Phantom's technically my dad, but I don't call him that. He's my 'cuz!"

"What we call each other isn't the problem."

"No, but it's less scary isn't it? Danny was fifteen when I met him. Imagine if I'd called him dad. He'd have freaked out!"

Batman nodded, seeing the logic.

"And even then, I kinda needed some time to put my head together, you know?" she rattled on, floating crisscross applesauce in midair like a balloon in the breeze, "It's the real reason I left the first time. Maybe some time apart would be good for them? Microdose in family!"

"What we call each other isn't even half of the problem," sighed Superman, "you're a clone too, right? You once told me it was weird to know things you didn't remember learning. Clones are made and programed, sometimes with sleeper programming."

"True, but that's what we're here for," she figured, "I mean, I can't take you on, but Superboy's a different story. If he does go nuts, he has the whole Junior League to take care of him."

"I can't ask you to put yourself in danger."

"You're not, I'm volunteering," figured Stray, finally floating down to the ground, "look, Phantom and I work because we took the time to figure out who we are to each other. You two need time to figure out what you are, not get shoved together and hope for the best."

Batman grunted.

"This is a shock, it was a shock for Danny too. Sa- A mutual friend told me he had a panic attack an hour after I left. Started looking into childcare and stuff. She had to stop him from running after me with a diaper bag and they both crashed into a tree. Tu- a different friend sent me a picture."

"Your point?" sighed the Bat.

"I just said it? Forcing things helps no one. Just... put them in general proximity of each other and let the cards lay where they may. I know what you want to help Superboy, but forcing them into a get along shirt is just gonna hurt them both. You have to think of Superman too."

"And if he does go rogue?"

"Then we stop him."

"That easy?"

"That easy."

Superman sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the whole situation was a lot less scary by simply changing the word. And what Stray said made sense, in a roundabout sort of way.

For his part, Batman was mentally kicking himself for hyper-focusing on Superboy's needs without taking Clark's feelings into consideration.

"We'll go with your plan," he agreed, "Superman, I'll need you to have a word with Black Canary. She will mediate with you and Superboy whenever you wish to meet, but I need you both to agree to this before we move forward."

"And if we can't?"

"Then he'll have to get adopted into somewhere else," figured Dani, sitting in midair again, "nothing good will happen if we just dump him on you. Neither one of you deserve what happened."

---

I'm sick of people dumping on Clark. Considering how he and the others live, I can't blame him for being suspicious.

Some other guy got replaced by a clone that didn't even know he was a clone. It wouldn't be that weird for Connor to have sleeper programming.

If anything, this is on Batman and the others for trying to force a relationship.

#dp x dc #dani phantom #batman #superman #superboy #clark kent #bruce wayne #connor kent

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helvegen-s · 4 months ago

Text

among all the people, always you

a Carlos Sainz one-shot

Summary: they always knew their love wasn’t enough to keep them on the same path. Over the years, they find and lose each other in an endless cycle of nostalgia, love, and goodbyes. There’s no resentment, only the pain of knowing that even the purest love may never be enough. But among all the people, they were always each other's.

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: emotional neglect, unrequited love, breakup, grief

A/N: some might say that I'm not capable of writing beautiful things, but the truth is, I LOVE angst. I cried while writing this—I hope you give it the love it deserves and appreciate it a lot. Like and reblog!! Lots of kisses <3 I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING

masterlist

The first memory she had of Carlos Sainz wasn’t particularly grand. It wasn’t of a rising Formula 1 driver, nor of a young man carrying the weight of a last name that already resonated in motorsport. It was, simply, of a guy who had walked into a café in Madrid with messy hair and exhaustion in his eyes, ordering a black coffee with the deep voice of someone who hadn’t slept enough.

She didn’t know him personally, but she knew his name. She had seen him on TV, in sports articles, in interviews where he smiled with the same expression he had now—a little distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else. On another track, in another country, in another time.

It was a mutual friend who introduced them, almost as an afterthought. A simple, “Oh, by the way, this is my friend,” as if he weren’t about to change the course of their lives.

Carlos shook her hand and smiled.

“Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t a spectacular moment. There was no spark of electricity, no instant certainty that they were destined for something more. But when they sat at the table and he looked at her with a hint of curiosity, she knew she was in trouble.

The conversation started effortlessly, with the ease of two people who, though they came from different worlds, shared the same language in humor and irony.

“So… you’re the one who wants to be world champion?” she teased, resting her chin on her hand.

Carlos set his coffee down on the table and held her gaze with a smile that didn’t hide his pride.

“I don’t want to. I’m going to be.”

He didn’t say it with arrogance, but with the certainty of someone who had spent his life preparing for it. There was no doubt in his voice, not a hint of false modesty. And in that instant, she understood that this was not a man who knew how to love halfway. That if he gave his life to something, he did so completely.

“And what if you don’t?”

Carlos looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.

“That’s not an option.”

There was nothing more to say on the matter.

Outside, Madrid carried on at its usual pace, but inside the café, time seemed to slow down. They talked about everything and nothing, losing track of time until Carlos checked his phone and frowned.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No,” he replied, but slid his phone back into his pocket with a hint of discomfort.

She understood the signal. She smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“Do you have a flight?”

Carlos let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Tomorrow.”

“And today?”

“Today I have training. Then the simulator. And after that, probably a call with the team.”

“Ah.”

There was no reproach in her voice. Just the acknowledgment of a truth she didn’t yet know would weigh so much.

Carlos noticed her expression and tilted his head with an amused smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who says ‘nothing’ when clearly thinking about something.”

She let out a sigh, playing with the napkin between her fingers.

“I was just thinking that if this were a date, it’d be pretty depressing to know I have to share you with a race car.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation.

“Hey, it’s a very beautiful car.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it’s my job.”

She smiled, unsurprised.

“I know.”

He studied her for a moment, as if weighing the meaning of her words. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at her intently.

“And if this were a date?”

She tilted her head, amused.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Carlos held her gaze for another moment before letting out a short laugh and shaking his head.

“If this were a date,” he said, picking up his coffee, “I’d probably do something stupid like try to impress you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’d tell you something exaggerated about my job, like that my heart rate never goes above 80 beats per minute while driving at over 300 kilometers per hour.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s completely true.”

She set the napkin down on the table, crossing her arms.

“And how would I know you’re not saying the same thing to everyone?”

Carlos rested an arm on the table and leaned slightly toward her.

“Because if this were a date, I would’ve already asked you to have dinner with me tonight.”

She felt a flutter in her stomach, but didn’t let it show.

“And if it weren’t a date?”

Carlos held her gaze for another second before smiling, resigned.

“Then we stick with coffee.”

She nodded, smiling too.

"Then coffee it is."

And it was. For weeks, months. They saw each other whenever flights and schedules allowed. They shared late nights in airports, brief calls between meetings, messages sent across time zones.

They didn’t rush to put a label on it because they both knew the truth from the start: she wasn’t competing against another person.

She was competing against the one love Carlos would never sacrifice.

And the worst part was that he never made her feel like she had to.

The problem with Carlos Sainz was that loving him felt like the easiest thing in the world.

She hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t planned it. It just happened. A quick call that stretched into the early hours. A message between flights that made her smile before she even realized it. A conversation that started with “Have you eaten?” and ended with her staring at him through a screen, feeling both closer and further away at the same time.

They weren’t together in the traditional sense of the word. No promises, no unrealistic expectations. No grand declarations, no ultimatums. Just him and her, finding each other in whatever gaps the calendar allowed, in every city where their paths happened to cross.

Sometimes, that meant a quiet dinner in a tucked-away corner of Barcelona. Other times, it was a fleeting visit to his hotel room after a race, where she would find him exhausted, the marks from his helmet still pressed into his skin—but his eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Come here,” he’d say, reaching for her.

And she would.

She’d sit next to him on the bed, the TV humming softly in the background, while he talked about tires and strategies, blind corners and missed opportunities.

Sometimes, he would fall asleep mid-sentence, his head resting against her shoulder.

She never woke him.

The first time she realized she had crossed an invisible line was at Silverstone.

It wasn’t because of a fight. It wasn’t because of a misunderstanding. It was because of how she felt when Carlos crossed the finish line, arms raised, his team’s cheers echoing through the radio.

She was in the stands, lost in the sea of people celebrating his victory, and yet, in the middle of all that euphoria, she felt something unexpected: emptiness.

Because when he stood on that podium, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the anthem playing, the flag waving above him—she knew she wasn’t there.

Not because she didn’t want to be.

But because, in that moment, he didn’t need her to be.

And it didn’t hurt. It didn’t make her feel small. It only reminded her of what she had always known: in Carlos’ life, she wasn’t the main character.

She was a pause.

A beautiful, warm, fleeting pause. But a pause, nonetheless.

And that day, as she watched him celebrate with his team, arms wrapped around his people, she understood that she couldn’t compete with something that had been his whole life long before she ever came along.

So she didn’t try.

She simply loved him.

She loved him the way you love something ephemeral, the way you love a summer sunset you know won’t last.

She loved him without asking for more than what he could give.

And Carlos never promised more than he knew he could offer.

That was the cruelest part of it all.

He never lied to her.

He never misled her.

He never asked her to stay.

But he never let her go, either.

With time, she learned to read the signs.

The way his voice sounded when he was exhausted. The way his gaze shifted when something frustrated him. How his laughter changed depending on whether he was truly happy or just covering the weight of a loss.

She also learned to recognize when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reach out to her.

Not because he didn’t care. Not because he didn’t miss her. But because sometimes, his world was too loud, too demanding, and there simply wasn’t room for anything else.

She never complained.

Never asked why his replies sometimes took hours. Never mentioned that, during the busiest weeks of the season, the calls became fewer, the messages shorter. Never admitted that there were nights she fell asleep with her phone in her hand, rereading their last conversation, wishing it had lasted a little longer.

And Carlos, somehow, knew.

Because when he finally had a moment to breathe, he sought her out.

Not with apologies, not with excuses.

Just with his voice, with that quiet laughter through the phone, with an “I miss you” whispered between sighs, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.

She always answered with the same softness.

But one day, without knowing exactly when it had started happening, she stopped feeling like that was enough.

The first and only time she thought about leaving was in Abu Dhabi.

The end of the season always carried a mix of exhaustion and celebration. Carlos had finished the race with a solid performance, and though he hadn’t made the podium, his team was satisfied.

At the closing party, he was surrounded by his people, a glass of champagne in hand, his smile easy, relaxed. She watched from a quiet corner, the same tenderness in her gaze, the same admiration.

But something inside her felt different.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t anger.

Carlos would have celebrated just the same. He would have laughed just the same. He would have woken up the next day with the same determination as always, ready for the next season, ready to keep chasing the dream that had been his long before she came into his life.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to ask:

What’s in all of this for me?

She didn’t have an answer.

But she did have a ticket back home.

And that night, while he kept celebrating with his team, she decided she wouldn’t wait until the end of the party to use it.

When Carlos saw the message on his phone, his smile faded.

I love you. I’ve always loved you. But in this story, the protagonist has always been F1. And I’m just someone passing through.

There was no reproach.

She hadn’t asked him to stop her.

Just a truth that, deep down, he had always known.

The noise of the party continued—the toasts, the laughter, the camera flashes—but to him, it all became a distant echo.

For a second, he convinced himself that she was still there, somewhere in the room, with her quiet smile and patient gaze, waiting for the moment he would realize he had neglected her once again.

But no.

She was gone.

Not in anger. Not with accusations. Just with the certainty that he couldn’t give her more than he already had.

And the cruelest part of all was that she was right.

She always had been.

Carlos doesn’t remember leaving the party. He doesn’t remember crossing the hotel lobby or the way his footsteps echoed in the hallways when he reached his room’s door.

He finds it just as he left it: closed. Untouched. As if she had never been there.

But when he turns the handle, what he sees tells him otherwise.

There’s a coffee cup on the table, still bearing the imprint of her lipstick on the rim. Her jacket is draped over the chair, as if she had hesitated for a moment before deciding not to take it.

And on the bed, perfectly folded, is the sweater he had lent her the last time they saw each other.

Carlos stares at it for too long.

He doesn’t touch it.

He doesn’t move.

Because in that moment, he finally understands.

She never wanted him to choose between her and Formula 1. She never asked him to.

But the problem was that even if she had, Carlos wouldn’t have been able to give her the answer she deserved.

It had always been her who adjusted to his life.

It had always been her who found the gaps between races, between commitments, between flights and hotels.

It had always been her who waited for him.

It had always been her.

And now, for the first time, she had stopped waiting.

For the first time, she had decided she didn’t want to be just the space between his priorities.

Carlos sits on the edge of the bed.

He closes his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels what it’s like to lose something without ever meaning to let it go.

The airport was almost empty at that hour of the night.

Cold lights illuminated the polished floor, reflecting the silhouettes of the few passengers dragging their suitcases with tired steps.

Carlos found her by the boarding gate, sitting with her back straight, hands clasped in her lap.

For a moment, he just watched her.

He wanted to memorize her like this, before she saw him. The serene profile of her face, her hair falling over one shoulder, the way her lips pressed together softly, as if holding back a thought she wouldn’t say out loud.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she lifted her head and saw him.

And then, she smiled.

Sweet. Calm. As if his presence didn’t surprise her at all.

As if she had known he would come.

“You came,” was all she said.

Carlos exhaled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked toward her.

“Of course I did.”

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told him she was leaving.

He didn’t ask why their last conversation had been a message instead of a goodbye in person.

Because deep down, he knew.

If she had told him earlier, he would have tried to convince her to stay.

And she had never wanted to force him into that.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the runway through the window.

The murmur of flight announcements filled the space between them, blending with the muffled voice of a child playing with a toy plane a few seats away.

“I didn’t want it to end like this,” he said at some point, without looking at her.

She turned her face toward him but didn’t answer right away.

Not because she didn’t have something to say, but because she was choosing her words carefully.

“It was never about how it would end,” she finally replied. “It was about everything it meant while it lasted.”

Carlos clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair how calm she sounded, how at peace she was, while he felt like something inside him was slowly breaking.

Because he loved her.

He loved her with a certainty he had rarely felt in his life.

But love wasn’t enough.

Not when she had always been the one who waited.

Not when he had never put her first.

Not when, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, his world would always revolve around one thing: Formula 1.

She smiled at him, as if she could hear his thoughts.

"I know you, Carlos. I don’t want you to promise me something you can’t keep."

He closed his eyes.

Because that was the hardest part of all this.

That even if he loved her with everything he was capable of, he couldn’t promise her that he would change.

He couldn’t give her a different story.

And she knew that.

That was why she was leaving.

That was why, this time, she wasn’t going to wait for him.

Carlos didn’t know when he started crying.

It wasn’t when he saw her pick up her bag. It wasn’t when he heard the final boarding call for her flight.

It was when he truly understood that there was nothing he could say to make her stay.

He wouldn’t lose her because he didn’t love her.

He would lose her because he had never known how to make room for her in his life.

And that truth, so brutal and definitive, shattered him.

She watched him break.

And yet, she didn’t walk away.

Instead, she came back to him. Without hesitation. Without thinking. She hugged him as if it hurt to let him go, as if she loved him with every part of herself but knew that love wasn’t enough to stay.

"I can’t do this," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice broken in a way he had never let anyone hear before. "I can’t…"

She shut her eyes tightly, feeling his tears soak through the fabric of her coat, but she didn’t let go.

"Carlos…" she whispered, and the way she said his name—filled with both sweetness and sorrow—made him tremble.

He held onto her tighter, desperately, as if some part of him still believed that if he held her long enough, she wouldn’t leave.

But she couldn’t stay.

Not when he had never asked her to.

"Tell me what I have to do," Carlos's voice broke into a plea he never thought would leave his lips. "Tell me how to fix this."

She let go just enough to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

And the image of her tears sliding down her cheeks burned into his mind like a wound that would never heal.

"You don’t have to fix anything," she said, her voice softer and more broken than he had ever heard it. "I never asked you to change for me."

"But I want to," he insisted, and his voice cracked at the end, because now he understood, now he saw everything clearly, and goddamn it, why did it have to be now? Why so late? "I want to, for you."

She shook her head, with a tenderness that tore him in two.

"You can’t. You don’t know how."

And she was right.

Because she never wanted him to give up anything.

And he didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t defined by Formula 1.

Carlos swallowed hard, feeling the anguish burn in his throat.

"I need you."

She smiled—a sad, beautiful smile that shattered what little was left of him.

"No," she whispered. "You want me. That’s different."

Carlos closed his eyes as if that could contain the pain, as if not seeing her could make it hurt a little less.

It didn’t work.

Because when he opened them again, she was still there.

Beautiful. Steady. Determined to leave him.

And yet, with trembling hands, she wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs.

"You don’t know how much this hurts me," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Of course I do," she replied, and a single tear rolled silently down her cheek. "Because it hurts me too."

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t accept that this was the end. As if there was still something he could do to stop her.

"How do I go on without you?"

She let her hands drop to her sides, as if she no longer had the strength to hold him.

"You will. You always have."

And that was what finally destroyed him.

Because he knew she was right.

Life would go on. The engines wouldn’t stop. The next flight would be waiting for him, and then another, and another, and another…

But she wouldn’t be there.

And when she took a step back, Carlos felt every part of him screaming for him to stop her. To do something, anything.

But he didn’t.

Because he no longer had the right to ask her to stay.

"I don’t want you to go," he whispered, his voice raw and broken.

She closed her eyes.

Because she knew.

Because if she had heard those words before, if he had said them at any other moment, maybe everything would be different.

But he didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

"I know," she whispered against his hair. "I don’t want to go either."

Carlos swallowed hard.

She looked into his eyes one last time.

And with the same tenderness she had always spoken to him, with the same sweetness with which she had loved him, she said:

"I’m glad I loved you."

Carlos felt his throat close up.

But he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t try to stop her.

He didn’t reach for her when she turned and walked toward the gate.

He just stood there, watching her leave.

Watching as, for the first time, she took a path that didn’t include him.

And when the last image he had of her was her silhouette fading beyond the gate, Carlos knew that no matter how much he had loved her, he had always been too late.

The first reunion

Airports had never meant anything to Carlos.

They were nothing more than transit points, impersonal spaces where life moved too fast to leave a trace. Arrivals, departures, goodbyes, reunions… everything happened in a rush, leaving no time to process anything.

But that wasn’t true.

Because there was one airport that had marked him forever.

And now, so many years later, in another airport, he sees her.

Just a few meters away.

His heart lurches in his chest, strong enough to make him stop in his tracks.

She hasn’t changed. Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

She still has that natural elegance, that quiet air of someone who doesn’t need to draw attention to fill a space. Her hair is a little longer, her movements a little more measured. Life has passed.

But not enough to erase what they once were.

She looks up.

And sees him.

Carlos doesn’t know if one, two, or five seconds pass before a smile curves her lips.

It’s a warm smile, but soft. No surprise, no hesitation, as if finding him here were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hello, Carlos."

God.

Her voice.

He hadn’t expected hearing her voice after so long would do this to him.

Carlos feels a tightness in his chest. It’s not sadness. It’s not regret.

It’s just… affection.

A deep, unwavering affection that time hasn’t managed to wear down.

He smiles too. He couldn’t not.

"Hello."

She lowers her gaze for a second, as if processing something, before looking at him again.

"I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

"Me neither."

And yet, here they are.

They are no longer the same people. Life went on, the choices they made led them down different paths, but…

But they haven’t forgotten.

And maybe that’s enough.

There are no promises, no expectations. Just two people who once meant everything to each other, meeting again in the one place where they had always said goodbye.

"Do you have time for a coffee?" she asks, with the same sweetness with which she once offered him her love.

Carlos nods, feeling that, even though he’s no longer part of her life, he still likes the idea of sharing a little time with her.

Because love doesn’t disappear.

It just changes shape.

And this time, instead of hurting, it feels like a beautiful memory that still breathes.

The coffee between them is a clumsy attempt at normalcy, a shared routine that feels foreign after so much time. Sitting across from each other at a small table, they play with their cups in their hands.

"You still take it the same way," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

She nods with a tense smile. She doesn’t dare tell him she’s spent years waiting to hear his voice this close.

"So do you."

Carlos lets out a soft laugh, but neither of them finds the conversation funny. Another silence settles between them, heavier this time, more suffocating.

"How did we end up in the same airport, on the same day, at the same time?" she asks, her tone light, almost amused.

"I don’t know." He plays with the handle of his cup. "Probably the universe deciding we haven’t had enough."

She smiles, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

"It always did have a twisted sense of humor."

"I couldn’t agree more."

They remain silent for a few seconds, but this time, she is the one who breaks it.

"Do you still not know how to pack properly?"

Carlos bursts into genuine laughter, remembering all the times his suitcase looked like it had been packed by someone with their eyes closed.

"I’ve gotten a little better, but I still don’t know how to fold shirts properly."

"I always found it incredible that you could drive a car at 300 km/h but couldn’t fold a T-shirt without it looking like crumpled paper."

"Everyone has their talents."

She smiles, lowering her gaze to her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily.

"And you?" he asks, resting his arms on the table. "Do you still carry a library in your suitcase?"

"Of course," she laughs softly. "You never know when you’ll need to kill time."

Carlos nods, vividly remembering all the times she pulled out a book in the middle of the chaos of a paddock, as if the world around her didn’t exist.

"What are you reading now?"

"Something on Stoic philosophy," she replies. "I bought it out of curiosity, but I think I’m getting more out of it than I expected."

"Sounds deep."

"It is. It’s basically about accepting what you can’t control."

Carlos sets his cup down on the table, watching her intently.

"That sounds pretty convenient."

She shrugs, offering a half-smile.

"I guess at some point, we all need to learn how to do that."

Silence creeps between them again. They don’t ask because they fear the answers. They don’t talk about the important things because they know it will hurt.

He doesn’t ask if she’s been happy without him.

She doesn’t ask if he still thinks of her before falling asleep.

He doesn’t ask if she ever loved someone else.

She doesn’t ask if, at any point, he wanted to find her.

Instead, they keep talking about trivial things, as if they were strangers. As if they didn’t know how the other kisses, how their laughter sounds intertwined in a dark room.

"Well..." she checks the time. "My flight leaves soon."

Carlos nods but doesn’t move.

"Yeah, of course."

She stands, and he follows, walking together toward the boarding gate. They stop a few steps apart, looking at each other.

"I’m glad I saw you," she says, and it’s the first truth they dare to admit.

"Me too."

She hesitates for a moment before smiling at him, as if the goodbye doesn’t hurt.

"See you around."

Carlos holds her gaze, watches her walk away, and feels like he’s losing her all over again.

The second reunion

Carlos wasn’t expecting to see her.

Not here, not tonight.

But fate, with its twisted sense of humor, has brought her to the same wedding he’s attending.

When he sees her, something inside him stops.

It’s a mutual old friend who’s getting married—someone with whom they once shared memories of another time, back when they were still a couple, when life seemed a little less complicated. Carlos wonders if she knew he would be here, if she saw his name on the guest list and decided to come anyway.

Or if, just like him, she simply went along with the invitation, without thinking too much about what she might find.

She hasn’t changed.

Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

The dress she wears falls elegantly over her figure, and her smile is still the kind that lights up a room without effort. She’s talking to someone, a glass of wine in hand, tilting her head with interest—the same way she used to listen to him when he told her stories that didn’t really matter.

He wonders if she still bites the inside of her cheek when she’s nervous.

If she still falls asleep on planes before takeoff.

If she ever thinks of him when she hears about Ferrari.

She notices him after.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and it’s as if time contracts. As if all the times they’ve avoided each other, all the efforts to stay apart, are erased in this single moment.

And yet, they don’t move closer.

Not yet.

But the entire night revolves around them in ways neither wants to admit.

Mutual friends glance at them with nostalgia—some with knowing smiles, others with a hint of sadness in their voices when they remember what they once were.

"Do you remember them? How good they were together…"

"They were perfect."

"Such a shame it didn’t work out."

She smiles politely. Carlos merely takes a sip from his glass.

They don’t say anything.

Because what could they say?

That yes, they were happy, but they were also not enough.

That love is not always enough when time and priorities are working against you.

The night goes on.

And stolen glances become inevitable.

Carlos looks for her in the crowd, only to find her already watching him.

She finds him when he’s at the bar, when he laughs at someone’s joke, when his expression softens for a fleeting moment.

They both look away, but never for too long.

Then comes the accidental brush of their hands when they cross paths on the dance floor.

She’s spinning with someone else, and he’s passing through the crowd.

It’s just a second, a fleeting touch of her skin against his.

But they both feel it.

Like an echo of everything they once were.

A moment that lingers longer than it should, though neither says it out loud.

And the respect.

That silent respect, that invisible space they’ve learned to keep—as if getting too close might wake something that has only ever been asleep, never truly gone.

Carlos watches her as she dances with others, laughing, her hair falling down her back, the golden light reflecting off her skin.

She watches him when he stops to talk to old friends, when his laughter rings through the warm night air.

They have never been strangers.

But they can’t be what they were either.

And that truth weighs as heavily as the music filling the room.

The music changes.

From the lively, upbeat songs that have dominated the dance floor, the DJ slows things down with a soft melody—one of those that invite bodies to draw closer, to sway gently, as if time might pause just for a little while.

Carlos looks at her.

"Dance with me," his voice is low, barely audible over the wedding’s hum.

She looks at him, surprised.

For a moment, Carlos thinks she’s going to refuse. That she’ll smile kindly and say no, that it’s better not to tempt fate.

But then she nods.

"Okay."

And she lets him take her hand.

They move through the crowd with the same ease with which they once sought each other out in any room. But there’s a chasm between them, one that time and choices have carved with ruthless precision.

They dance.

They move with a familiarity neither dares to acknowledge. Hands on waist and shoulder, fingers brushing with painful tenderness. They’re not pressed together—not like before—but the space between them is filled with what they were and what they still feel.

It’s the perfect balance between nostalgia and restraint.

Between the love still burning in their eyes and the certainty that they can do nothing about it.

They dance in silence.

No words. Just slow movements, the careful touch of their bodies, the feeling that this is the last time they’ll be like this—in each other’s arms, pretending for a few minutes that life didn’t get in the way.

Carlos takes a deep breath.

He wants to say something, anything.

But what can he say when she already knows everything?

When she has always known?

She is the one who breaks the silence.

"You still dance the same," she murmurs, a sad smile on her lips.

Carlos lowers his gaze to hers, to her eyes that are still the same as always.

"And you still fit here just the same," he answers quietly.

She looks away for a second, but she doesn’t pull back.

Around them, their friends watch in silence. There’s no need for words to see the obvious—the way they look at each other, the gentleness in their movements, the way neither seems willing to let go. There is no tension, no resentment, only love wrapped in the careful restraint of what can no longer be.

"It was always them," someone whispers, with a hint of melancholy.

"It still is. They just… can’t be anymore."

"Look at them. If you didn’t know their story, you’d think they were still together."

"No, if you knew their story, you’d understand why it’s so heartbreaking to see them like this."

The murmurs reach their ears, but neither of them says anything. They simply keep moving, letting the music be the only one to speak.

Because, in the end, what else is there left to say?

As the song ends, their hands slip away slowly, as if letting go of each other is the hardest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

The Third Reunion

She has a few days free from traveling and decides to seek peace where she once found it: a small coastal town in northern Spain. She walks through the same plazas as years ago, the same streets, the same ports. The restaurant is the same, but everything seems smaller now.

The last time she was here, it was with Carlos, and it was warm. It was summer, and he had made her promise not to work or think about the future—only about the days they had together. Now it’s winter, and the sea breeze drifting through the empty streets carries a feeling of emptiness, of something that once was and is now gone.

The restaurant remains a forgotten corner, with its dim lighting and the same wooden chairs that creak when you sit. She orders a glass of wine and lets herself be enveloped by nostalgia, by memories that shouldn’t hurt this much.

And then, she sees him.

Carlos is standing at the door, still wearing his coat, looking at her as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if time has played a cruel trick on them again.

“It can’t be…” he says, with a disbelieving laugh.

She blinks, shakes her head, and laughs too. There’s no other possible reaction. The coincidence is absurd, cruel, inevitable.

Carlos shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack before sitting across from her, without asking for permission. As if this place, this moment, still belonged to them and no one else.

“How long has it been since you were here?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.

“Since the last time. With you.”

Carlos nods, and the silence between them is dense, heavy. They order their food without thinking, as if they were still the same as before. She still asks for the sauce on the side. He still orders the same glass of wine. Small habits that haven’t changed, even though everything else has.

“How have you been?” she finally asks.

Carlos looks at her, and in his expression, there are a thousand answers he will never say out loud.

“Good. Racing. Traveling. The same as always.”

“The same as always,” she repeats with a broken smile. “I figured.”

She doesn’t say it with resentment, only with a certainty that aches. Because she always knew Formula 1 was his life. She was only a stop along the way.

Carlos places his glass down and looks away.

“And you?”

She takes a moment to answer.

“Trying to live.”

Carlos looks back at her. It’s a simple response, but there’s something else beneath it. Something he doesn’t want to analyze too much.

“Are you happy?”

She holds his gaze, as if daring him to hear the truth.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Are you?”

Carlos wets his lips, hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

She gives him a sad smile.

“How ironic.”

Carlos wants to say something more, but instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it until he finds something. He sets it down on the table.

“Do you remember this?”

She frowns and picks it up. It’s a photo. The last one they took here, years ago. They’re sitting together at a table—the same table where they’re sitting now. She has her head resting on his shoulder, and Carlos is looking at her instead of the camera.

The love is evident.

She runs her finger over the screen delicately, as if doing so could bring her back to that moment.

“I never realized you looked at me like that.”

“I always looked at you like that.”

She lifts her gaze. Carlos doesn’t look away. It’s a punch to the chest.

“Why are you showing me this, Carlos?” she asks softly.

Carlos lowers his head, exhaling.

“Because sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.”

She tenses. She sets the phone down carefully and pushes it away.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“No. It’s not. The truth is, you did what you had to do. What we always knew you would do.”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“And what if I was wrong?”

She sighs and leans back in her chair.

“You weren’t. I never would have asked you to choose. And you never would have.”

Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

“I loved you.”

She smiles sadly.

“I loved you too.”

“Then why are we here and not together?”

She leans toward him, resting her elbows on the table, and says with devastating calm:

“Because love isn’t enough when there’s always something more important.”

Carlos says nothing.

She shakes her head with a soft, trembling laugh.

“How am I supposed to forget you, Carlos? How am I supposed to move on when every turn I take, you’re there?”

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment.

“I can’t change the past.”

“No. And I can’t change how I feel.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“You were never my second choice.”

“Then why wasn’t I the first?”

Silence.

She smiles bitterly, running a hand through her hair.

“Tell me something. If you could go back, would you do anything differently?”

Carlos looks at her. The answer is in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

She nods before he can say anything.

“I thought so.”

And that’s when Carlos understands. This is the end.

Not because they don’t love each other. Not because they don’t want to be together.

But because he never would have chosen differently.

She stands up, leaving money for the bill on the table.

“Fate is cruel, isn’t it?” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Carlos watches as she walks away. It’s like that day at the airport, but worse.

Because now, he knows he has lost her for good.

For the first time in years, he feels like the world is collapsing around him.

The Atlantic air is sharp, cutting.

She walks without looking back. But Carlos follows her. Because he can’t let it end like this. Not again.

The night is dark, and the waves crash against the rocks with fury. The wind hits them with the same intensity as the feelings they have repressed. There’s no one else in the street. Only them.

“Are you going to keep running from me forever?” His voice reaches her before she can walk any further.

She stops dead in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around.

“Running?” she lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Don’t make me laugh, Carlos. If anyone has run away here, it’s always been you.”

He clenches his fists, walking until he’s standing right in front of her. The sea roars behind him, the wind pushes them, but the distance between them remains the worst storm of all.

“I didn’t run.”

She lifts her gaze, and her expression is filled with a sorrow that hurts more than any shout ever could.

“No. You just left me behind.”

Carlos feels like a dagger has been driven into his chest.

“You knew…”

“Of course I knew!” she bursts out, raising her voice for the first time all night. “I always knew. From the very first day, from the first time you said you loved me. From the moment you looked at me, and I believed we could find a way.”

Carlos takes a deep breath, the wind whipping against his face.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

She laughs again, without joy. Her eyes shine with a mix of fury and unbearable sadness.

“That’s the worst part, you know? That you didn’t want to. That you never meant to. But you did it anyway. And you keep doing it!”

Carlos takes a step forward, but she steps back.

“Do you want to know why I’m here?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Because I tried to move on. I tried. But here I am, standing in front of you, and I still feel the same. I still love you the same way, I still look at you as if you’re the only thing in this world.”

Carlos closes his eyes tightly, as if doing so could keep out the pain of hearing her words.

“Don’t say this…”

“Why not?” she whispers. “Because it hurts you?”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“You have no idea how much it hurts.”

She looks at him, the wind tangling her hair, the waves roaring behind her.

“Oh, don’t I? Do you have any idea what it feels like to always be the one left behind? The one who watches you go, who’s left with memories that are too heavy to carry?”

Carlos feels something inside him shatter.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. It always has been!”

“I loved you!” he yells, desperation burning his throat. “God, how I loved you. Do you know how many times I tried to forget you?” His voice breaks on the last word. “How many times I wanted to hate you? But I can’t. I can’t, because I love you with every fiber of my being, and that’s the cruelest thing of all.”

She laughs, a hollow sound.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking unfair.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“It is.”

She lifts her gaze, her eyes burning.

“You know what’s worse? That all this time, I’ve tried to convince myself I was wrong. That maybe I didn’t love you that much. But every time I see you, I know I was lying to myself.”

Carlos holds her gaze.

“I never stopped loving you.”

She smiles, and it’s a sad smile.

“I know.”

A silence falls between them, heavy, suffocating.

She wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.

“But loving me was never enough for you.”

Carlos feels something inside him tear apart.

She takes a step back.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep seeing you and pretending I don’t still love you.”

Carlos looks at her, desperation in his eyes.

“Please…”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me how to move on. Tell me, Carlos.”

Carlos clenches his fists.

She laughs again, her laughter broken by sobs.

“You can’t, can you? Because you haven’t done it either.”

Carlos feels his throat close up.

She looks at him for a long moment, memorizing every detail.

“I loved you with everything I had. And I’d do it all over again. But I can’t keep choosing you if you never chose me.”

Carlos feels a knot in his stomach.

She walks away, her footsteps echoing against the wet stone of the promenade.

Carlos watches her go. And once again, he doesn’t stop her.

The Last Reunion

There is no noise in his head when he crosses the finish line for the last time.

No shouts, no euphoria, no deafening roar of the engine drilling into his ears.

Just calm.

The kind of calm he never imagined feeling in a moment like this—the kind of serenity one finds when, after years of fighting against the current, they stop rowing and simply let themselves drift.

He expected nostalgia. He expected emptiness. He expected fear. But he feels none of those things.

He feels peace.

The peace of someone who has given every last piece of himself to something and, for the first time, doesn’t feel like he’s leaving anything behind. He has given it all, with no regrets and no reservations.

He removes his helmet with steady hands, no hesitation. He hears his name chanted from the grandstands, feels the pats on his back from his team, the embrace of his engineer, the flashes of cameras capturing the end of an era.

But inside, everything is silent.

Carlos Sainz is no longer a Formula 1 driver, and the world keeps turning.

That night, while the echoes of celebration still hum through the streets, he is alone in his hotel room, staring at the open suitcase on his bed. For years, his entire life has fit into a single piece of luggage—race suits, boots, headsets, caps with the logos of Ferrari, Red Bull, McLaren, Renault, Williams. The stickers on his passport are the only proof that, for more than a decade, he never truly belonged anywhere.

Until now.

Carlos has never been one to hesitate, but still, when he books the flight, his fingers tremble slightly over the screen.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side.

He doesn’t know if she will want to see him, if she still feels the same, if she still thinks of him when a song plays on the radio or when she watches a race on a quiet Sunday.

He doesn’t know anything.

Carlos stands in front of her door, his heart pounding in his throat, and one unshakable certainty in his chest: he can’t spend the rest of his life without trying.

When she opens the door and sees him, her expression freezes.

And then, slowly, it crumbles.

Carlos doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at her. Just feels her.

Years have passed.

Years of trying with other people, of unintentionally searching for each other in different eyes, of accepting that what they had would never be repeated with anyone else.

Years of remembering.

But now they’re here. In the same time, in the same place.

And Carlos has never wanted anything more than this.

“Hi,” he says, with a tired smile.

She blinks, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Carlos…”

His name is a whisper. A plea.

He takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t come to ask for your forgiveness.”

She looks at him, saying nothing.

Carlos swallows, his voice softer than ever.

“I didn’t come to make promises either.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of everything unspoken is crushing her.

Carlos steps forward.

“I just want to tell you the truth.”

She trembles.

“Carlos…”

He shakes his head.

“Let me say it.”

Their eyes meet, and it’s like being back in that airport, at that wedding, in that small town where they unknowingly broke each other.

“If you ever thought you weren’t enough for me,” his voice cracks, “that I didn’t choose you, that you were always second place…”

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You were so, so wrong.”

Her eyes shine with tears.

Carlos smiles sadly.

“You were always the only one that mattered.”

She exhales a shaky breath, as if the air has been stolen from her lungs.

Carlos takes one last step—without touching her, without forcing anything.

“But I chose you too late.”

His words land like a blow, an open wound.

She looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, letting out a bitter laugh.

“God… I spent so much time running from this. Believing I had all the time in the world. That loving you was enough, even if I always left you waiting.”

She looks at him.

And in a low, wounded voice, she says:

“But it never was.”

Carlos nods, his eyes glassy.

“It never was.”

Silence engulfs them. Everything they are, everything they were, hanging between them.

Until she, lips trembling, asks:

“What are you doing here, Carlos?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every last ounce of courage he has left.

“I left Formula 1.”

Her brows furrow, surprised.

“Why?”

Carlos takes a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want my life to keep racing past without you in it.”

She loses her breath.

Carlos continues.

“Because after all this time, after every goodbye and every reunion… I still love you.”

Her lips tremble harder.

“Carlos…”

He gives her a small, sad smile, holding her gaze.

“And this time, I’m not letting you go.”

The silence that follows is dense, heavy, filled with promises and fears and years of restrained love.

She doesn't answer right away.

Because this is real. This is everything.

When she finally speaks, her voice is a broken whisper.

"I don't know if I can go through this again."

Carlos nods. "I know."

"I don't know if I can trust that this time you'll stay."

"I know."

She blinks, a single tear falling.

Carlos steps closer, his eyes burning with contained emotion.

"But I want to find out with you."

She looks at him, searching his face for something that will tell her this is just a fantasy.

But all she finds is truth.

Truth and love.

A love untouched. A love that never ceased to exist.

She closes her eyes and lets out a sob.

Carlos smiles softly.

"For the first time in my life, I don’t know what comes next."

She watches him, her heart pounding.

Carlos takes a breath, and with more sincerity than ever, he murmurs:

"But if you let me… I want to find out by your side."

She laughs through her tears.

And this time, when Carlos takes another step closer… she doesn’t pull away.

She stays.

The way she was always meant to.

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be part of my permanent taglist, just let me know :))

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twstwizard · 3 months ago

Note

can i request an octavinelle version of the ticklish prefect thing :p

Tickle-Me-Prefect PT.4

PT.3 < Heartslaybul

Type: Headcanons, SFW, Fluff, Romantic

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto; Jade Leech; Floyd Leech; GN!Reader

AN: Man, lots of ticklish people here, huh?

AN: Really struggled with Tweels parts, since keeping them in character and in a healthy relationship are hard things to juggle :'D

Azul Ashengrotto

-Azul prides himself on being a business man, a person with perfect poker face and ability to stay cool headed, it seems only fitting that his partner is rather stoic too, don't you think? In all seriousness at first Ashengrotto was a tad bit insecure about your lack of expressions, yet after some time the man reminded himself nothing is crestal clear when it comes to people, just like contracts everyone has their nuances. Small acts of devotion is all he needed in the end.

- It's no secret that Azul appreciates you, but what does a shady businessman appreciate even more? Something physical - the man lives for your touch. While not overly big on generous PDA, everything is on the table when the two of you are alone. Cuddles are of particular favor for him, being held and slightly weighted down is heavily to him, adds to the senes of security if you will. Accidentally tickling his partner was bound to happen at some point, no? Azul simply didn't expect for his love to snort and giggle like a hyena.

- Ashengrotto is somewhat relieved that the two of you share a weakness, as wierd as it may sound. Worry not, your secret is safe with him. While he's a conniving capitalist, he does have a heart, it just happens to be held by you. Your boyfriend is now a bit more careful about public displays, no longer keeping his hand on your lower back, his hugs are even more feathery touch, yet in private nothing changed.

- Being vulnerable for Azul is priceless and yet you so freely show him the things that others would deem embarrassing. Your openness to him makes the act of being one true self so much sweeter and more special beyond any means, the young man wishes to keep those rare smiles and laughs only to himself. Perhaps if he was an old version of himself, Ashengrotto would make a contract for such purposes. He can be soft and squishy with you in turn, he will be in fact, your small weaknesses that you share push him closer with you far more then you can imagine. Trueselves of people are embarrassing, yet with you it's freeing.

Jade Leech

- Jade is... Well, Jade. While the young man has a calm expression plastered all over his face 24/7, everyone knows that he is in fact, dangerous. Be it fate or perhaps a simple coincidence, his significant other is similar, only slightly different. Jade finds it amusing in a way, no matter what your face remains the same, while most may find it annoying, yours truly thinks it fascinating. All the small shifts that others wouldn't notice, a muscle twitch here and there. Small things. And Jade sees them all.

- Jade is a true gentleman and his affection is of similar caliber- reverent in it's feathery lightness, sometimes too light, causing goosebumps to rise all over your skin. Your boyfriend is as much of a menace to society as his brother, just more subtle, to the point where he couldn't be accused of anything. Don't blame him for trying to tickle your emotions out of you. In all honesty, Leech had no idea such silly thing would work, but oh Sevens is he delighted.

- Lucky for you, or not, your dearest is respectful of your secrets and weaknesses, or at the very least knows how blackmail works. Jade doesn't necessarily hold such thing over you, though he does find it amusing when his fingers accidentally graze your skin just the right way for you to snort or giggle. What? His hands must've been slippery... Worry not however, Leech knows not to abuse such power too much, the man understands that if he does so too often the joy of seeing you smile wouldn't be as delicious.

- Jade is a character, he and you are aware of that. Many things were unspoken when you entered into a relationship with him, mainly because you didn't need to know some things about him. When the merman heard your laughter, felt your body shake with it, he thought how cruel were you for hiding such a thing from him. Yet that would make him a hypocrite, no? He should also be able to turn his back to you, be able to tell you all those small things about himself - perhaps you'll find them as delightful as he finds your smile to be.

Floyd Leech

- Floyd is a wild card. While he is the more 'sane' of the twins, the young man is still unpredictable and a menace to society, quite literally. You're like an anchor in a way, always calm, always stoic, like a... An anchor amids ocean for the lack of a better term. And Floyd loves his anchor. He can't exactly pin point what draws him in, your bland expression should repulse him and yet there's just enough unhingieness for him to keep coming back to you bo matter what.

- Floyd loves to squeeze people, you, his lovely shrimpy, are not an exception, in fact you're Floyd's favorite to squeeze. Riddle is praying for you and to you. It was bound to happen sooner or later that his affectionate attacks ended up in you giggling and snorting, trying to breathe through how much it tickles. Hope you're prepared for tortures beyond human, but not mer kind.

- Leech is merciless when it comes to things he loves, can't exactly blame him for loving your laugh, can you? Floyd squeeze and tickles you each time he sees you or when his mood drops for whatever reason. You're his little pickmeup, your lovely laughter does wonders to his inner moray, especially when he gets to feel how your chest heaves, how you whizz, your lungs contract as you try to breathe through his affection. He's still fascinated with those organs. Okay, now tickle and squeeze him back! This seems fun...

- The young man isn't necessarily possessive, no, he doesn't mind if others hear your lovely voice begging him to stop or laughter, by all means let all hear how he makes his Shrimpy feel! But that doesn't mean that he likes to share however... If anyone else tickles you, even by accident, it's on sight. Leech is the only one that is allowed to make you shake with laughter, stealing your breath away. It's a connection to him, sign of great trust that you allow him to do so, that you don't frown at him, allow Floyd to feel you. He may not always explain things or be good and gentle with his words, but the young man's actions are his main language and whenever he makes you laugh with it, he truly feels love like no other.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst headcanons #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x yuu #jade leech #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #octovinelle

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lackinggravitas · 2 months ago

Text

yo. part four of stan if he was raised by coyotes is here :-)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3/ part 4(you are here!) / part 5 / part 6 / part 7(eventually)

ao3 vers

Here’s the plan:

DNA testing was a relatively new science in the 1970s and 80s. The science was known to be possible, but the technology wasn’t quite there yet. Also, Ford did not, for all his many PhDs, take a minor in Biology. Or have a degree in Engineering.

All of these things Fiddleford had.

Granted, Ford would be lying if he said part of it wasn’t fueled by the desire to see his old college friend again. Fiddleford had been the first ever true friend he made after Stanley went missing. Ford hadn’t exactly been chomping at the bit to attend Backupsmore, of all places, but he’d been desperate to go to college, to get out of the house, as soon as possible. Backupsmore provided that.

But meeting Fiddleford had made it all worthwhile. It had been so long since Ford felt there was someone he just fit with. Fiddleford shared his curiosity, his brilliance, and brought to the table his gumption and creativity, with a pragmatic attitude and hospitable personality. They’d spent many nights up late, playing DD&MD, or studying together, or just sitting on their separate beds, talking quietly as they stared up at the ceiling. Fiddleford felt like a kindred spirit, a fellow star amongst stones. They fit.

Then they graduated. Then Fiddleford got married.

Ford had wondered often throughout his life if there was something wrong with him. As a child he reasoned that his lack of interest in the opposite sex (or even the same sex) had simply been the logical thing to do. That belief had held throughout college - why would he take precious time away from his studies to go on frivolous affairs with people he didn’t even know that well?

It certainly worked out for most of his life. Ford didn’t know of any women (or men) who would want to go out with him. He was always viewed as strange, unwieldy, unsociable. And Ford didn’t even want romance - the idea of it held nothing for him.

What he wanted was companionship. Someone to be there.

He’d been happy for his friend, of course. Fiddleford really did seem to love Emma-May. It was just that-

-it was just that it was yet another reminder that Ford was abnormal. An alien in human skin.

It was just that Fiddleford getting married felt like being left behind. It was just that Fiddleford getting married felt like a reminder that Ford was alone, that he wasn’t normal, that eventually everyone, even Fiddleford, would move on to normal, happy lives, without the stain of the freakish Stanford Pines.

So he did what monsters did best, and holed himself up in a lonely lair to hide away, until he had achieved an accomplishment, a discovery so big and so bright, it would eclipse his abnormality in importance. He would stop being Ford the Freak and start being Dr. Stanford Pines, Ph.D, the Genius.

(When he, at the ripe old age of five, told Stanley of this grand plan (still young in the making), Stanley had just shrugged at him and, with all the simplicity that comes with being five years old and seeing everything at its face value, said, “Okay, whatever makes you happy, Sixer. Just so long as you don’t forget about me.”)

But now he had a reason to call Fiddleford up. For science- er- for Stanley!

The plan was to phone Fiddleford and invite him to leave his family for several months to create some sort of machine that would revolutionize the study of genetics, so that Ford could definitively prove that Remus was not his brother and that he was simply going mad with grief or something, and once they had that done, they could create some sort of DNA-seeking robot to hunt down Ford’s real brother and return him. All very achievable things.

Actually, more achievable than you might think. Fiddleford picked up on the second ring.

“You say you're tryin' to build a biochemical deoxyribonucleic acid analyzer to compare two folks’ DNA?” Fiddleford paused for Ford’s awkward, ‘Well, yes, but…’ before cutting him off, “Well that's biologically and mathematically feasible, I reckon!”

Ford let out a billowing sigh of relief. “Thank you, Fiddleford. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Hey, just so long as you ain’t planning on using it for evil!”

A beat.

Fiddleford cackled, telephone-static crackling in his laugh. “I’m just kiddin’! Science has no morals!”

Ford chuckled fondly, already feeling lighter. He’d forgotten how comfortable he’d felt around Fiddleford, how at ease everything felt - he didn’t have to pretend to be anything he wasn’t. “Quite. It’s good to see that the married life hasn’t changed you too much.”

“Oh, hardly! It’s real boring, really- ever since Emms banned murderbots in the house, I’ve taken to creating computermajigs to keep m’self sane! I’m like a hog with no mud to roll in, Stanferd. It’s maddenin’!”

“I’ll welcome any murderbots you wish to make here,” Ford told him genuinely. “So long as they don’t turn on us, of course.”

“What do I look like to you? A first year Engineering student?” Fiddleford laughed brightly. “I’ll see ya in a week, Stanferd!”

“Farewell,” Ford said, before the line went flat.

He set the phone down, breathing out with a small smile on his face.

Right then.

It would take at least a week, maybe two, for Stanley’s baby teeth to arrive - Ford had tried to get his mother to pay for faster shipping, but she’d been firm in that she wasn’t spending any more money than she had to, especially when Ford wouldn’t even tell her what he planned on doing with the teeth beyond ‘it’s for science’. In her mind, if Ford wouldn’t tell her exactly what he was planning, then it clearly wasn’t urgent enough to pay the extra however-many-scents for express shipping.

Typical, really. Ford was certain that if he had told her he planned to do mystic, folklore spells with them, she would have paid for the President himself to deliver the package. Typical.

Instead, Ford was using science. Which his parents did not think was good enough. “When will you start making money, Stanford?”

They hadn’t exactly shelled out for Stanley’s search, either, he thought bitterly. If they had, maybe Stanley would still-

Ford cut that thought off, running a hand through his hair with a deep sigh. It wasn’t that he disagreed with it, but he didn’t have time to spiral down that particular cold staircase of thought. It was one best explored on empty nights, with a shot glass as his only company. Right now, he had to get to work.

Stanley’s teeth would hopefully provide an adequate DNA sample to test. Ford knew Stanley hadn’t lost all his teeth before he went missing (most children slowly lose their teeth throughout all of their childhood, all the way until they’re twelve), but Ford did have the very distinct memory of Stanley accidentally smashing headlong into a fence at the dock and losing a tooth, which they had then brought to their mother.

Stanley had been very casual about the whole thing, contrasting the sheer, all-consuming panic Ford had felt at the time because, was that supposed to come out? Oh Moses, Stanley, what if you knocking the tooth out too early means the adult one doesn’t come in right? What if-

You mean I might get an awesome pirate tooth? Like a gold one or a snaggletooth? Stanley had grinned broadly, showing off a mouth that looked far more gruesome and bloody than it really ought to have. That would be so cool!

Ford had been such a nervous child, he recalled. Smart enough to know about the dangers of the world, but not smart enough to know he really didn’t have to worry about most of them. The same younger version of him had been deathly afraid of rabies (fair) and brain-eating amoebas (absolutely absurd, they were swimming in the ocean, not Lake Michigan or what have you).

But Stanley had a way of balancing him out. As a child Ford had thought Stanley must not be scared of anything, which in retrospect certainly couldn’t have been true, but Stanley had certainly always acted the part. Ford would always remember his brother to be daring and reckless, rushing into things without a moment's thought. If we’re together, Stanley had always said, then I’ve got nothin’ to be scared of.

…he must have been so scared, alone, abandoned, at the gas station.

No. Ford had to stop thinking about this. Now isn’t the time.

He had to… he had to set up the guest bedroom. Yes, that’s what he had to do. Fiddleford would need a place to sleep while they worked.

Ford had a small basement he’d been thinking about renovating for more lab space, but there was no way even the impressive construction abilities of the Corduroy family could get that done in the week’s time it would take Fiddleford to arrive in Gravity Falls.

The DNA-Machine (name pending(maybe something in Latin?)) could easily go in the living room area, if Ford cleared out some space. Ford certainly wasn’t about to make his friend sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor, so he’d have to get a bed from the mattress store. As for the room-

Fiddleford certainly couldn’t stay in Stanley’s room. That was… no. Just no. Ford had to keep that room open, for if- when Stanley returned. Letting anyone else stay in there was out of the question.

It would have to be in the attic area then. Ford was quite certain he could convert one of the rooms into a suitable, even comfortable guest bedroom. He’d even put in a few books of his he knew Fiddleford would like, in case he wanted to pick up some late night reading - Ford and Fiddleford were both prone to restlessness in the night.

Ford would also need to pick up some more groceries. He certainly didn’t have enough food to feed two, much less-

Oh, right. Remus.

Fiddleford would… probably be okay with Remus, right? Ford didn’t really see the creature going anywhere in the near future, and the DNA-Machine was being built quite literally because of Remus.

Remus certainly couldn’t sleep in Stanley’s room either, because he wasn’t Stanley. Ford may not have proved that yet, but he was certain of it nonetheless.

Remus could sleep in his room with him, Ford decided. Remus wasn’t human, and clearly had no concept of human boundaries, and Ford didn’t mind sharing the space. He’d shared a bed often enough with Stanley, when they were young.

There was a soft, muffled thump from down the hall, and Ford straightened, attention snapping towards the noise.

He could hear the quiet, distinct noise of Remus walking towards the door on all fours, then begin to scratch at it, making a sound halfway between a whine and a growl.

Ford huffed, amused. It seemed someone had woken up.

His eyes trailed towards the clock on the wall. Halfway to 8 o'clock at night was a bit early to turn in, but by the sound of it, Remus wouldn’t let him stay awake any longer than that. Apparently it was their bedtime.

He would get an early start in the morning, he told himself. Going to bed early meant he would only wake up even earlier than usual, maybe even avoid some crowds. He had no idea what day of the week it was - time seemed to blur together like that, when the only schedule that mattered was your own. Without school or a 9-to-5, it was easy to lose track of the days of the week, as they didn’t really matter.

Ford moved back down the hall, not bothering to muffle his steps as he walked back to his bedroom.

Soft growls and whines could be heard from the other, Remus’ nails creaking against the wood - Ford frowned at the thought of the damage the creature must be doing to his poor door. Or to his own nails. Perhaps it would be best to teach Remus how to use a doorknob.

Ford waited until the scratching stopped to open the door - he didn’t want Remus to fall through it unexpectedly. He grasped the handle and softly pushed the door open.

And there sat Remus, long, curly brown hair billowing out around him, spooling out on the floor like cascading water - it was amazing how one bath could make Remus look so much better. Now he was a far cry from the ragged, scruffy creature Ford had found in the woods earlier - long, clean hair, not a smudge of dirt on him, with brown eyes blinking up at Ford with a severely unimpressed look, like Ford had personally offended him.

It was almost funny, till the thought ‘Looks a bit like Pa’ crossed his mind, and suddenly Ford just felt tired.

“Yes, yes,” Ford said, giving a small, tired huff of amusement, “I’m supposed to be in bed, hm?”

Remus growled softly, letting out one, sharp bark.

“This is actually my house, you know,” Ford said jokingly, “You should be the one following my rules, not the other way around.”

Remus growled again, starting to sound annoyed. He stepped forward, snapping his teeth around Ford’s pants leg and trying to pull him. There was a surprising amount of force in it, for an action that was all teeth.

“Senseless beast,” Ford sniped, though there was no heat behind it. Only a fond sort of humor, at Remus and the situation both. “Very well. I see I have no choice in the matter.”

He allowed himself to be pulled towards the bed, before climbing in himself so that Remus wouldn’t get it in his head to try and force him again. That had been unpleasant.

Fortunately Ford hadn’t put his shoes back on after the bath, so all he had to do was awkwardly shrug off his trenchcoat and toss it to the floor, then set his glasses on the nightstand (Ford was fine sleeping in his shirt and pants - he’d done it plenty, more often than not, actually).

Remus climbed in beside him, thankfully not on top of Ford this time. He curled up at Ford’s side like a dog, seeming pleased, either with himself or with this whole thing, Ford couldn’t tell. He definitely looked smug, though.

“I should make you sleep at the foot of the bed,” Ford said, making no move to do so. He lifted a hand, petting Remus’ hair idly.

Remus made a contented noise, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed. His head tipped towards Ford, welcoming Ford’s petting.

“I wonder how intelligent you are, anyways,” Ford mused. “I should run some tests on you, seeing how human-like you really are. Just because you’re not my brother doesn’t mean you’re not some other, completely human individual who happened to have grown up in the woods.”

Ford stared up at the ceiling, voice hushed.

“Surely you can’t be Stanley, though. He was five years old - far too old to completely lose all language skills and human development. He should have been able to find a place in a human society - why on Earth would he have ever needed to- to become something like you?”

He wouldn’t have needed to.

Unless something horrible happened to him.

Ford shuddered inexplicably. No. Remus was not his brother.

Once he had his proof then he would be able to put that ridiculous, borderline intrusive notion to rest. He knew it couldn’t be true, Remus couldn’t be his brother, yet he couldn’t stop thinking it. About how much Remus looked like him, how he acted in ways that were reminiscent of Stanley, just twenty years evolved and grown.

But it wasn’t true. Ford was certain it wasn’t true.

(Surely he would have known if Stanley had been suffering.

Surely he would have felt something. Some cosmic pull. A divine sign. Something.)

Remus huffed at him. Ford could hear the exasperation in it, like Remus was telling him to shut up and go to sleep already. Ford smiled faintly.

He rolled over, pulling a pillow under his head. “Goodnight, Remus,” Ford whispered, giving Remus’ hair one last pet.

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