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rokutouxei · 1 year ago

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box dyes and goodbyes

genshin impact | G | 3827 | also on ao3 alhaitham/kaveh, kaveh character study

kaveh has always been complimented for his looks. he doesn’t really understand why.

or maybe he does, a little bit. his mother is gorgeous, after all. and that’s not just him being biased, other people have really talked about her being beautiful. he has always been told he resembles her more. that it shows in him—her soft jawline and the curve of her nose so obvious on his face.

but his father lingers there too. showing up in his eyes, his prominent cheekbones, the shape of his eyebrows. his hair.

sometimes kaveh looks at himself in the mirror and finds his father instead.

which is ridiculous, because his father has long been gone, long been dead, and he will never return no matter what kaveh sees in the mirror. nothing is left. there is nothing in the belongings put in many taped-up boxes stacked in the corner of the attic. there is nothing in the family photographs still hanging in the wall. there is nothing in the empty seat of the living room’s special armchair, once occupied, now likely never again.

nothing, just this. his father’s features on his stupid face.

kaveh curls his fists right at the very roots of his hair and sobs into the sink.

---

the week before kaveh officially enters the akademiya as part of the kshahrewar darshan, walking in his mother’s footsteps, he shows up to the students’ general orientation at the house of daena looking like someone else.

with his once-blond hair dyed into a nearly black shade of brown, it becomes hard to avoid the stares of his peers during the entire meeting. they had seen him before, after all. to have forgone the natural luster of his locks for something so… different is a surprise, to say the least. he just did not understand why it would cause quite a fuss.

“it’s just hair, guys.”

or so he says, when he was the one so bothered with it to begin with. he used up ten boxes of brown hair dye from a local shop, the contents poured into an old mixing bowl he’d found in the kitchen. he did it by himself, sitting in front of the bathroom sink, at two o’clock in the morning one night when his own guilt would not let him go to sleep.

his father is not here anymore. the feeling should go away.

(it does not.)

so kaveh tries to teach himself forgetfulness with each stroke of the brush through his immaculately blond hair. as the yellow gives in to the dark brown, kaveh thinks, goodbye. maybe this time, at least he can fool the young boy reflected in the mirror that he is his mother’s son and no one else’s. that there is no one to grieve.

so when even the roots of his hair have disappeared under the dye, kaveh thinks,

leave me alone.

not knowing if he really means it.

the day kaveh dyes his hair, his mother sees him leaving the bathroom while she is cooking something quietly in the kitchen. she turns her gaze to his sodden shirt and his muddy gloves, like she hasn’t noticed the change in his hair at all.

“you’ll get sick like that, kaveh,” is all she says, before turning back to the stew. “change your shirt.”

if she has anything in mind about losing the most prominent feature of her late husband left behind in her son’s appearance, she keeps it to herself.

somehow, kaveh is thankful.

to say that the death of her husband affected her thoroughly would be an understatement. all the light in her eyes disappeared when news of his death arrived at their door. kaveh still carries that last genuine smile she had given him mere minutes before the akademiya messenger had arrived.

“he’ll be back soon, kaveh,” she tells him, an attempt to soothe him. “he’ll bring you all sorts of sweets, the kind they make at the desert, just like he’d promised.”

that is the last time he gets to be little kaveh. because after that, his mother spirals into a depression so deep it is as if she will never come out of it. she haunts the rooms of their house like she is already a ghost. kaveh worries for her endlessly. he is too young to understand. but he knows he has to do something.

and so little kaveh becomes just kaveh.

cooking them dinner when his mother does not find the strength to get up off the living room chair that was once someone else’s. finishing cleaning the rest of the house when she only musters enough energy to tidy one room. checking the stock in the pantry to see what he will have to buy at the market the next time he goes out.

in fact, it is him who puts his father’s belongings in neat boxes to be stacked in a hidden corner.

his mother cannot do it.

but he can. so he does.

kaveh was still so young then. imagine how used to this he is now.

kaveh loves being at the akademiya. it keeps his mind busy. he’s walking in his mother’s footsteps. he’s beginning to become someone that might be worthy of something despite everything he has gone through.

but when his classmates back out on him after a ruin cave-in incident early on in his academic career, kaveh’s resolution begins to crumble. he wants to help them. it is simply his instinct. he wants to help them achieve results. he wants to be able to have them walk side-by-side with him as they finish the project together. but there is nothing he can do about their change of heart.

i’m not any better than you, he wants to tell them. why are you walking away? aren’t we just all pathetic students trying to get a grasp on the world around us? why are you quitting now?

but they would never understand.

kaveh finishes the project alone.

miserable, but at least it is finished.

this is the same way he feels when his mother receives a job offer that would send her all the way to fontaine. his hands trembling behind his back as she paces the living room excitedly, reading out the letter that was sent to her by a budding architectural company looking to reinvent visions of fontaine. why will he ever show her his weakness? why will he ever make himself any more of a burden than he already has been, causing his father’s death?

“i’m excited for you, mom,” is what he manages to say without his voice breaking. his mother rushes to take him into a hug.

“a new chapter for us, kaveh,” she insists. cups his cheek in his hands, tucks away the strands of brown hair behind his ears. “we can start over again.”

he does not believe this until he is at the harbor, until his mother’s waving hand shrinks as the ship slowly disappears in the horizon. a new chapter to write, now that he is older. he can start over again.

and he will. alone.

kaveh doesn’t know it at the time, but he has a checklist in his mind of things he has to have. this is to keep his attention away from what has to be dealt with inside of him. one of those things include a distraction.

enter: alhaitham.

two years his junior and in a completely different darshan, kaveh’s intrigue over the so-called “genius of haravatat” is just the perfect mind-numbing task to keep him on his toes. it gets even better when the two of them click academically. someone who can keep up with him. with his mother off to fontaine now, the unending cavern of academic work is the best environment for kaveh to flourish.

well, as much as one can in the state he is in.

he does well academically. so stellar, in fact, that whispers of a title “light of kshahrewar” begins to echo through the walls of the akademiya. the beginnings of what he will be known for much later. it doesn’t help that despite all of that, kaveh is friendly, sociable, and good company. he becomes popular, a favorite amongst his peers and his teachers. and paired with such a genius like alhaitham just across the street in haravatat—it is as if there is little that kaveh cannot achieve at this point in his life.

but between his newfound friend and his brown hair, there is only so much running away someone can do.

vulnerability is not kaveh’s favorite characteristic.

he wants to be self-sufficient. he wants to be independent. with his mother away, with his father gone, it’s what he has to do. he is alone or nothing.

but alhaitham is tricky company.

people are curious about their friendship. of course they are. where kaveh is pleasant and welcoming, alhaitham is the exact opposite—surly and rather discouraging to be around. how does someone like kaveh tolerate someone like alhaitham? polar opposites, working closely together—a nearly impossible task for other researchers.

but no one knows either of them.

they do not know alhaitham and his scribbled notes scattered all over the place, those that kaveh has to learn how to put together.

no, they have no idea.

they do not know how alhaitham’s voice softens ever so imperceptibly even when he’s delivering a particularly hard blow about kaveh’s work ethic, his enchantment with danger, his tendency to overwork.

they do not know that kaveh only ever feels transparent in front of alhaitham. kaveh had grown up in a home in which words were not necessary. alhaitham understands his gesturings, his vague murmurs.

it comes to the point where only alhaitham truly knows what it means for kaveh to keep dyeing his hair brown.

no one in their peers know the mirror images of their childhood tainted with loss.

in turn, they do not know the language the two of them speak, the one they learn from each other the more they work together, the more they spend time with each other. alhaitham’s sharp tongue translating into concern. kaveh’s spite doing the same.

so when anyone asks him about them, kaveh hides his face from view, and answers with a truth with parts omitted from it.

“he’s tolerable.”

however, it doesn’t take long for kaveh to realize that their difference runs far deeper than personality, and that his and alhaitham’s ideals clash to such a degree that it might take more than patience to settle things between each other.

it might be impossible to make this work out.

but kaveh tries, anyway.

it’s all he’s ever done, anyway. try to run away from the crush of reality.

where kaveh insists that failures are a matter of obstacles that can prevent individuals from succeeding in their goals, alhaitham stands up for his belief that some people are simply not cut out for the labor that comes in achieving what they want. that “ordinary people” and “geniuses” can be separated and must be separated, that they do not need to force each other to coexist.

“it would be inefficient,” alhaitham will go on to say. “it will be pointless.”

it enrages kaveh.

perhaps partly because kaveh has been on that other side, too. his troubles putting him at a disadvantaged position. he knows what it is like to feel left behind. to struggle despite it all, by himself, having lost his father to death and his mother to grief.

but perhaps his anger remains partly because he knows alhaitham is right, too. as sharp as his words are, they are correct. the delivery may be blunt, but it does not take away the accuracy of the statement.

it is a true shame that at this point in time, kaveh is not yet ready to hear what his best friend is telling him. the past weighs heavily on him, unsettled in his heart.

“you’re insufferable!” is all kaveh manages to tell alhaitham before he walks out on the argument.

not knowing that there will be another. not knowing that something is breaking between them. not knowing that the next time, it might alter the course of his life forever.

kaveh takes their fallout horribly.

it is one thing to be alone to begin with, but it is another to have company be taken away after having had a taste of it.

everything that follows is a trail of crumbled pieces.

kaveh graduates from the akademiya and swiftly buries himself in his work. all he allows is bouts of crying in between projects, no more than a few minutes long. how can he not, when every time he picks up his pencil to begin to sketch, he remembers his mother’s shaking hands in the months following his father’s death. her inability to draw. the effect it had left on her. the so-little he could do for her back then.

oh, would his father have been proud of him for the only-so-much he has managed to give?

no. no talk about father.

the architect burns out from the mismatch between his clients’ desires and his work ideals. he takes a break, thinking it will calm him down. but when he returns from his vacation to find a letter from his mother, he only breaks apart again.

he hasn’t opened the letter yet and he knows it will already render him pathetic.

i have found a man i can entrust my life to, she has written, in her steady cursive. i know i have not returned to sumeru in a while. but i have heard of you, darling, all the way here. i am proud of you for who you have become.

kaveh has to pause here.

i hope you will learn how to forgive yourself of your past shortcomings, the same way i have. your father would want us to live life to our satisfaction. i hope you find happiness in front of you, like i have here.

he folds the letter back into the envelope and hides it in a drawer on his shelf.

if he was already alone then, what has he become now?

kaveh does not cry.

instead, he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face. when he looks up, he finds a reflection of himself staring back in the mirror as if right through him. he sees the dark circles under his eyes. the dullness of his gaze.

his roots, beginning to show, blond against the dark brown.

he wants to wear it blond. he wants to show up to his mother’s wedding looking like his father. he wants to wear the memory of him proud on his body. because he hasn’t forgotten. maybe his mother has. but he hasn’t.

but kaveh inevitably dyes his hair brown again before going to attend the wedding.

the words of his mother echo in his mind the whole way home from fontaine.

he does not know what do with it until the palace of alcazarzaray is built, falls to the ground, and then is rebuilt again. his magnum opus—for now. the one that will make him even more renowned throughout sumeru for his talents. “the light of kshahrewar”, now set in stone.

but will he ever be enough?

forgive yourself, kaveh.

no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he succeeds, the boy never really goes away. the littler version of him with golden hair that forever sits inside his chest. the one that cries himself to sleep. asks for his father. blames himself for sending him off.

forgive yourself, kaveh.

sitting at the second floor of lambad’s tavern, which he has called home for the past two weeks after having sold his own house, kaveh asks both greater lord rukkhadevata and lesser lord kusanali—damn, even celestia—for someone that will understand his plight.

here, alhaitham spots him first.

leaning forward on the table with his forehead on his hand, kaveh’s brown hair a curtain covering his features. he would have been crying had he any tears left. but there are none anymore. so when alhaitham pulls the seat across from him before sitting down, kaveh looks up at the familiar face and snorts.

forgive yourself, kaveh.

“you, huh?”

the number of years apart has not dulled alhaitham’s ability to see through kaveh and tell him what he needs to hear. a mirror held up against the architect’s worst fears and insecurities, bared open by the one person who knows him the most.

but now, kaveh is ready to listen to alhaitham’s cutting truth.

finally.

where kaveh has yet to learn to forgive himself, he has forgiven alhaitham.

there is too much to process in one night, sitting in lambad’s tavern letting kaveh’s soul spill out of his mouth. there is simply too much. it will take many, many nights of the same quiet listening ear and rambling heart for things to truly quiet down for kaveh. that much alhaitham knows. a part of him weighs the pros and cons, like he usually does.

but before the computation even finishes, he knows already what his decision will be.

he doesn’t hate kaveh. the opposite, rather. it’s not that he has trouble understanding kaveh’s point of view—time has led him to learn, as well, that it was never a matter of who is right or wrong. their contradictory views will always lead them to clash. but it is in these moments of tension that growth will come out for the both of them.

kaveh knows. alhaitham knows.

they have always known each other far deeper than anyone else ever will.

so when on the walk back to his own place alhaitham lets out: “how has realizing your ideals gone for you?”

it’s because he knows kaveh needs to hear it.

it’s excruciating for kaveh to have to move in to alhaitham’s house. it’s even more painful when he realized this was the exact site that had been given to them by the akademiya, originally to serve as their headquarters while writing their impressive thesis.

but there is space in the bedroom for one more bed and the house is enough to fit one more person. and kaveh has little options left.

when he first settles in, kaveh and alhaitham make sure to keep their items kept distinctly separate from one another. nothing is for sharing. kaveh is fine with that—it’s just like a dormitory. in the bathroom, his tiny crate with boxes of hair dye inevitably sits next to alhaitham’s hygiene supplies.

alhaitham takes notice.

“are you planning to dye it forever?” he asks one time, passing by kaveh in the bathroom. kaveh is washing his face; alhaitham reaches for his toothbrush. the question comes out of nowhere.

“that’s none of your business,” kaveh bites back. “and you know why i dye it.”

it’s nearly invisible, but alhaitham shrugs. “simply thought you ought to grow out of it.”

for a moment, kaveh wants to argue. alhaitham just has that attitude that makes it easy to want to argue with him. but struck by how casually alhaitham had seen through him once again, kaveh instead gives himself a moment of reflection. Looks at himself in the mirror, seeing the blond peeking through once again. kaveh wipes his face with his towel and turns to alhaitham, who is waiting to use the sink.

“do you think it will be better for me?” kaveh asks, his voice weak. then, in a snap of a moment, “you know what, never mind.”

he sees what he needs in alhaitham’s steady gaze.

so when he returns home and his roommate-slash-landlord is not home yet, kaveh goes into the bathroom and puts the crate of hair dye underneath the sink.

then, after years and years, does not touch them again.

alhaitham knows how intently kaveh holds onto his noble ideals as a guiding force in his life. when he dares speak a word on it, it is never to judge kaveh for his own decisions and actions—it is merely a statement born of his own observation. they are older now. wiser, he likes to think. men who have long shed the arrogance of youth.

where they clash, there is only the intent of protection.

which is why he thinks so little of the moving in, the house, the rent, and even kaveh’s public secret. where kaveh frets and worries, alhaitham fears nothing. what does he have to prove to kaveh now? and, much less importantly, what does he have to prove to everyone else who will dare point a finger or even give a critical look in their direction?

alhaitham has a set of rules he likes to follow. a direction, a position to take. and at this moment, he knows he simply must speak by his actions.

if there is anything he’s learned from kaveh, it will be this.

so when the interdarshan championship rolls in one year and kaveh is (inevitably, perhaps) elected to be the representative for kshahrewar, alhaitham steps up. he has an inkling about the diadem. he just needs to pursue it. not because he feels an obligation to do so, not because he wants to step into concerns that aren’t his—but because he wants to.

he calls it curiosity. he knows it is something else.

and when the dust has finally settled, when the paperwork is finished, when the research documents have been filed away by lesser lord kusanali, alhaitham comes home.

lofty ideals may provide no defense at all against nihilism, but perhaps little decisions can.

there is food waiting at the dinner table. still warm in its packaging from lambad. across the hall, he finds the door the bedroom with the door ajar. alhaitham is drawn toward the door, where he finds kaveh sitting on his bed, staring at his hands.

alhaitham leans against the doorway, waiting to see if kaveh will speak.

“if you’re here to berate me about not making a rational choice about sachin’s properties, please save me the pleasure.”

“i’ve said my share. there is no use repeating it.”

kaveh looks up to face alhaitham. his eyes are glassy, just as alhaitham had expected them to be. “then what the hell are you doing here?”

the scribe enters the room, and the architect does not stop him. does not even make a sound when alhaitham sits next to him on the bed. throughout all this, alhaitham juggles in his mind the right words to tell kaveh. he wants it to reach him, not just bounce around the walls.

in a moment of weakness for the both of them, alhaitham reaches up to twirl a lock of kaveh’s hair with his fingers. kaveh does not flinch. alhaitham lets the curl drop back against kaveh’s shoulder before speaking:

“this suits you better.”

forgive yourself, kaveh.

alhaitham does not see it. but he knows, kaveh is smiling.

#kavetham #haikaveh #genshin impact #genshin kaveh #genshin alhaitham

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killersfool · 1 month ago

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ANATOMY - a snippet of a book I'm writing

a/n: this is literally bridget jones i know!!!!!!!!

I first saw Andrew on Thursday the 14th of October at exactly 8.41am. On the tube. It was one of those busy mornings where time feels like it’s slipping away faster than usual. The train was packed, and I was wedged into a corner, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

I watch him from the opposite seat of the tiny compartment. I watch as his hair curls across his forehead, a dark coat upon his shoulders and engrossed in a tattered copy of Byron. Typical posho, I think to myself, rolling my eyes. I can just imagine him in his teenage years in a private school. I'm betting on Eton. Wearing his pristine uniform waving goodbye to mummy, hanky patting against her tear-stained cheeks.

He sticks out like a sore thumb against the group of fellow tube-takers, opting for an old-fashioned book rather than a phone. My legs are crossed, no phone in my hands because my brain is too fried to have that brightness illuminating my face and my eyes are still glued to this strange man. He flicks the page after a moment and raises an eyebrow in thought. His right hand drifts away from the book and deep into the pocket of his dark brown corduroy trousers and I glance at the belt meticulously strapped through the loops. Out of the pocket emerges a black biro. Then he's annotating in the margins. Or writing some sort of thought that popped into his mind. Maybe he's a writer or a poet himself. Or maybe he just has an adoration for 19th century poetry. In this day and age it seems to be a long-forgotten niche. It's rare to see someone so absorbed in anything beyond their screen.

The train jolts. We arrive in Westminster. I thought this would be where Mr-Byron-reader would stop. But no. Alas! We continue along. I'm surprised he hasn't noticed my very obvious staring. He seems oblivious to the entire world around him. Even the child who has just sat next to him who keeps screaming at her mother. He hasn't budged a bit, only pressed the briefcase on the ground a little closer to the seat. The briefcase leads me to the suspicion that he is a lawyer. He looks like one alright. Clean-shaven, black shiny shoes, a furrowed brow.

But then, suddenly, he looks up—at me.

We make eye contact for a moment. He raises the furrowed brow and looks at me with confusion. Then he stands up and leaves. Temple is his final destination. The tube station closest to the Courts of Justice.

The next time I see him is the week after, give or take. Friday the 22nd of October at the same time. About two minutes after. This time we're both stood up. His hand is clinging to the overhead handrail, mine to the one by the door. He's unable to read this time because both of his hands are occupied so he instead looks up at the ceiling, brown eyes focused intently. He looks tired this time. A little bit scruffy. His tie hasn't been done up properly and his hair is mussed up like he's just pulled himself out of bed. He has grey trousers on this time and a blazer to match. I wonder what his name is. He looks like a Tom or a William. One of those classic english names that everyone seems to have.

Part of me wants him to look at me again. I found the perplexion dancing across his features quite amusing the previous time we were in the same compartment. As the train reaches Temple, he stops looking at the ceiling. Once again, our eyes meet. I smile. He doesn't. He's serious. Then he's gone and I'm rooted in place, resisting the growing urge to follow him.

My stop is covent garden. Each morning I walk down to the lab, and look at cancer cells. I started working for a research agency three years ago after finishing university. I always wanted to make a change. This would get me in the centre of the action. My life consists of staring through light microscopes and drawing what I had discovered. I like my job. I like the study of disease and I hope one day I will discover something that will change the course of cancer treatments. But this time, as I stain the sample and turn the course focus knob, my mind falls back to the man on the tube. His clicky footfalls and rugged confidence that beckoned for me to look at him.

Next week, I will speak to him, I assure myself. Next week.

The 31st of October comes around quickly and I enter the tube with a sneaking suspicion that after all of this preparing, he won't even be in there. However, he is. Halloween luck. Countless people are dressed up already, although morning has hardly even broken. The compartment is completely stuffed with people and I have to suck in my breath to fit into the tiny corner I have lodged myself in. I spot Mr.Lawyer in mere seconds. He is sat down once again, briefcase on his lap and this time he has reading glasses on as he glances through yet another poetry book. It's not Byron this time, it's Keats. My whole plan splits into a million pieces and we reach Temple before I can even attempt to push through and murmur a word.

Instead, I have the bright idea of following him. Very much stalker-like. I move past the crowd and leave the compartment at the last moment, milliseconds before the door decides to crush me. I walk down the platform, already spotting his tall, brooding frame walking at a jaguar's pace towards the exit. I follow him up the stairs and then we're on the pavement. Loud London roads catch me off guard and I almost lose sight of him as I'm overwhelmed by the noise and business. I finally catch sight of him again. I make him my target. He stops at a traffic light. T

This is my chance.

I stop beside him. Glance at him. Step a little closer. "In a rush?" I ask, trying to catch his attention

He looks to the side then down at me in the most arrogant manner one can possibly do. He looks at his watch then scoffs. "They expect me to be there bang on 9." He sighs, I'm struck by a thick Scottish accent. "But they can all fuck themselves."

I bite back a laugh. So much for the composed, elegant lawyer I’d imagined. He is irritated, stressed—human.

"Who's they?" I wonder, curiosity bubbling over.

"The idiots who plan out the court hearings but can't seem to give us a feasible time table," he grumbles. "Once, they booked me for three at the same bloody time."

I laugh this time, unable to help it. The traffic lights turn green. I expect him to dash ahead and leave me to walk on my own. Instead, we fall into step together, his pace matching mine. His long strides gradually slow down to allow me to keep pace. I'm not sure what to say but know I should make some kind of conversation.

"Do you always run late? Or is today special?" I ask, glancing up at him. His eyes flicker down to meet mine, and for a second, I think I may have overstepped.

But then he smirks, just a little. "Today's a disaster. Forgot my laptop at home. Can't find my notes. And I've been awake since five dealing with some idiot client who thinks she can ignore court orders."

"Sounds rough," I reply, surprised he's opening up so easily. "Is that what being a lawyer is like? Constant chaos?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You think I'm a lawyer?"

I falter. "Aren't you? I mean... the briefcase, the suit..."

He laughs, a low sound that sends a shiver through me. "Close. Barrister, actually."

"Oh," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed for not knowing the difference. I didn't expect him to correct me so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

We continue in silence for a few moments, the sound of the city filling the gaps between us. I keep sneaking glances at him—he had this intense, brooding energy, but now that he's started talking, he seemsalmost relaxed.

“Do you always follow strangers off the tube?” he questions suddenly, his tone half-teasing, half-curious.

My face goes red. “I—uh… No, I just… You seemed interesting. I see you on the train a lot.”

“Interesting, huh?” He shoots me a sideways glance, his lips curling into a smile. It's the first time he’s really smiled, and it makes me feel both exposed and intrigued. “

I mean, not in a weird way,” I backpedal, laughing awkwardly. “You’re just… you’re always reading something, and I guess I wondered what kind of person still reads Byron on the tube.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “You should’ve just asked.”

“Would you have answered?”

“Probably not,” he admits , amusement still playing on his face.

“I don’t usually talk to people on the tube.”

“Neither do I,” I confess. “But here we are.”

“Here we are.” He stops walking, and I realise we are standing in front of a grand stone building. The Royal Courts of Justice loom above us, its gothic architecture sharp and imposing. I hadn’t even noticed where we were headed.

“This is me,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’m already late.”

I want to say something, anything, to keep him there for just a bit longer. There is still so much I don't know about him. “Wait—what’s your name?”

He looks at me for a moment, considering whether to answer. Then he smiles, that brief flicker of amusement returning. “Andrew.”

Andrew. Of course, he is an Andrew. It suits him—serious, stoic, a bit old-fashioned, just like the poetry he carries with him.

“I’m Mila,” I offer, feeling suddenly small under his gaze.

“Mila.” He repeats my name like he is testing it out. “I’ll see you on the tube, then.”

And just like that, he turns and walks toward the towering doors of the courthouse. I watch him go, feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and disappointment. He spoke to me. He has a name. But it isn't enough.

#original story #original character #colin firth #original work #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #female writers #writerscommunity

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honklore · 3 years ago

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would you consider doing an au where dream is a high school teacher (maybe a math teacher or english teacher or something?) and he has been crushing on his colleague, maybe an english teacher or an art teacher, and his friends have been teasing him quite a bit for it since he hasn’t had the courage to ask them out, which is quite weird considering he’s usually so confident, but it’s just a lot of flirting and shyness between the two until he final caves and asks them out? maybe even some of the students had begun to call him out on not acting on it? it’s perfectly okay if you don’t wanna do this but thank you for reading it :))

you + me = <3 | dreamwastaken

(math teacher!dream, gn!reader, dream likes u oooooh, cute kids, writer knows nothing about chess or how chess tournaments work, you requested high school but i can’t read so i chose middle school sorry!! this is literally nothing like you requested pls forgive me but i has fun, proceed with caution)

song to listen to: roadtrip by dream

i am setting the scene to say that teacher!dream is hot!!!! like, rolled up sleeves and leather watch kind of hot !!!!!!!

dream with fluffy waves that he sometimes ties into a bun if it gets too hot,,, brown roots and blond hair, brown eyebrows, forest green eyes,,,,,, freckles,,,,,

teaches middle school math!! very patient w his kids!!! but also has been known to go on tangents so long that they last until the bell rings

he’s the teacher whose classroom the weird/shy kids sit in at lunch

reads up on his students special interests and tries to ask them about it and encourage them

doesn’t make kids write out their entire process during testing bc he understands some students work in their head and can’t <3

works with different methods to help each kid learn math in their own way

the sweetest ever omg i can’t imagine a nicer teacher than dream

has a open-policy snack cabinet in case some of the kids can’t buy their lunch

has rlly cheesy anti bullying posters on his wall but actually talks to his students about it and makes sure they know he is someone they can go to

okay this is supposed to be a love story not an i heart teacher dream story sorry

you’re the art teacher of the middle school!!! you are also one of the favorites when it comes to teachers

dream is sort of a practical logical comforter and you’re a more dreamy, imagination-based comforter

so the kids ofc have their favorites

you’re a wonderful teacher !!!!

you let the kids use art class as a sort of art therapy, giving them time to do whatever they want with colors and mediums of their choosing

and assignments are usually fun!! you make it fun by giving them good topics that encourage them to express their opinions and personalities !!!

dream has the FATTEST crush on you

it’s so big and he’s very bad at hiding it

literally buys an extra coffee friday morning

slips into your classroom like “oh? hey ___ ? didn’t expect you to be here!!”

you: “in my own classroom?”

dream: “ANYWHO!! they messed up my order AGAIN and gave me a caramel frappe instead of a matcha so you can have it”

he does this every week

new excuses sometimes but it’s always ur favorite flavor, sitting right beside his matcha in a lil cup holder

dream is the type of guy to make sure your fingertips touch when he hands you your cup

so he can blush about it later and pretend it means something

any time he needs supplies or something he goes to you first instead of the communal supply closet

during his break he’ll come in and try to talk to you while your kids are painting

you sometimes sit with him during lunch!! and the kids that all sit in his classroom love you, even if they don’t have art

and every time you do he stutters over his own words and his neck gets rlly red

the kids all give each other side eyes when he does this

math kids 🤝 art kids : tired of witnessing dream’s bad flirting skills

dream brings you a cupcake on your birthday and a little necklace w a crystal on it :/

“i googled crystals for protection!! because i want u safe always!! and i made sure it was sustainably sourced!! let me know if you don’t like it!!”

how could you not like it :(

his eyes are wide and almost worried and when you give him a big smile he gets so happy like :((

your students are just. super still behind their easels hoping this is the moment you’ll actually kiss him

but no

it isn’t until a few of your kids come up one day and ask about forming an official chess club

they need at least one teacher willing to supervise and go on tournament trips and stuff

half of the team asks you and the other asks dream

but they don’t communicate that to each other

so it’s a saturday when both you and dream show up to the school in your casual clothes, unlocking one of the rooms for the kids to practice in

you help some kids set up while dream takes a few to the side and begins to teach them the basics, since not everyone who joins is an actual player

some just wanted to be w their friends ^u^!!!

but dream keeps catching your eye over the sea of middle schoolers and it makes your cheeks heat up whether u want them to or not

the two of you becoming the unofficial parents of the middle school chess team; you take turns supervising but usually both go to trips for tournaments!!

there are six students who make up the chess team + a few who just come for the snacks and respite

and your team is actually so good they qualify for state

and it’s going to be an overnight trip !!

some parents have also agreed to come chaperone

the team is so excited!!! the entire team got to go even though only a few are competing

theres a lot of lovely support going around

your kids are expressive and bright, all wearing special t-shirts they made that count as “uniforms”

they are twelve and dgaf about what ANYONE has to say

puffy markers and all

and before the tournament they surprise u and dream with ur own shirts :(( they are so sweet omg

and ofc you and dream wear them!!! fashion be damned!!!!!

the shirts are like MR WASTAKEN LOVES HIS CHESS TEAM

TEACHER ___ LOVES THEIR CHESS TEAM

AND THERES AN IRON-ON PICTURE OF YOU GUYS AND UR KIDS — EVERYBODY IS CHEESING AND ITS JUST SO SO CUTE

man they just look up to you guys so much

they really needed a place to fit in and your club gave them that

even the ones who are HORRIBLE at chess are sitting in the bleachers with you guys, cheering on their friends ><!!

it’s all so wholesome omg

and your team ends up qualifying !!!!!!!! it’s huge !!!!!!! you all go out for celebratory milkshakes sponsored by mr wastaken !!!!!

and everyone falls asleep with a big smile on their face that night

the next day is full of driving,, and you and dream share a lil seat at the back of the bus

all the kids are winding down, listening to music or playing games on their phones

and dream is so warm, shoulder pressed against yours when he hands you one of his earbuds and is like ,,,, do you want to listen to music with me?

and ofc you do

so the two of you take turns picking songs

dream adds them all later to a playlist called ___ and dream’s epic roadtrip playlist

now that interstate is paved with memories amirite?

once all the kids are picked up at the school, you are about to call your roommate to come pick you up

but dream is like. i can drive you home

dream is that guy who drives with one hand and keeps the other on top of the gear shift <3

you’re just excitedly recounting all the kid’s faces and all the silly stories you were told in the hotel when dream is finally at your apartment complex

and he just bursts

“i really like you”

and you’re just. stunned bc you knew he was fond of you but you never thought he’d be brave enough to SAY it

“i like you too dream!!”

“would it be too cheesy to walk you to your door and kiss you goodbye?”

“maybe... but i like cheesy.”

thank you for requesting!!!

#I fully believe dream is horrible at flirting #dreamwastaken au #dreamwastaken x you #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken fanfic #mcyt au #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader

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whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years ago

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SMUT, collegecrush!au, tattooed Johnny agenda, bff Jaehyun! And brief mentions of him being drunk, all the yearning, Johnny is whipped for you but you didn't hear that from me, he's got a big dick, brief dry humping, finger fucking and pussy eating bc....I'm a whore, sensual fucking cause he thinks ur precious teehee ngl I have a crush on this Johnny

A month ago, if someone would have told you that Johnny Seo would be watching The Matrix trilogy with you while sitting on your living room floor under a blanket that he'd brought to the routine occasion - you would have thought them to be crazy. Insane, even.

And not because Johnny is unpleasant to be around, quite the contrary. Despite his popularity he's one of the most levelheaded, endearing frat boys - for lack of better term - you've ever met, and you also happen to think of him as a superhero of sorts, always there the moment you need him.

It had been a party, where the two of you met - sort of. Not shocking, in the least bit, but also not the first place you would have planned to be on a Saturday night. Jaehyun, being the stubborn and puppy dog eyed best friend that he is, insisted that you come along with him - that he'd keep you glued to his side all night long.

Of course, in proper Jaehyun fashion, three tequila shots in and a game of beer pong had him barely cognitive and passed out on some ones bathroom floor within two hours. The house was big, but filled with people and between trying to lift him up while he giggled about your hair smelling so good and sweet - you also feared anyone seeing him like this. Even if it weren't the first time.

His presence spooked you, at first, a light tap on your shoulder from somewhere behind you just as you attempted to lift your aforementioned best friend for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You nearly dropped him back on his head, if it weren't for quick hands and a sturdy grip on the drunk boys slumped shoulders.

He looked like sunshine, honey skin and dyed blonde hair with the dark roots growing out - a soft, comforting smile across the smooth planes of his face. Dark ink peaked out from where the collar of his shirt had drooped, appearing to be spilling from his shoulder. Your arms felt weaker than before, and embarrassment regarding the situation began to make your skin hot.

"I got him, don't worry," he'd assured with a gentle grin, lifting your bestfriend with an ease you almost wanted to scowl at. His height had been startling too, and not just because you were sitting on someone's bathroom floor. "did you guys drive here?"

You shook your head, a sigh of frustration leaving your lips and slumping your posture as you remembered that you both had walked here. Johnny slung Jaehyuns arm over his broad pair of shoulders, and jerked his chin towards the door, which you opened warily.

"I'll drive you home, it's no problem," his voice was soft, reassuring and you were taken aback. He obviously knew Jaehyun, and you'd never met any of his friends that were so...pleasant. "let's get him to my car first."

It wasn't nearly as painful and humiliating to push past crowds of intoxicated people with Johnny leading the way, as it would have been if it were just you. No one even batted an eye at the way he was dragging Jaehyun like a ragdoll, while the boy grumbled under his breath like a child.

People looked at him, of course. Oh, they looked at him. But not because of his human luggage, and it felt odd to see so many eyes on one person, to realize that his presence has the same effect on everyone else as it did you.

He kept looking back, making sure you were still close behind him, and it wasn't until you were outside in the open that you realized he'd been clinging on to the fabric of your jacket, making sure you didn't stray. Your heart felt like it was bursting open. Focus. You'd thought to yourself.

"That's my car over there, can you open the door for me?"

You jogged towards the sleek, onyx colored SUV that looked like a shadow against the dark bushes, and in just a split second Johnny was behind you, maneuvering Jaehyun into the backseat.

"Mmm...leather." Your best friend's giggle made you all the more grateful for the fact that you hadn't had to do this alone, his cheeks bright red and eyes crescent moons from the way he gleefully grinned. Still, you love him nonetheless.

You pulled your jacket off and prepared to drape it over his body before Johnny stopped you with a gentle hand, shaking his head. "I've got two on, let me."

His jacket probably sufficed more anyways, a heavy denim that would actually cover most of Jaehyuns body. You thanked him with a shy smile while he closed the door, and headed towards the passengers seat.

This experience had been the beginning, the car ride home that night being one full of conversations - genuine conversations, and he didn't leave once you both arrived at your apartments. Jaehyun snored in the background while the two of you talked, laughed. It was hard to look him in the eyes, to not make it so obvious - it's hard now, too.

Neo and Trinity kiss on the screen in front of you, and you wonder how Johnny sees you. Sure, he's flirty, overtly sometimes, but there's never been a definitive line to mark where the both of you really are on the friendship spectrum. If you even want to call it that.

Every time he touches your cheek or catches you staring, even when you're walking to your classes and his hand graces the small of your waist just before he waves you goodbye - you have to assume that he knows what he's doing - that the tension hasn't ever just been one sided.

His hair is a light chestnut brown now, longer than usual and flopping into his eyes from the sides. It's unfair, how he doesn't even have to try. The sharp slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, even the elegance of his neck and jaw. That awe from when you first saw him, has never left.

Not to mention that you often times forget he has so many tattoos whenever he decides to wear short sleeves, the art inky and stark against his olive skin - riveting down from his biceps like silk, cascading over his thick forearms and ending at his knuckles.

You turn your attention back to the laptop upon realizing that you've gotten caught up, heart still rattling underneath your ribcage. It makes it worse, the fact that the heat of his body is so close, that you can smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging onto the fabric of his shirt along with the natural allure of his skin.

"Why were you staring at me?" His breath is warm against the shell of your ear and you shudder, surprised by his sudden closeness and the timbre of his voice. You turn to face him with an incredulous expression, feigning innocence - but he makes it damn near impossible with the way he's looking at you - a dark eyebrow raised and a sly smile playing on his heart shaped lips.

"I was looking at your tattoos, cause - uhm, I forget they're underneath your clothes sometimes." You confess, and his knee knocks against yours underneath the blanket.

"Mmhm, so you think about what's under my clothes?" He teases, and takes pride in the way your eyes glower at him, a scoff leaving your mouth. It's hard to be annoyed when he's so vibrant, right here in front of you.

"Just the art, this one's my favorite." Eager to not have the pressure on you anymore, you reach out to grasp his wrist - not realizing how deeply of a need you've had all this time to do so, until you're tracing the flower that's decorating the top of his hand.

In hindsight, it's a bold move - but you can't go back now, not when he's staring down at you so fondly, scooting closer and placing his hand in your lap while you admire his body art.

"Yeah? Why's it your favorite?" He asks, genuinely curious. He nudges your shoulder with his when he sees the shy smile spreading across your lips, your skin hot to the touch. His comfort level has you less nervous than you were before, and the whole thing feels oddly natural, being so close together.

"I don't know, it just suits you. Your hands are so big, and the little vines looping around your knuckles really makes them look...delicate."

You don't dare look up, not when you realize his chest is rising and falling faster than it was before, just like yours is as you spread his fingers out and play with the digits, his face just inches above yours, voice warm in your ear.

"Second favorite." It's not a demand but it's not exactly a request either, and there's a safety in the energy pulsating around you both - mutual, rippling like a current through your bones.

Your eyes deliberately trail up the length of his long arm, scanning, and your fingertips press against the belly of the dragon that wraps around his bicep, sinewy tail tapering off just below his elbow. You've secretly admired this one for a long time, sneaking glances whenever you can. He turns more towards you just the slightest bit, and the closeness begins to make you feel dizzy.

"Your hands are soft."

This time, you can't not look at him, belly filled with a need to see his face, to save the memory of his features so up close in the back of your mind. However, once you do, look up at him - you almost wonder how you'll be able to handle it at all, his amber eyes boring into you as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"So is your skin." Is what you manage to reply, willing yourself not to look at his soft, inviting mouth - afraid you'll give yourself away. You feel something stroke the side of your cheek and it takes you a second before realizing he's touching you, apparently giving yourself away isn't an issue. You feel like you're being set ablaze.

"Is it really just the tattoos, you think of?" You're not imagining things, he's definitely moving closer - you can smell the starbursts that he ate earlier still sweet on his breath, the wrappers crumpled on the coffee table next to the laptop.

It's all settling in, the realization that this hasn't been just you, fantasizing and daydreaming about someone who hasn't even realized how his natural charm has made you feel.

You're afraid to speak, so you shake your head as a response to his question, the atmosphere thickening impossibly now that he's cupping your chin between his fingers, the tips of your noses almost touching. You've placed your palm against his knee without even realizing it, steadying yourself.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met," he confesses, dark eyebrows furrowed as if he's restraining himself, waiting. "is this...is this okay?" Your lower belly flutters, and you're almost afraid to move, to change anything about this moment and the way it is right now.

"Me too. I've wanted to kiss you, I mean." You breathe out, and now your lips are ghosting against each other, a moment of hesitation that feels both infinitesimal and fleeting. "It's more than okay." A heartbeat passes and he presses his mouth against yours, so pillowy soft that you gasp, surprised.

It's just a second, that he pulls away to look down at you, and your expression is so heavenly - so hazy and delicate. He kisses you again and this time your lips begin to overlap, from top to bottom, suckling and getting used to the feel of each other. He's still holding your face, but with both hands now, thumbs on your cheeks and fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck.

You cling onto him like you've no other choice, desperate to have him underneath your fingertips, reminding you that this is really happening and that your mind isn't just creating very vivid daydreams. He pulls you closer and you grip onto his broad shoulders.

"Mm, you're so sweet," he lilts between his kisses, tone somewhere between bliss and desire. You're not expecting to be so worked up already. "even better than I imagined." His tongue slips past yours, wet and warm and it's like your body is being put on vibrate.

He senses this too, with the way you're almost in his lap, breath unsteady. His arms are around your waist before you can move any further, pulling you on top of him and locking you to his torso.

"Johnny." You strain, as the feeling within you becomes overwhelming, craving his touch, his mouth. It doesn't help that he's being so vocal, as well - the sounds sweeter, and more desperate than you'd expect from him. It has something feral igniting within you.

What shocks you the most is that he's already hard underneath you, and the thought alone is enough to have you keening further against his chest, tightening your thighs' grip around his trim waist- not to mention you can feel him snug against your ass, material of your shorts so thin it's palpable when he twitches.

So, naturally, your whine is petulant when his mouth departs from yours, his plush lips a deep blush, matching his cheeks in their hue. He's just as worked up as you if his erratic breathing and the way that he grasps onto your sides is anything to go by, and you shouldn't be as surprised as you are about it.

"You...have no idea," he pants, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. "how badly I've wanted you. In so many ways."

Your heart feels like it's attempting to burst through your chest in an effort to be closer to him, his sharp eyes lowly lidded but fierce in their honesty. You take this brief moment to touch his face, his soft cheeks and the smooth, taut ridge of his jaw. It all feels too real to be a dream. This must be reality.

"I'm only stopping because, well I like you," it's hard to pinpoint if the trembling of his hands is fueled from his desire or his nerves, but either way he's got your rapt attention. You doubt anyone could look away from those eyes.

"I like you a lot and...fuck, I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with or...sure about. Because I'm sure about you." He finishes, sincere and stoic while holding you against him. You feel like you're floating.

"I have a really big crush on you, Johnny," you kiss his mouth and he smiles against it, humming in contentment. Suddenly, your nerves are replaced by pure adrenaline. "and I like you a lot, too." When you pull back from his lips with a soft smack, his expression causes your skin to burn hot.

"So it'd be okay if I did..." he tilts your head to the side, and a flurry of goosebumps descend across your skin, his breath warm against your throat. "this?" A kiss, soft but purposeful, is placed there, and you shudder.

All you can do is nod in affirmation, heartbeat in your ears among other places. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck while his mouth begins placing warm, wet pecks against yours, and his body lurches when your thighs tighten around his torso.

It only manages to work you up further, of course, brain already high off of the fact that Johnny likes you back...in fact...he truly is as good as you've always thought, sweet and kind and nasty, groaning when you rut your hips against him.

"Baby, you're shaking." He mouths against your jaw, wondrously and laced with an undertone of hunger. His strong arms hold you tight, eyes softening when he looks down at you and realizes just how worked up you really are.

"I just want you really bad, Johnny." Your body emphasizes your point, chest pressed against the firmness of his, nipples hard behind your shirt. He can practically feel you throbbing.

It's a little fucked up, honestly.

No ones ever had him this head over heels, he feels himself melting against you, your voice sweet and syrupy, dripping with this ache just for him and he's losing it.

"Yeah?" He muses, the wide palm of his hands sliding down the curve of your back, and over the swell of your ass where it's planted so firmly atop of him - massaging you there. "Where do you want me, honey?"

The pet names have you too worked up, you really could get off of anything right now and he's tracing the back of your thighs now, swirling his soft fingertips around, leaving a wake of searing heat in their path.

"Want you everywhere, just - mmph." This kiss interrupts you, bruising in it's intensity and he cups your face softly as a silent apology despite the fact that you're letting out small coos of satisfaction, tugging at the ends of his messy hair.

For a second you feel like you're being lifted, not realizing he's just moved you both to the couch until your head is resting against the cushions, inky arms caging your body against the length of his. He groans when you palm at his stomach, touching and rubbing his sides and then the broad of his back.

All the while his free hand, the one that's not attached to the arm holding himself up, does some exploring of its own, palming your breasts through your shirt and squeezing with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

Automatically, your legs wrap around his middle and your heels dig into the dimples of his back, and his hips pivot downwards to nestle right in between yours. You're both instantaneously struck by the sensation of your centers meeting, his length jerking inside of his pants, your clit throbbing in yours.

"Gonna touch you..." nimble fingertips dance over the skin of your inner thighs. "...here, is that okay?" The warmth of his hand cups your sex and now you're positive that wetness has begun to soak through your underwear, senses gone haywire from the way he's rubbing you, up and down.

"Mhm that's - yes, that's okay." You pant, desperate to feel him as well and reaching in between your bodies in an attempt to grasp at him - his height doesn't make this as easy as you thought and your pliant hands meet just his navel, the faintest of happy trails soft against the skin here.

He switches to his thumb now, instead of the heel of his palm to rub you through your shorts. He searches, for a short moment, finding what he's looking for and pressing the pad of his finger against your bud.

He kisses your whimper, shifting his hips and shuffling upwards just a smidge so that your hands can reach his hard cock. You have to maneuver your arm underneath his but it's working out fine so far, your eyes widening once you feel the twitch of his length.

"Oh." You gasp, expecting to have felt it all while you were on his lap, but missing by a longshot. He's big, bigger than anticipated and you're a bit too flustered as you follow it's bulge through his sweats. He groans your name, and you might be short circuiting.

"You're so hard...and b-big, Johnny you're really big." The incredulity of your voice only has his hunger growing, threatening to swallow him whole. In one breath your hands are pulled from him, pinned above your head with his gentle fingers barring your wrists.

"You're so fuckin' cute," he professes with an awed lilt, moving his hips in circles between yours - his shaft, heavy and thick, nudged against your lips. "wanna make you feel good...mm, wanna make you cum."

Butterflies threaten to flutter into your throat and suffocate you, his breath warm and sweet against your cheek before he's nipping at your earlobe. You feel like you're high, spinning yet completely grounded by his weight above you, against you.

"I want you Johnny, want you to fuck me." You try to turn your head, bashful of the way you're being so shameless but he's not having it, keeping his gaze on your every expression, trying not to lose his sanity when you grind yourself against him. Your voice, petulant and needy, is enough to have him at his wits end alone.

"I will baby, I will," he promises sweetly, accentuating his point by letting go of your wrists, and using one of his hands to pry your thighs open. He rolls his agile hips against you and the friction has you reaching out to grasp at his waist - trim and firm underneath your fingertips. "just gotta get you ready first."

He sits back on his haunches and you pout about the lack of content, his pleased grin a beacon as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your shorts off your hips and past your thighs - till they're at your ankles, and it feels surreal when he throws them somewhere behind the couch, too eager for his own good.

You're brought back to current reality when his big hands caress the tops of your thighs, before creeping down into the soft crease where they're shut closed in embarrassment, and pulling them apart.

He outwardly marvels and you wonder if he can see you clench, the moment overwhelmingly intimate with the way he's staring directly at the wet spot that’s soaked through the crotch of your panties. He takes only a moment to reach out and press his thumb against the dampness, balls tightening with the need to release each time you whimper or gasp.

With his cock leaking in his pants, he wastes no time, taking the flimsy piece of fabric off so fast you don't even have time to by shy about him seeing you naked and glistening in front of him. Furthermore, you don't think anyone could feel even the least but bad about themselves if he looked at them like this - slack jawed, and starved.

"Fuck...you're so beautiful," two long, inky fingers formed into the shape of a V, spread your lips open and then he's moving further away - no, scooting down onto his stomach, and suddenly his breath is a warm puff against your most sensitive parts. "so wet for me, hmm?"

You're not sure you can look away, too enraptured by the visual stimuli that's correlating with the circling of your swollen clit. You want to cry, a little bit. Scream, maybe. He's so beautiful you can't help but to reach out, running your fingers through the front of his chestnut hair and then his eyes are piercing through you like the shock of ice water.

Your body seems to register the feeling before you can process the sight by itself, back bowing off the couch, hips bucking. His hot, wet tongue licks at the hood of your clit, starting slow and picking up pace when you start to squirm. The blossoms painted across his skin decorate the arms that hold you down while his pillowy lips envelop the bud, suckling lewdly.

"O-oh, oh fu-mmm." You're already blubbering, lost and falling into the sensation of everything all at once. You've no doubt that he's had years of experience but this, you're not sure you've felt pleasure like this before.

"Feels good?" He mumbles between the flick of his tongue, hands traveling up the length of your body to grip your waist, kneading your skin. You almost laugh at the question, assuming your trembling body and the way you're involuntarily bucking against his mouth would suffice as an answer. Still, you humour him.

"Mmhm, feels- ohh, mhm feels good." Your voice is barely there, strained and whiny but he feeds off of your every utterance as if it's something he so desperately needs. The smacking between your legs becomes louder and like a magnet, you're drawn to the sight again, coil in your belly tightening impossibly.

He's a muss of hair, the dark strands tickling your thighs when his head moves from side to side. Your thighs attempt to clamp shut but then he's looking up at you again - purposeful in the way he maintains eye contact while he dives down and licks a stripe over your entrance.

You're not going to last long, and he knows this, from every twitch and squirm and whimper - he's preparing for your demise, humming in contentment while the lewd sounds of slickness continue.

He slips a finger inside of you, and then another once he realizes how soaked you are, and this proves to be the beginning of the end. You grip onto his forearms, needing to be grounded to something while he buries the digits inside of you, curling in a come hither motion.

It's all beyond what you thought pleasure could be, it's violet and red and all things euphoric behind your eyelids and the sound of his pleased groans are what finally have you giving out, melting against the couch cushions.

You're not sure if you're making any sound at all, honestly. It comes so quick, violent in it's force and you're hazy headed - tears welling in your eyes from the way he's still massaging you, licking you while your walls squeeze and contract around his fingers.

"That's it baby, mmm, let go."

The velvet voice is warm against your sensitive sex and you're still twitching as you peel your eyes open to peer down between your legs and see him there, staring up at you like you're the sun, slowing his movements while the aftershock of your orgasm seeps through you.

His knuckles are buried to the hilt inside of you and he pulls them out slowly, petal pink lips kissing your clit gently, adoringly. With your brain still foggy and embarrassment no longer present, you grab his wrist, bringing his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and wrapping your lips around them.

He moans an expletive and then he's hovering over you again, watching with a soaring heart as you suckle your juices clean from his digits, lashes fluttering when you open your eyes.

For once in his life, he's speechless. You have to pull him down to kiss you in order to breaks him from his reverie and it's now that he's realizing how excruciatingly hard he is. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been this worked up without his dick even being touched for more than five minutes.

It's safe to say he's taken by surprise when your hand slips into his bottoms and briefs to palm him this time, and his body lurches against you while a desperate sound bellows in his throat.

"Baby." he coos, relishing in the softness of your palm, the difference in size of his own. He wants to protest when the intense bliss of it is gone, momentarily, only to feel your fingers attempting to pull his sweats down.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm but you've never been more positive about something; about someone. Your whole body feels as though it can't be satiated, not until you have all of him after having such a sweet taste.

"Please, now, want you now." You nibble on his bottom lip and he has to pull himself away or else he'll get too caught up in your mouth by itself, but he's on a mission - searching for his wallet and scrambling for it when he sees the leather square sitting on the floor.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle with a mixture of unbearable anticipation, and nerves for what's about to come when he pulls the condom from his wallet and tears the corner of the foil.

It's just a second but it's enough to admire him silently, the twitch of his mouth, the elegance of his fingers even when they're eager and uncoordinated. A part of you feels overcome by the need to be encapsulated by his presence, for his skin to be a permanent silkiness against your lips.

He catches you in the midst of staring and it's like he's glowing from the inside out, pulling his pants down his thick thighs along with his black briefs, kicking them to the floor.

Without thinking your arms are reaching forward, gripping the small of his waist as if to still him, and he pauses at your will. He's cupping your chin with one hand while your fingertips explore underneath the hem of his shirt, and you're grateful that he's allowing you to soak this in, that he's not rushing despite the fact that both of you are like exposed lit wires.

"Here, let me take it off." His arms are reaching behind him before you can blink, biceps curling as he pulls his shirt off of his broad shoulders before discarding it with the rest of his clothing.

Your breath is audible, pupils blown wide while you examine the length of his torso and the permanent shapes that are marked there. Only patches of his honey skin peek through the array of tattoos he's got climbing his sides, over his chest, and you swear you've never seen someone so beautiful.

"Take mine off too." You barely manage to get out, and he's kissing your lips again with a soft sort of fondness, while his knuckles graze your skin and your shirt is being stripped from your body. He's back to kissing you and your naked chests meet for the first time, a fierceness gripping you by the throat when when when the shaft of his cock nudges your clit.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, gentle in the way he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, pecking your mouth between glances at your nipples where they rub against him. His touch travels to your jaw and down your neck, before he's tweaking the buds between his fingers, and your legs wrap around his middle in an effort to solidify your answer.

"Yes, I'm sure," you run your fingers through his hair. "very sure."

Lips press against your cheek and then you're presented with the sight of him again, bare in front of you, just a few inches away. It's now that you really find the courage to look at him, not expecting to be out of breath and shock stricken once you lay your eyes upon his dick.

It's pretty, as pretty as you knew it had to be; curved just slightly, the tip swollen with arousal and a shade deeper than that of his lips that you've come to have photographically memorized.

You watch with probably more fascination than most while his slim fingers roll the condom onto his length, down the shaft that protrudes with a small vein right in the middle, until it's snug and securing the fact that you and Johnny Seo are about to have sex.

As always, here there right when you need him most, aiding you in forgetting about anything that isn't crucial to right now. His arms are wrapping around your thighs and pulling you closer - your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed.

And then, there's also the way he's looking at you, again. It's like he's compacted every emotion you could feel in a moment like this, and somehow managed to reflect it's opacity back at you through the glimmer of his irises.

You jerk your hips against him and he grins at your urgency, diverting his attention to the space between your legs and holding you steady by the hips with one hand while the other goes to grip his cock.

He levels his pelvis with yours and brings the pink head down to your entrance where it leaks for him, gathering the slickness and smearing it through your folds, around your clit.

His fingers search for yours and suddenly he's interlocking them while you feel the initial stretch of his dick finally entering you, a soft expletive leaving his mouth while he pushes himself into you halfway, peering down with half lidded eyes as a silent affirmation.

Your expression must be as expressive as the soft mewls that involuntarily fall from your lips, and he bottoms out while leaning down to kiss you as he's come to realize that this action is single handedly way more addictive than it should be.

You feel so full it's impossible not whine, and within seconds he's pulling himself out of you nearly all the way - mouth hovering over yours so he can watch your features contort when he sheathes himself back in with a snap of his hips.

With the need to hold on to something becoming incessant, he allows you to throw your arms around his neck while your thighs tremble around him, his hips creating a slow but steady pace that draws lewd sounds from between your bodies with every slow drag of his thick cock.

It's strange, how you provoke such tenderness within him when you shudder and pant beneath him despite the fact that he's barely done anything yet- a juxtaposition to the feral, nagging type of ache that brews in the center of his belly to have you even more a mess.

It's not that he's fairing any better, though. Even you can see that, feel it in the way he keeps his lips on your skin, trying and failing miserably to hold back his groans while your nails create crescent moons on the broad of his back.

"You - f-fuck you feel s-so good." He stutters, and if you could find your words maybe you'd even have the confidence to tease him, but right now all you can comprehend is the feeling in which he's providing, the nudge of his tip so deep inside of you.

"Faster, can you - oh yes, yes." It's like he knows what you want before you get it out all the way, and his tongue is warm against your throat while he obliges your request, furthering your haziness.

You're quick to realize that Johnny is a generous lover. Despite the fact that he's holding himself together on the edge of his coherency, he's already atuned to each tense of your muscles, the strain of sweet sounds you coo in his ear. He uses this as a guide, working his hips skillfully, circling when he pushes himself back in.

The fact that you're sopping wet helps as well, audibly soaked and your walls are taking him in so generously he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your hands are in his hair and tug at the dark strands without thinking, drawing a sweet, serene moan from the back of his throat.

"Mm, feels good?" He asks despite knowing the answer, your countenance painted with the colors of bliss. He peers down in between your bodies and almost regrets it due to the pulse it sends through his groin - threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

But it's a sight too mesmerizing, his entire length disappearing inside of you with an easy glide, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs and your clit waiting to be played with. You're just as taken by the sight, surrounded by only him, inside of you and around you like a life force. Your hands travel over anywhere and everywhere, down to his belly where the muscles flex underneath the painted skin with every thrust.

"So good, you feel s-so good Johnny." You're becoming even more petulant but he doesn't mind, not when you're clinging onto his biceps and mewling his name. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his hands cup the back of your knees, hiking your thighs up higher around his middle.

Your skin burns where he touches, his pace increasing and now you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors knew exactly what it is that the two of you are doing, skin against skin and coos of pleasure echoing through your small apartment. You have a hard time forming thoughts that make sense.

"M' all the way up there baby," his voice is deceivingly sweet, hips dangerous and borderline ruthless now that you two are drenched in the essence of lust and desire, driven by your need to come undone. "such a sweet pussy."

He means it, too. Maybe that's what makes this all so much more enthralling. From the clench of his taut jaw, to the way his dark eyebrows are furrowed, even the crimson of his lips from the way he's been biting down on them - Johnny is nothing but honest. It's somehow stripped you of the shyness you'd normally be harboring, compelling your mouth to speak without a filter.

"It's all yours, I'm yours."

This seems to spur him on, more than you thought because now he's all but cradling you in his arms, mouthing his words against your lips, not allowing even a centimeter of space to reside between the two of your bodies. It feels whole, complete.

"Mm, yeah sweetheart? Mine. Fuck, you're all mine."

It's a growled statement and you quiver against his solid form, warmed from the inside out like a furnace and set ablaze. You're still sensitive from his mouth but that doesn't change the orb of pressure within your belly, or the waves of pleasure that spread through your thighs and up your spine from the way your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while his cock reaches new depths.

You should've known his mouth would be filthy, and it's really ticking every box you've literally ever needed to be ticked and you're sort of embarrassed by how far gone you are already, properly mewling with your fingers gripping onto his bulged biceps where he uses them to hold himself up.

His face is a sight to behold in itself, as well - plush lips parted, cheeks hot and a shade of deep, ravishing plum. If he weren't steadily hitting that sweet spot inside of you maybe you'd actually be able to keep your eyes open long enough to admire it more - but it's obvious it won't be long until you're unraveling.

He's thankful, in a way. Because you're sighing out sweet words that profess how good he's doing, and he swears that he's never felt anything as good as this. Through and through. You're made for him, wrapped around his being, tight like cellophane and it's silly but this is all he's dreamed of for months.

"Open your eyes sweetheart," his hips stutter at the same time you involuntarily squeeze around the tip of his cock as he goes to seep back into you and you're drawn to the plead of his voice. "let me - fuck, let me be yours, please?"

His voice is honey, coating you in it's sweetness and you're teetering on the edge of your release. It beckons you soothingly, like a siren in the wake of a wave and it doesn't calm when you pull him down to your mouth by the nape of his neck, your shared groans being swallowed by the other. Your thighs are a vice around his waist, keeping him locked against you as he grinds his cock into you.

"You're mine, J-John- oh, oh please." His fingers have reached down in the limited space between your shared skin to rub your clit in circles and you know this is it - mind and body completely encircled by everything he's made of, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body and even the way he says your name.

"Want you to cum for me, please, please cum for me baby." His breath is warm against your ear, a vibration that wracks through all of your senses and your body knows it's coming before you do - instantly under the influence of his begs and pleas.

You're descending, voice nothing but a gasp and an echo of an expletive when the dam inside of you finally bursts - leaving you to tremble like a leaf beneath him while the feeling threatens to consume you inch by inch, nerve by nerve.

You've all but gone limp, bright dots of light flitting through your vision and you feel his mouth everywhere, like a soft, warm reassurance that he's not going anywhere while you spasm around him.

"Just like that, oh fuck, yeah just like that."

In this place of completeness, you bask in the rise in octave of his usually low timbred voice, in the way he's holding you so firmly in his arms, as if scared to let go and put even an inch of separation between the two of you.

You're still twitching when you feel him throb inside of you, your name a warm whisper against the side of your neck while he pumps himself into you with no real rhythm; filling the condom with spurts of his cum while your fingers gently scratch the back of his scalp, through his hair.

Your breaths are ragged and have only that in common, his weight comforting despite the fact that both of you are in such a fragile state. It all feels surreal, like maybe you’ll wake up soon even with his cock still buried inside of you, half hard. More than anything, it feels right. Apprehension nor guilt nor worry brews underneath your skin, instead overshadowed by pure elation.

Wet pecks travel across your throat like marks of gratitude and your smile is automatic, involuntary.

"I meant it, you know," he's out of breath but concise, palm cupping the side of your face as he makes his way to your mouth and kisses you there, afraid to look you in the eyes. "about...about what I want. About wanting you."

You actually do laugh this time, suddenly outrageously giddy at the words leaving his pretty mouth, mildly entertained by the fact that someone could be almost as oblivious as you are. Almost.

He looks worried for only a split second until you're kissing his face, over his nose and fuchsia cheeks, a feather against the soft autumn ground.

"I meant it too," your voice is light, airy and he swears he'd believe anything you told him, even if it weren't as absolutely resolute as it is right now; your smile against his lips like a seal of promise. He meets your gaze, and everything within him calms, settles.

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

This, he thinks to himself, is all he's wanted to hear since the day you looked up at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Completely worth Jaehyun stealing his Armani denim jacket, honestly.

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dilfwaynes · 4 years ago

Note

hi!! can i request a hc of the batfam reaction of their eastasian!reader gf experiencing racism? thank you <33

just a reminder if you took place in any involvement of asian hate block me rn bitch :)

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this anon, i tried to make it accurate without stepping over any boundaries since im not asian myself. if anyone finds any sort of this offensive pls dm me !!

warning ; racism, batfam beating hoes, mention of blood

parings : bruce wayne x asian!reader, jason tood x asian!reader, dick grayson x asian!reader, stephanie brown x asian!reader, tim drake x asian!reader, damian wayne x asian!reader

BRUCE WAYNE:

it’ll honestly take a minute for bruce to realize what happened

when first entering the store he took notice of the man glaring but brushed it off thinking it was directed towards him as bruce wayne

you however didnt really pay attention to the dirty looks being thrown at you

with bruce excusing himself to the restroom and makes a promise of a quick return, you wander around the area by yourself

it was all fine until a man approaches you, giving a fast glance at him before turning away. there was definitely something up with him

“you don’t belong here”

your head shot up at his words, looking around you to make sure he was talking to you

“excuse me?” you lift an eyebrow at him, knowing what he was hinting at

“you fucking heard me, you don’t belong here. go back to your country.”

you inch away as he steps closer,”you better back the fuck away..”

he simply gives a smug face only coming closer,”or what?” you tighten your jaw when he loosely lets out a slur, your fists clenched.

“or i dislocate your arm.”bruce’s voice rings out, deep in anger as his eyes flicker to you and scanning to see if you were ok physically.

the ugly bitch’s face pales when he realizes who’s your boyfriend. without hesitation bruce yanks him away from you, slamming him to the wall

demanding for a first and last name, squeezing his neck when the guy stays quiet

shaking he gives in and tells, flinching when bruce slams him against the wall one last time before dropping him

“i guaranteed whatever poor status you do contain i’ll tear it completely, say goodbye to your job.” he grabs for your hand and brings you into him as you both walk away.

“i’m sorry i shouldn’t have left you alone, my fault,”he presses a kiss to your temple.”and please don’t think any worth of that garbage’s words.”

you shake your head,”he was just some lowlife, not worth thinking about.” you reply leaning into him.

he looked at you and could tell no matter what those words still hurt somewhat and it angered him to no end

no one deserved to hear that disgusting shit, especially not his girlfriend.

his eyes hardens but doesn’t push further to make you anymore uncomfortable than you probably already are

giving another kiss to the side of your head he makes a quiet promise to himself not to leave you alone anymore in public with disgusting people like that around

jason todd:

as soon as the slur leaves the guy’s lips jason’s fist collides to his jaw, no doubt shattering it

you and jason were grabbing lunch at some restaurant slash bar since it was the first time in a few days jason was free

everything was okay until you got up to go to the bathroom and some guy bumped into you

jason watched with hardening eyes as you apologize instead of the guy who slammed into you

“watch where the fuck you’re going at.”

you fall shock at the word, staying in place

while jason is on his feet in no time, swinging to the asshole’s face

screams were heard as well as the sound of bones breaking from his fist impact, the guy stumbling to the floor

“you racist fucking prick that’s my girlfriend you ugly fuck,”lifting him by his shirt he grabs his face and turns him to you.”apologize to her before i break your fucking face.”

he quickly rambles apologizes, crying in fear or pain. most likely a mix of both

jaaon lets him go and gives him another punch, this time to the nose. finding satisfaction at the pool of blood now seeping out

jason grabs your hand and starts to lead you outside,”let’s go eat somewhere else and forget about this shithole.”

you barely had time to give a reaction to anything as everything happened so fast

“hey look at me, don’t listen to that worthless fuck and his fucked up mindset. i dont know what to say to comfort you since i never experienced anything like this.” he stops at the car, placing his hands onto your shoulders

you nod sighing lightly, you only wanted a simple lunch with your boyfriend but instead got hate crime for simply breathing.

“it’s nothing i haven’t gone through before,”he shakes his head blue eyes filling up with rage.

“no one’s gonna be doing that anymore, or at least getting away with it while i’m around

DICK GRAYSON:

he was completely taken by surmise at the slur being thrown at you, as well as the fault of you being the root of the covid 19

but before he had any time to react you were already on your feet glaring,”the fuck you just called me you piece shit.”

before he could reply you already kneed him and punched him between the eyes, dick laughing at the cries of pain

“you want me to take over or you wanna handle it babe?”

even how badly he wanted to beat the shit out of the pos the choice was yours

you denied and wanted to handle this on your own

but everytime the guy tried to get up dick would just shake his head and tell him to stay down, or simply push him back down

eventually if you start going too far richards would pull you away and tell you hes not worth it

he understands your anger but he doesn’t want you to past a line you won’t recover from bc of some worthless grime

“c’mon, he’s not worth anymore of our time. lets go eat pizza.”

DAMIAN WAYNE:

swing first talk later

he’ll just look at guy for a few seconds with a blank face

then he’s literally knocking them out

will probably kick him into the wall or ground

u dont know if you wanna pull him away because you already the tabloids, or if you wanna let him continue to beating the guy

damian probably wouldn’t realize how much he beat the guy to a pulp until you’re tugging him away

nudging his neck with to your nose to try and calm him down

he’ll end the fight with spitting on him tbh

your face reddens with anger when your eyes met the racist bitch, enjoying the view of his blood on the floor

“racist piece of shit,” he hisses before finally turning his back brow still frowning with anger

unlike the others (mentioned) he also knows and experienced racism and understands your point view way more

and know bow to comfort you better tbh

afterwards he’ll talk to you and comfort you, as well as opening up about his racist encounters, as well as his mothers.

if you’re still upset about what happened some hours later he 100% offers to beat up the guy again

you laugh it off cos hes serious about doing detective work, finding the guy and beating him to a pulp

you thank him but deny his offer and settle to confiding into him and just telling him how your feelings

STEPHANIE BROWN:

“are you fucking serious right now bitch?”

steph deadpans staring at the girl who called you the slur with ease, going on about how you were the cause of corona and to go back to your country

shocked at the words, hearing all of this before but it still doesn’t fail everytime you hear them

turning to you and seeing the hurt on your face from the word, she quickly turns to seeing red

without a second thought she grabs the collar of the woman’s shirt

“you’re gonna fucking apologize to my girlfriend right now or i’m gonna slam your face into the floor and break it

you stay still, pleased at watching the girl shake in fear under steph as she chokes out a mesh of a shit rushed apologizes

stephanie throws her down to the ground after her third apologize

“are you okay?” she knew you weren’t but asking the question would lead into the stage of comforting you

you nod but go on to tell her that this isn’t the first or last time this will happen, but it still never fails to shock you

she frowns at your experiences and doesn’t quite know what to do to help since she never went thru anything like that

she offers to take you to your favorite restaurant and end the day in wayne manor watching whatever you wanted

smiling when you accept, pulling you in her and pressing a kiss on-top of your head

“dont worry i’ll beat any jackass that pulls any racist shit.”

TIM DRAKE:

i think he’ll be the less violent one out of everyone

he would honestly be so disgusted and gross out at humanity and how the woman thinks shes superior just because she’s white

if it was a guy saying what was said, then he would probably hit them ngl

but he takes the higher road with the woman, belittling and ending her with his vocabulary

and you’re pretty sure that his words hurt her more than an actual punch would

you laugh when he compares her built to a buffalo

he then goes on to a more education lean, explaining how skin tone has nothing to do with a person, and she should adapt to modern times and stop being a racist cunt

after he ends it he goes on to find out who she is and email/call her workplace to inform what kind of employee they have

probably also goes on to make sure she wont be hired anywhere else

comforts you alot and and will get you anything you want

prob gets you both milkshakes as you vent to him about today and other racist things said to you

hates how you have to go thru any of this for simply existing

the incident opens his eyes and he starts talking to bruce about opening a charity for ‘stop asian hate’

would shy away from the press and say you both came up with the fund

u’ll dismiss that rq and tell everyone it was all tim’s idea

all the money goes people got assaulted and paying for any hospital bills or anything needed

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

May passes into June and they quietly acknowledge that it has been one year since the day Mulder walked into the autopsy bay. They spend their weekends watching movies, making love, and hanging out with the Gunmen, Missy often in attendance as she and Byers become somewhat of an item. Every other Sunday they have lunch with her mother, Mulder meeting Bill by way of an awkward phone call and a promise that they will come out to visit San Diego sometime soon. The moratorium on weekday overnights fades away and the days they spend in each other’s beds begin to outnumber those that they don’t.

One day in early August, Mulder laments how lonely Priscilla gets when he’s gone for the night, crying and following him from room to room when he comes home and plaguing him with guilt. Scully suggests that he bring her over with him, setting up a litter box and food bowl in an unused corner of the living room. Without the daily need to care for a cat, he spends more and more time at her apartment, his suits taking over half her closet and his T-shirts occupying one of her drawers. He still has his fish to feed and so they can tell themselves that they don’t technically live together, though it’s been weeks since anyone slept at his apartment. The excitement of new love gives way to the familiar comfort of domesticity, questions about their lives prior to meeting morphing into what they’re having for dinner and whether someone can pick up toilet paper on the way home from work. They each visit the doctor for a full workup and, everything coming back clear, stop using condoms, relying on the progestin shot Scully goes in for every three months to prevent pregnancy.

Far from boring, they find worthy sparring partners in one another, debating everything from whether the moon landing was a hoax to the merits of String Theory, arguing their points of view passionately before they agree to disagree and then let their clothes fall to the floor. They discover the things they love best about one another; Mulder’s unrelenting curiosity and Scully’s bottomless compassion, as well as those they like the least; his forgetfulness when he’s focused on something and her tendency to shut him out when she’s upset. Whether completing a crossword puzzle together or watching Jeopardy, they embrace the ways that they are different and how they balance one another out; his creativity to her order, her planning to his impulsivity, his acceptance to her skepticism. Yin and yang, tall and small, bold and tempered; there is a completeness in their union that makes them each feel whole.

Even in their intensity and their commitment, Mulder has never again uttered the words ‘I love you’ and Scully has never said them at all. Far from a red flag or a hesitance to be vulnerable, they simply don’t feel the need to express it aloud. She knows he loves her when he drives forty minutes out of his way to pick up her favorite donuts or reads the latest issue of JAMA just so he can discuss the articles with her. He knows she loves him when she indulges him in theoretical discussions on the mating rituals of Sasquatch, not bothering to point out that the creature doesn’t exist, or wastes entire Saturdays watching movies that were bad enough to earn Razzies because he finds poorly made films entertaining.

Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, accepting his explanation that his mother is cold and his father distant, which is why she feels caught off guard when he calls her at work on a Tuesday to tell her that his mother had a stroke, and he is on his way to the hospital. He doesn’t ask her for anything, but she leaves work anyway, approaching the reception desk of the emergency department with a level of calm only a doctor is capable of.

“I’m looking for Teena Mulder, she should have been admitted within the last few hours,” she says to the young woman behind the desk.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman answers, “but visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 and someone is already with her now. Are you family?” The woman looks at her expectantly.

“Um, no, I’m not,” she replies, not bothering to explain that Tenna Mulder is her boyfriend’s mother, who she’s never met.

“You can take a seat then,” the woman says with a well-practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She finds an empty seat and pulls in a deep breath, taking out her cell phone in hopes she can reach Mulder, though cell reception in hospitals is notoriously bad.

“Excuse me, are you Dana?” someone says from a few seats away, and she turns to see an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with receding dark brown hair and tired bags under his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies, eyeing him skeptically as he rises from his seat and takes the one just beside her.

“I’m Bill Mulder, Fox’s father,” he says, offering his hand.

She takes it, scanning him for similarities to Mulder and finding none, other than his complexion and hair color.

“Oh, hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Mulder,” she stumbles, a bit confused. As Mulder tells it, his parents are divorced and not on friendly terms.

“Please, you can call me Bill,” he says with a small smile, and she nods. “Fox is with her now, though I don’t think she’s awake,” he offers.

They sit in awkward silence, Scully realizing she has absolutely no information with which to start a conversation. Mulder has told her nothing about his parents, aside from the details relevant to his sister’s abduction. She doesn’t know what Bill Mulder does, or did, for a living, or where he lives. Just when she’s considering going home, Mulder emerges from a set of double doors.

He was clearly looking for his father, but when he sees Scully his eyebrows knit and his chin puckers in relief. She stands and he scoops her up, squeezing her so tight it hurts.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers hoarsely into her ear.

They part, hands clasped, and he addresses his father.

“Mom just woke up, you can go see her soon, but since Scully is here I’d like to take her back first.”

Scully gives him an incredulous look.

“Mulder, I’m sure your mom doesn’t want to meet me for the first time from a hospital bed,” she pleads.

“I know, but I want you to look at her chart. I just want to make sure that what the doctors are saying is accurate,” he says with desperate eyes, and she nods.

He leads her back through the double doors and into a room where a tall white-haired woman is reclining in the bed, an oxygen cannula tucked under her nose. While she saw little resemblance between Mulder and his father, the likeness to his mother is almost jarring; her stately nose and hooded eyes curating in Scully an immediate fondness for her. She blinks slowly at them, confusion furrowing her brow.

“Mom, this is Dana,” he says, and her expression shifts into one that is slightly pained.

She attempts to speak, one side of her mouth rooting for words that she can’t quite find.

“Hi Mrs. Mulder, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” Scully offers, “I’m a medical doctor, Fox asked me to take a look at your chart, if that’s okay?”

Teena nods and closes her eyes, and Scully goes to retrieve her chart from near the door. After she’s looked it over, they say goodbye and return to the lobby to find Mulder’s father.

“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll see you in there,” Mulder says, and then walks Scully to her car.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as they stand next to her open car door, worry crumpling his features.

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, Mulder. Her stroke was significant, you can see that by the degree to which it’s impacting her speech and gross motor function. It shouldn't get any worse, but she’ll need to go through rehab, and likely need some in-home care for a bit until we know the long term impact. It’s very possible that she’ll be able to continue living independently, but not right away.”

Mulder heaves a big sigh and nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, but I think I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” she replies, bringing her palm to his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, again, for coming down here. You didn’t have to.”

“Mulder, of course I did,” she says with concern. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

He kisses her one, two, three times, pulling her close for a beat, clinging to her for dear life.

“I love you,” he chokes out, and she hugs him tighter.

“I love you too,” she replies, her chin tucked tight into the crook of his neck.

When he releases his grip on her, she brings her hands to his jaw, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out,” she assures him, and he nods tersely.

———

She’s in bed reading, Priscilla curled up on her stomach, when she hears the thunk of the deadbolt.

“Mulder?” she calls out, and he pokes his head through the door.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be in in a minute,” he says, then disappears again.

He returns ten minutes later, shower-fresh and warm. She sets her book aside to envelop him in her arms, his head finding a home on her chest as his arms snake around her ribcage.

“How is she?” she asks as she strokes her fingers through his hair and down his neck soothingly.

“The same,” he says with a defeated tone, “they might release her to rehab tomorrow.”

“And how are you?” she asks, giving his neck a little squeeze.

He groans. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About your mom?”

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbow to look at her, “about life, I guess.”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to toil away in the BSU for the rest of my life, Scully. If I die tomorrow, what will I have to show for it?”

She frowns at him sympathetically.

“You make a difference in the BSU, Mulder. You help catch murderers, prevent further loss of life. It may not seem like it because you’re so far removed from the people it impacts, but you do.”

He flops back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re probably right, but it still feels pretty pointless.”

“What would you rather be doing?” she asks gently, rolling on to her side to face him.

“Honestly?” he steals a glance at her before continuing, “investigating The X Files. Making progress in understanding what happened to my sister. Working to expose those who are responsible for the coverup of secret government operations.”

“Maybe you should talk to AD Skinner, try again. Maybe The X files could be reopened,” she says softly, brushing her palm over his arm.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Scully. They won’t let me operate without a partner and no one wants to work with me.”

“I’d work with you, but that’s against bureau policy,” she says with a small smile, and he looks at her with an affectionate gaze.

“I’m sure you’d have a field day debunking all my work,” he says coyly.

“I would never,” she retorts sarcastically.

He rolls back towards her, pulling her close with her head tucked under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“Well you do have me, so there’s no point in thinking about it,” she replies.

He sighs deeply, reaching past her to turn off the bedside lamp, and they sleep.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

Whump you say? Geralt gets Hanahaki

I’ve been waiting for you, Anon. I’ve been waiting for this prompt specifically and boy when I tell you I might have cried writing it...

2k ish (a little less) words long. Idk why y’all were worried, it’s me. It’s gonna have a happy ending.

tw: Hanahaki, blood mention, illness, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending ---

It had started up just before they parted ways for the winter; Geralt had quietly coughed a handful of rose petals into the corner of his cloak and hidden them from sight as Jaskier gave him their yearly parting embrace. “See you in the spring, Geralt!”

“Hmm.”

You might not ever see me again, actually, the Witcher thought. He tried not to let anything show on his face; not his fear and certainly not his longing, but he ached to tell Jaskier that he loved him and that he’d miss the bard’s presence through the long and dreary cold of the winter months. Geralt also knew that if he told Jaskier the truth about his feelings that he may never set eyes on the bard again anyway, regardless of how the disease currently wracking his body developed over their time apart. He was sure that Vesemir could identify whatever the strange illness was; the old swordmaster might even have a cure ready to go in the old storeroom. If not, they could send for Triss.

“Safe travels.”

“And you as well,” Geralt nodded curtly. He mounted Roach with all his usual grace and ease, biting back another cough and tasting the sickly sweet floral note of rose rising up his throat to coat his tongue again.

---

“Fuck,” Vesemir sighed. “It’s Hanahaki disease, Geralt. It’s not going to be easy to cure now that the pass is full of snow.”

“What’s Hanahaki disease?”

“It’s-” the eldest Wolf Witcher scrubbed his hand over his bearded face and took a moment to compose himself. He’d seen it happen before. He’d seen human bodies buried in the ground with entire root systems crawling from their chest cavities. He’d watched young men and women alike cough entire violet or rose or daisy buds from their mouths while they shivered with fever and seemingly unending pain, but a Witcher? Vesemir hadn’t even thought it was possible for a Witcher to contract such a frivolously deadly illness. “I don’t know exactly how to explain this to you, Geralt.”

“I won’t go screaming into the hills, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” his middle-child joked, “I can’t run very far anymore without a coughing fit.”

“I can’t send for Triss or Yennefer, either. They won’t be able to do anything,” Vesemir spoke calmly and evenly. Geralt, propped against some pillows on adoptive-father-enforced bed rest raised an eyebrow. “It’s a disease that eats at you from the inside out. It latches on to, uhm, romantic feelings and grows with them until it overtakes its host completely. Or until the host, uh… confronts those feelings head on and admits them to the object of their affection.”

“So this is…” Geralt’s eyes were wide and terrified. The eldest Wolf had never seen the stoic boy look quite so scared before, and he’d seen him go through the Trials. “This is going to kill me, is what you’re saying.”

“Who are you in love with, you stubborn oaf!?” Lambert cried, marching into the room from where he’d been lurking in the hall. He startled the other two Wolves and Geralt coughed out another handful of petals. The blood that came with them was surprisingly new.

“What do you mean!?”

“He means,” Vesemir said, as slowly as possible (so that even the great Geralt of Rivia would understand his situation), “That until you tell this person how you feel, the flowers inside you will continue to grow and dig their roots in and, if you never tell them how you feel at all, you will eventually die.”

“Then I guess my fate is sealed,” Geralt smiled sadly, settling himself back against the pillows. “My time as a Witcher is up. Coughing up flowers isn’t the worst way to go, all things considered.”

Lambert growled angrily. “I’m not ready to lose my brother yet, Geralt, so just tell us who you’re pining after and we’ll go fetch her back!”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

Geralt, growing increasingly more feverish and already exhausted from everything that had happened that afternoon, closed his eyes. “Because he deserves better than me, Lambert. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him and I’m not about to steal him away like a selfish ass and force my feelings onto him for my own sake. I’d rather die.”

“Self-sacrificing bastard,” the youngest of the Wolf Witchers snarled, storming from the room. “Ass! Cock! Fool!”

Vesemir could only nod his agreement and follow silently after.

---

Jaskier read the letter once.

Then he read it again.

After a third time through he was sure that he hadn’t misunderstood the contents.

Dear Jaskier (aka Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Prof. of the Seven Liberal Arts at Oxenfurt),

I am Eskel, brother to Geralt of the Wolf Witcher School at Kaer Morhen. I write to you now to ask for your presence at the keep. Geralt has fallen gravely ill and will not likely make it through the season. He does not know that I have written to you, but as his best friend and companion on the Path, I thought it my duty to invite you to see him one last time before he’s gone for good. He’s loathe to admit it, but he misses you and fears for your safety come springtime.

Sincerely,

Eskel of the Wolf School

Somewhere beneath the bright embroidery of his doublet and the hand-woven muslin of his chemise, Jaskier’s flighty, deeply-loving heart shattered into a million pieces.

He grabbed his heaviest woolen cloak from its peg near the door and made for the stables at once.

---

“Geralt!”

The White Wolf opened his eyes a sliver to confirm that he wasn’t hallucinating again; ah yes. What a lovely last dream to have before I die. Standing in the middle of his bedroom at Kaer Morhen, covered with still-melting snow, was Jaskier. The bard’s blue eyes were brimming with tears and his bottom lip was wobbling violently as he gazed upon the Witcher’s withering form.

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Your father and brothers sort of explained it to me but I’m still not sure what’s happening. You’re dying?”

“Don’t worry, bard,” Geralt smiled. A loud, sudden cough wracked his body and he bent over double, spitting a blood-spattered but fully-bloomed rose out into his cupped palm. He laughed joylessly and tossed the bloom onto his bedside table. “I’ll be out of your hair, soon. Won’t this be a last ballad to write, a wolf dying as he’s eaten by flowers?”

“I don-”

“Hush,” Geralt rasped. Jaskier dropped his cloak to the ground uncaringly and rushed to his Witcher’s side. He sat on the edge of the mattress and took Geralt’s closest hand in his, grasping the appendage to his chest and sobbing into the sword-calloused skin like his tears might save his best friend’s life. “Don’t be sad, Jaskier.”

“I am sad, Geralt! I’m absolutely fucking terrified and heartbroken and crushed! Vesemir said you could heal this at any time but you just… you just won’t because you’re stubborn and an idiot and the sweetest goddamn man I’ve ever met in my life! How dare you tell me goodbye when you are perfectly capable of fixing this problem yourself! How could you promise to see me in the spring and then break your word by dying well before the grass turns green again?! You bastard!”

“You won’t miss me after another year passes,” Geralt reassured him, flexing the hand still held tight in Jaskier’s grip. “You won’t even remember me by the time the first daisies spring up.”

“How dare you,” the bard cried again. He pressed a nervous kiss to the tip of the Witcher’s pointer finger before letting go completely and dropping his head into his own hands. “How dare you say those things to me when you know full well that I love you with all my stupid, fragile mortal heart. You asshole.”

“Wh...what?”

“I love you, Geralt!” The Witcher stared up at his friend with nothing but confusion written across his handsome features. Jaskier reached out, wiping a smear of blood away from the corner of Geralt’s mouth as tenderly as any maiden in any of the bard’s favorite romance novels. “I love you and I’ll never forgive you for letting yourself die on me like this.”

Geralt blushed. He stammered. He coughed up two or three more bloody roses and Jaskier tossed them all into the fire with rage blazing in his cornflower irises.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything on this gods-forsaken Continent and now you’re going to take yourself away because you’re, what, scared of something? Is it Yennefer? If she’s refusing to help you then I’ll ride all the way to Vengerberg by daybreak and then I’ll break all her fucking fi-”

“I love you, too.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, stopped mid-rant and mid-thought by the Witcher’s sudden admission. “What did you just say to me, Geralt? If I didn’t misunderstand, you said you loved me too.”

“I did. I do! I have loved you for a rather long time, actually.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve settled that,” Vesemir said from the doorway. He turned on his heel and disappeared. “See you both for breakfast tomorrow, I’m sure. Well... maybe breakfast is being a bit optimistic. I’ll see you for lunch.”

“What did he mean?” the bard asked. His eyes flitted between the empty doorway and Geralt’s guilty grimace. “What the fuck did Vesemir mean when he said he’d see us at lunch?! You’re still clearly dying and I-”

Geralt felt his fever receding and coughed experimentally. There were only a few brown, half-dried petals that fell from his lips. No blooms. He coughed again and nothing came out of his mouth at all. He grinned and laughed, tugging Jaskier up onto the bed and against his broad chest. “Vesemir was right!”

“What the fuck is going on?!” the bard begged. His hands twisted into the neckline of Geralt’s shirt, holding him still and steady. Blue bore into gold with such heated intensity that the Witcher thought he might pass out regardless of his recently healed disease, “What just happened!?”

“I- I told you I loved you and it cured the Hanahaki!”

“You had fucking Hanahaki and I was the cause of it? Oh Geralt, I’m so sorry! I should have noticed sooner! I should hav- Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I didn’t think you loved me back.”

“You didn- Geralt, have you been paying any sort of attention for the past seven or so years? I follow you everywhere, I bandage your wounds, I put food on your plate and a pillow under your head whenever we get the chance. I bathe you and mend your clothes when your fingers are too stiff from practicing your forms to do it yourself… you utter fool. You buffoon. You great, dumb, goofy, idioti-”

He was cut off by Geralt bringing their mouths together with such gentle but insistent pressure that all Jaskier could do was melt against him. His hands unwound from the shirt and stabilized against the Witcher’s pectorals instead. He sighed into Geralt’s mouth, swallowing down the happy sounds his dearest Witcher made in return. When they were finished pouring out their affections they sat, breathless, curled against the pillows of Geralt’s enormous bed.

A large pointer finger slipped beneath Jaskier’s chin and tilted his face up, locking their gazes, “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet my family or see Kaer Morhen for the first time, but I’m glad you came. I know the journey through the snow couldn’t have been easy, even though I’m sure there was some magical assistance.”

“For you, my love, I’d travel the pass barefoot.”

“You’d die of exposure.”

“Not if your life was on the line,” the bard murmured against those flower-chapped lips. “For you, Geralt, I could survive anything. Just as you must swear from this moment on to survive whatever you can to make it back to me.”

“Will you go back to the academy until spring?”

“I’m never leaving your side again, Geralt of Rivia. Come flora or fauna, you’re stuck with me for good.”

“Hmm. Good.”

“Just… Just don’t bring me flowers any time soon.”

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riverkloss · 3 years ago

Text

My entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for her 500 challenge! My twist on Hansel and Gretel! Plus I made a moodboard which is super nice if I say so myself. ❤

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

I hated the dress, it was pretty but the way it hung on my body, the color, for what it stood for.

Purity, Marriage, to be chained down to a man, one I didn't love.

Harold's mother Mary was fixating on my hair, near pulling it out at the roots, I fought back the winces, at one point I thought about turning around and grabbing her hair to yank it out of her scalp.

She was tall, thin, she reminded me of a spider, her dark hair pulled into a bun, neat and tightly. A dark dress as if she was in mourning, I was.

She was acting as if I was her porcelain doll to dress up, one without a mind.

The reflection was haunting me, this girl staring back at me. Blank eyes, a trembling lip. It didn't look like me, she looked like a stranger, she looked lost.

Mary yanked again at my roots while braiding my hair, a burning pain running alongside my scalp, I hissed in pain. "Stop moving." She scolded me as if I was a child, I huffed out a breath of anger.

Hero's head perked up watching carefully with those big brown eyes of his, alerted and waiting. He was a very intimidating looking dog, but a big baby to me. He was a mutt, half sure he was a German Shepherd, and a Husky, his eyes always on me watching everything I did.

The last of his litter, the runt. Once I got him he grew and grew, he seemed to get bigger everyday.

My best and only friend.

"Is that what you have packed?" Her voice had a distasteful tone. I turned my head to follow her gaze on my trunk, a box full of books neatly stacked on top.

"Yes, May I ask why?"

I looked at her confused, I shifted the front of my body towards her, relieved that my hair was free of the clutches of her fingers.

"You won't be needing all those books, you won't have time to read once you have children." Her eyes look for an imperfection in my face, ready to fix it.

A sickening feeling turns my stomach. I will have to lie in bed with him, have his children.

The thought makes me ill.

"We need the money." The sentence my mother told me runs in my head.

"You should feel grateful for marrying my son." She states, her lip almost upturning in a snarl.

I want to tell her that her son is a pig, a ugly little repulsive pig with his head up her ass, the words die in my throat, I felt incapacitated by my own words, my mind, constantly double thinking over myself.

"Tell your husband that my dog likes to sit in the front seat." It felt good to push back even the slightest at her.

"Didn't your mother tell you? The mutt isn't coming with you, Harold has never been fond of dogs or any pets, dirty things." Those words pushed me back more, I actually let out a laugh in disbelief.

"I've seen dirtier." I smirked at her, I watched her open her mouth to say something as her face switched to spite.

"Mary? The guests are arriving." I hear her husband call out from behind the closed door.

Her hateful gaze doesn't intimidate me.

If anything it fuels me more.

"You best pray to God before the ceremony." Is all she says before she leaves me alone.

I bite back the untasteful words to tell her to shove God up her ass.

I turn my body towards my mirror once again, laying my palms flat on my vanity, so many emotions running through me.

Alone.

There was no stirring through the house, everyone was outside in the front of the house, my chance was open, and I was a fool if I stayed, lived in misery.

I was a fool to take it too, but a free fool was better than one who had none and was still a fool at the end of the day.

I needed a sign. A sign from any of the gods, I pleaded to any of them who would listen.

Then I heard the chime of bells, from the windchime against my window. There it was.

The last gaze I had in the mirror, at the girl who had the glint of a spark in her stormy eyes, a soft smile on her lips.

I darted for my carry bag, shifting my books off my trunk and stuffing clothes in, the few dollars I had, along with the few books I could take, feeling a loss for the others I had to leave behind.

"Let's go, Hero." I waved my hand, he sprinted up quickly to follow behind me, as I moved through the house quickly and quietly, to the kitchen. I opened the back door, the warmth of the spring air hitting me, as I stepped out the door. Hero was at my side as I closed the door behind me.

I turned my head, and my Uncle was leaning against the house smoking a cigarette, he looked at me, panic ran through my body.

And as I thought my freedom was vanishing through my fingers.

"Keep to the trail." He nodded to the woods, he took a deep inhale of his cigarette.

A breath of relief escaped my chest.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand. "See you later, Kid."

I smiled softly. "See you later."

I knew there wasn't a later, but it was better that way than saying goodbye.

The woods were only steps away, and I ran for life, for freedom.

I was a free fool.

~~~

Dark clouds came overhead, the night rolling in as the sun went down, the birds quieting.

My legs were heavy and burning, and Hero kept at my side, patiently.

"Are you lost?" A smoky voice says, making me jump with a gasp, my heart felt like it was going to pop from my chest.

I turned my body towards the trees. A tall man stepped out of the tree line, but didn't step on the trail, his hair was dark, braided and shaved at the sides, scuff lining his boyish features. I noticed a small birthmark on his cheek near his nose. He looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. He was quite handsome.

"No, I'm not lost." I stated confidently. Hero didn't react to him, which was odd because Hero didn't like strangers. It made me slightly uneasy.

He perked up a dark brow at me, a charming smirk.

"Are you sure?" He was looking at my dress, his smirk getting slightly bigger.

"I would think you would be at a wedding."

I held onto my bag tightly, ready to strike first if it came that way.

"You should know that they are waiting for you at the end of the trail, they thought they would let you walk to defeat." He turns his head briefly to look down.

My face morphs in surprise for a moment, but it's something that my mother would do. That I believe.

"Why are you telling me?"

He bite his tongue with his sharpest canines.

"You're pretty."

I scoffed. I knew what I looked like, yes I was pretty, but men didn't want wives that outweighed them, or intimidated them.

Weak men.

"I know a way off the trail, one you won't get caught."

I pressed my lips together.

"How can I trust you when I don't know you, you're a stranger in my eyes.

"My name is Hvitserk, now we aren't strangers." He smiled at me.

He outstretched his hand for me to take, but I was still weary of him.

"If you try anything Hvitserk, I will let my dog tear you apart." I stated.

I reached for his hand, and he helped me step from the trail into the treeline, Hero followed and began walking in front of us.

"I'm curious, why did you run away, was the husband-to-be grotesque?" He is toying with something in his pocket and pulls out a few wild berries, he pops one into his mouth.

I laughed at that. "I don't want to be held down in a loveless, freedomless marriage, I want more."

He nods, listening to every word, while popping berries into his mouth.

"My father is pushing us boys to find wives, he is more in the old ways about it, stealing a woman and taking her to the underworld." I laugh a little at the underworld part.

"Like Hades and Persephone?"

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"You know that story?"

"I've always liked that story, My parents hated when I read books like that, they thought it would tamper with my mind." I whirl my finger around my temple.

"He stole her away, but they actually loved each other, he treated her with equality and respected her, never cheated on her, or had stray eyes for another, he would destroy the world if she asked." I continued.

He held out his hand to offer me a red berry and plucked one with my finger. I put the berry in my mouth, it was so sweet and ripe against my tongue, almost a cinnamon hint to it.

"If you asked me, I would too."

I playfully rolled my eyes, taking another berry, then another.

"Though my Mother doesn't want to admit it, I think she went willingly as well."

"Oh?" I peer at Hero who is still walking ahead. I paid little attention to what he said, but I should have.

"She ate the berries my Father offered to her, and she became tied to the underworld."

I stare at him like he's grown two heads.

And my gaze goes to the berry in my fingers,

Red and plump, I feel drunk all of a sudden and light like I am floating.

He curls himself around me, and I gasp.

"I think Cerberus will be glad to see his son again." He chimes.

He holds onto my full hip with a heavy grasp.

"I'm sure you'll give me sons too." His gaze darkens on me, he leans down to my lips and my heart feels heavy.

He presses his lips to mine, and I'm engulfed in hellfire.

Maybe being in the Underworld won't be so bad.

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underpreparedbard · 3 years ago

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Blue Eyes Burn Red

Rience sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing salve into his cheek. He knew the scars would never leave, but he hoped that it would help the memory fade. How he hated the woman who did this to him. All to protect that stupid fucking bard. His heart began beating faster when he thought about her, the rage threatening to spill over. He willed himself to calm down, breathing deeply, and gently folded his hands in his lap. His brief sense of peace was rudely interrupted with a knock on his door. His eye began to twitch as he considered who might be on the other side. Praying that it wasn’t another cheap whore who was mesmerised by his face, he stalked over and pulled the latch.

“Hello Rience.”

“Lydia.”

She stepped around him and into his room and briefly took in her surroundings. It was dark, dingy, dirty. Fitting for its current occupant, she thought. Turning towards him, she raised what was left of her eyebrow.

“Our employer wishes to know if you’ve gotten any closer to finding the girl.”

He scoffed. “If I had, do you think I’d be stuck in this shithole? It has to be bad if you can show your face here without a glamour.”

A low blow, but he wasn’t in the mood to be questioned. These things take time.

“My face is not the topic of conversation here.” She snapped. “Be glad there’s none of that witcher poison left or you’d look even worse than you already do.”

“Are you threatening me, dear lady?”

“No. Our employer is. Find her, or there will be consequences.”

And with that, she stormed out, without so much as a goodbye. Not that Rience cared much for that kind of thing. He was more of the ‘disappear into thin air’ kind.

As he leant to close the door he caught a look at his reflection in the mirror. The corners of it were covered in cracks and mould, his face barely visible, and yet…there it was. He traced his fingers over the map of scars across his face, wincing as he touched them. His short brush with Lydia had irritated him, as if he wasn’t already angry enough with the world.

One thought kept knocking around in his head. That his face was scarred because of the troubadour. Yes, it had been the mysterious drunken woman who burned him, but she only came because of Jaskier. When he thought of the bard his blood boiled. He’d caused him enough pain with that dreadful caterwauling, nevermind being the reason he was now blind in one eye. He wanted revenge.

And he was suddenly struck with an idea.

He rooted through his bag and pulled out a small vial, half filled with black liquid. He’d of course made his associates believe that he gave them all that he found in Kaer Morhen, but he couldn’t resist taking some for himself. The ideas he’d had…the things he could do…

He could attempt to harness witcher power for himself. He could use it to brew a potion that would make him the most powerful mage in the world. But he was hesitant to test it on himself.

Brown hair, blue eyes and a stupid purple coat flashed into his mind.

Yes, he would make a perfect subject for these cruel experiments.

Now he just had to find the songbird.

I wrote a thing! I’ve also written more things on my AO3! Check it out if you like and let me know if I should make a series out of this✨

#the witcher #witcher #Witcher netflix #Witcher season 2 #rience #Jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #Jaskier and rience #geralt of rivia #yennefer #ciri of cintra #cirilla fiona elen riannon #Witcher fanfiction #writing #fanfiction

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kuropinkus-blog · 3 years ago

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Future au! Leon kuwata headcannons

YES MY FAVOURITE BOIIII

somethings to note lol

I can’t remember if I’ve ever posted these before because these head cannons ( just the future au in general) are kinda old. I came up with it a while ago lol.

also some things are subject to change in this au because I haven’t really fully sorted out the timeline or the characters

but it’s basically

normal school year for dr1 cast ➡️ Locked inthe school for a year ➡️ Cast gave up their talents to be free from the killing game➡️ 5-7 years later a killing game starts again with the same cast, but they’re all adults and no hope of escape

Leon and Sayaka were married in this au, and they got married in Japan and moved to the US for sayakas idol career and they lived there for x amount of years with few visits to japan in between.

they have a daughter called rose(placeholder name lol)

She was born in the US and lived there for the first 3 years of her life after sayaka’s idoling contract expired, will explain more when I actually design sayaka)

Rose is a very energetic child and she’s very sporty, she plays baseball on the weekend much to Leon’s dismay

since rose grew up in America speaking English for most of developmental years she’s better at communicating English than in Japanese

Anyways more about Leon himself

doesn’t have the energy or time to dye/style his hair constantly, so you can see his roots growing in (in this au his original hair colour is brown)

fun fact!!! He also used to bleach and dye his eyebrows and beards so he could stand out more, but scince he doesn’t really have the time to dye them he just sticks to bleaching + dyeing his hair

But he still has all of his piercings and still wears his rings every now and then.

Nowadays he’s working as a musician for various bars/ clubs, he’ll usually go to multiple in one night, so he sleeps mostly during the day

Due to this unusual schedule, He and sayaka have an inside joke about how Leon is secretly a vampire

So, usually he’s e x h a u s t e d when he gets home

But he always tries to wake up on time to say goodbye to sayaka and rose before they leave for work and school

He still isn’t great at cooking, when sayaka isn’t there, rose and Leon will probably have cereal for dinner or maybe some takeaway (this man tries so hard to avoid cooking lol)

Speaking of rose, One weekend she was bored and put a bunch of stickers in Leon’s guitar while he was sleeping, He didn’t realise until he opened his guitar case at the bar he was performing at.

When he saw first saw this he sighed and said “thats my kid alright “ and then laughed to himself

he just kinda owns it now, it’s like a part of his image as a musician

#danganronpafutureau #leon kuwata #danganronpa trigger happy havoc

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ktheist · 4 years ago

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[whenever you’re ready | 10:34PM]

they say the first time you lay eyes on your soulmate, your heart would stop for the briefest moment, eyes dilating, chills zapping through your entire body - as should theirs, a biological response to hold. to touch.

but jeon jungkook’s first words to you are what made you not want to devote the rest of your life to him.

“do you know who i am?” it doesn’t come from a place of malice - you know it doesn’t - because how else the prettiest deep brown eyes and pinkest lips with bunny teeth peeking underneath his half-agape, shock-ridden mouth, could be anything but the definition of hopeless romantic, old sap, soul searcher.

you happen to walk past him - a complete stranger - with a skip in your step as you wave at your friends. the spark was fleeting but it’d struck you right in your heart and settle like fine dust all over the surface of your existence -

and that’s just the thing, he barely even knows you besides what he sees and he’s willing to wait for you as you chatted away with your old time friends. until the cafe almost closes. and until you’ve hugged nayeon and dahyun goodbye with promises to keep in touch and “invite me to your wedding!”

“i do,” is all you offer and it’s all that it takes for this attractive stranger’s eyebrows to rise higher than the clouds - as though physically anticipating something.

with a shrug, you figure you should offer him more than a two-worded answer, “i just don’t care.”

“e-excuse me?” and that’s when that sparkle of hope in his eyes dwindles into confusion and then half-hearted anger - he looks the kind that couldn’t really be mad at his significant other.

“you are,” with that, you walk past him for the second time of the night - only to have nimble fingers wrap around your wrist. perhaps in an attempt to stop you. perhaps because it was the fear of waking up for the rest of his life surrounded by petals instead of the flower of his heart - that induced him to momentarily abandon his reservations.

the current flows through your streams like a thousand prickles of needles that don’t quite break through your skin -

jungkook withdraws his hand as though the touch burned him, “i- uh - sorry.”

he drops his head with a scuff of his foot against the ground and the same hand that wrapped around your wrist a second ago, ruffling his tresses - in the dark, it looked black but you soon learn it’s a darker shade of brown than his eyes.

“look,” you finally say, a sigh leaving your lips from the forthcoming switches in your life at what you’re about to say and do, “it’s not like i don’t feel what you’re feeling - i do and maybe that’s why you’re looking exceptionally attractive right now but that’s also why i can’t do this.”

perhaps it’s the flash of hurt in those eyes that dims even the anger in them. perhaps it’s the way he looks like a kicked puppy - but you still pull out your phone, unlock it and opened the keypads.

“i have to catch the last train but i’ll call you tomorrow,” he stares at the screen for the longest moment, as though seeing his future flash in front of his eyes when and if he lets you walk away after he punches his number into your phone. after what you just told him - well, he’s going to have to take your words for it, “i promise.”

they say you should take three days (four days would make them lose interest. two days would be too soon) to text a potential love interest that you’ve met and hit it off for whatever reason, be it because you found out you like the same book, or you frequent the same cafe because of it’s the only one that has almond milk or you both share a similar line of work - but never because you found your soulmate and chose to get home before your bedtime.

but just like how the generic standard of texting someone does not apply to soulmates - jeon jungkook texts you back within less than a minute.

you apologize for the belated text

you: hey

you: this is ___

you: sorry i forgot to text the day after we met

you: my supervisor was breathing down my neck

you: because one of our team members screwed up her part

you: i just came back from the wrap up dinner with everyone

you: 😣

the emoji was every bit awkward and misplaced - on your part, at least. because the moment you renounce your livelihood with your soulmate, you at least have a sense of self-awareness that you don’t deserve to act familiar.

jeon jungkook: hey!

jeon jungkook: congrats on finishing the project 🤩🤗

jeon jungkook: if i was close by i’d buy u a meal as celebration but i don’t even know where u live

jeon jungkook: not tht ur obligated to tell me!!!

jeon jungkook: please don’t think i’m pushing you that wasn’t my intention

it’s the full sentence in his last text that sounds every bit like the man who waited for you to say goodbye to your friends and hesitantly approach you with an awkward smile and a more awkward wave of hand ‘hey’ before you acted like you didn’t know him and walked straight past him as if he was air.

it’s on the second week that you make arrangements to meet up at the cafe. because after two straight weeks of asking the other how their day went to complaining about the up tight kim naeun who keeps piling work on your desk before you even get at least two done - your conscience does not allow you to prolong the misery of a completely wonderful human being.

“i owe you an explanation.” wafts of smoke dances over the white bear on the surface of your latte as you shove both your hands into the pockets of your jacket, back leaned against the chair - perhaps it has something to do with jungkook’s arms that stretches over half of the table as he props his elbows somewhere just inches from its edge.

every time you get close to him, you feel the familiar burst of electricity course through your veins and it terrifies you how easily your foot takes a step forward and your hands shifting as though to hug him in greeting - before you root yourself in your spot, only allowing for a wave and a ‘hey.’

“before you say anything that will give me so much as a smidgen of hope-” jungkook holds a hand up, eyes of concrete resolution piercing through your own, “-i want you to know that it’s okay. it’s okay you have a boyfriend, girlfriend - someone you’re committed to because that could be a plausible reason, right?”

despite the steely fortress, you still manage to catch the faintest crack of desperation - as though that was a better reason than having been rejected by you because jungkook was, well - jungkook.

and that was far from the case. you want to tell him. want to reach out and hold his hands. want to clear that misunderstanding because within the limited time span you’ve known him, you know anyone that gets to be loved by him - but he’s wasted on you.

you don’t, do anything that is. or tell him anything.

“i’m not puking up petals,” he continues, shadows of creases beginning to form on his forehead, “and that means you don’t entirely dislike me - i hope.”

“i don’t.” this one, you have to say.

and just like that - even though he looked like he had plenty to say - he drops his gaze, rendering you unable to interpret what he’s thinking because the moment you met jeon jungkook, you know he’s a book with bled words and a walking story you’ll need a whole lifetime to finish. perhaps even write the ending of.

when he doesn’t seem like he plans to continue, you trace the handle of the cup- as though expecting it to wrap around your index finger in a mini hug. and so you tell him why.

you’re at a point in life where you think you can get higher than this - perhaps even become a manager in a few years. maybe buy a place on the better side of the city. but you’ll never get a car because you’re terrified of being behind the wheels. you’ve also hit that age where you prefer the solitude of eating instant noodles behind the windows inside the convenience store when you don’t feel like cooking.

as for kids - you have a brother and his wife is pregnant with their first child. you’ll be that aunt that gives your nieces or nephews whatever their parents wouldn’t give them just because you’ll have too much money and too little cause to spend it on.

“you would think someone who doubts the workings of fate would have a much more profound story to tell - but no, i don’t.” by the end of it, you’re the one avoiding jungkook’s eyes, gaze thrown to the moving world outside of the window, “i’m just content.”

“that’s completely valid.” jungkook’s voice brings you back to those doe eyes, a bashful curl on his lips, “makes me feel stupid for thinking you must’ve had someone special to be content.”

“it’s not stupid,” you counter, a smile of your own tugging on the corners of your lips, “just different.”

jungkook is ready to leave your life for good - or perhaps keep himself out of it because you made it clear that you don’t need a soulmate.

it’s you who offer to show him the best barbecue place in town - the same one you went to in celebration of a job well done. it turns out jeon jungkook loves lamb skewers and he loves the one made by the old owner you call auntie kim.

in the next several weeks, you end up meeting every friday night - just because you enjoy jungkook’s company and on jungkook’s part, there’s still a trace of hope, a gleam of biological affection that comes from the cursive in on the inside of his wrist you don’t know how long he’s dreamed of finding the owner of. only for you to be everything he wasn’t expecting you to be.

but you are not entirely immune to his bunny smile and eyes that shrink into crescent moons and the endless collection of jackets he seem to own, each one differing with every meeting from the last.

on one of your countless meetings, jungkook slips a black leader jacket onto your shoulders because, “oh you know, i needed somewhere to hang my jacket on - it’s getting hot in here.”

you’re in the movies and the aircond is blasting at a minus degrees and he may or may have not noticed your hands clasped in between your legs.

and that’s when you know - you want jeon jungkook to meet your favorite people in life.

one way or another, you’re bound to each other but how you choose to treasure the other is completely up to you.

“you’re wasted on my daughter, boy.” your father narrows his eyes, as though if he squints hard enough, he’ll be able to see the strings of mistake made by fates just to confirm his claim, “you’re soulmates but you’re not even together - does that sound normal to you? i’ve never seen something like this happen before - never in my goddamn years of living!”

“maybe it’s time to put your other foot into the grave then, old man.” you can’t just sit idly as your own flesh and blood insult you - though it has more to do with getting a rise out of him than actually being offended by the truth.

and everyone at the table knows it.

your father points his chopsticks at you, “yah, you ungrateful child.” he shakes his head but doesn’t say more - or rather, couldn’t.

“honey, don’t talk with your mouth full,” your mother, always the calm and collected one, doesn’t even bat an eye at her husband as she places a strip of meat in jungkook’s bowl, a hauntingly friendly smile on her lips, “eat up, son. you’re gonna need all the energy you can get to face the mule.”

“ah, thank you, ma’am.” jungkook lowers his head, smiling shyly at the welcoming gesture.

“oh my,” your mother coos, a hand covering her too-happy smile as she waves off the formality, “just call me mom - it’s like a blessing, my true second child has finally found his way home. it should have been you, jungkook-ah!”

“wait,” you shoot an accusatory look at your mother, “i’m not a mule - i’m an angel. you and dad called me that when i was a kid.

“yeah, that was before you grew up,” your father points out as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

but then, if there’s ever anything you parents would agree on in a heartbeat - it seems, it’s the fact that they favor jungkook, their daughter’s soulmate, than said daughter.

it takes years for you to get promoted. now you have a bigger office than that miniature cubicle that was half the size of the cubicles in the toilet. your team still call you by your name. it’s like nothing has changed.

you’ve used up enough to buy an apartment - something bigger than the one you were renting off with more space and an extra room you’re planning to turn into a study.

“for what? so you can grill yourself to the bones on your off days?” jungkook’s laughter echoes off the walls the way it would with empty rooms.

he’s switched out his jackets with turtlenecks. if anything, it only serves to accentuate his sturdy looking chest and telltale abdominal muscles.

“i know my mom’s been getting more updates about me through you than through me,” you twirl on your heels, hands shoved into the pockets of your mustard loose pants, eyes narrowed at the brown haired man but the smile on your lips tells him you don’t mind, “but you gotta give me a head start here and let me buy the desk and shelves first so i’ll get to say i have no choice but to proceed with the study plan.”

jungkook hums, his own lips curling into a smile, “i don’t know - i’m gonna need a little... motivation to keep my mouth shut.”

he probably means a free lunch or a bag of chips or that new ps5 he’s been eyeing. but nothing could have prepared him for the blue cobalt box that you pull out from your pocket.

it takes a heartbeat for him to stare at the item in your hands as though he’s waiting for it to disappear so he can shake his head and call himself crazy and get it over with. but it’s still there as you twirl it in his face as thought it’s his favorite chocolate you have lying around in your pocket.

“what?” jungkook breathes out a laugh - it’s more disbelieve than humor.

“what.” he repeats the same word after he wedges it open and see the glimmer caught in the band.

his eyes follow your every movement as you pull out the silver band from the box, grip it in one hand as you get onto one knee, not quite caring about the dust that blankets the entire floor and countertops.

he doesn’t know it - but when he gets excited, he’d grit his teeth together while he smiles. and he would throw his hands up before keeping them in a tight grip over his head.

he’s doing that now too.

“i know this is all so backwards and we should at least date first but we’ve been to too many already - we just call them hang outs,” you clear your throat, “but jeon jungkook-”

“yes.” he speaks over you almost instantly - almost as though he only waited to see if you’re not about to pull a ‘that’s a friendship ring’ on him.

“i didn’t even finish!” your shoulder line jolts as you laugh, head thrown back at the comical but endearing sight in front of you.

still, you rise from your kneeling position when jungkook holds out his hand, muttering, “yes, yes, yes, yes,” your own squeals mixing together with his laugh when he picks you up and twirls you around the empty space. it is within a lapse of second, as he stares into your eyes through those crescent ones, dotted with the brilliance of a thousand clusters of stars, does he finally say, “i’ll marry you, goddamn it.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #excerpt from a fic i'll never write

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harper-emory-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The heart strings (chapter 1 )

Pairing: Aragorn x original female character (devon)

Words: 2270

Summary: to be summarised later

Warnings: violence, smut in later chapters, trigger warnings of abuse and flashbacks

DON’T LIKE IT , DON’T READ IT!

authors notes: @my-marvel-musings my lazy arse has done it their have it i will regret it later but ah welll, i will go die in my hole of embrassement whilst leaving this in here

Devon POV

Devon’s hair was a light dusty brown blonde in colour as she wiped down the wooden surfaces of the tables in the prancing pony. The warm light of the roaring fire extruded heat as she watched all the locals come and go. There was far near the back of the tavern. The cloak that covered him only showed a pipe that was being smoked. Her eyes shifted onto him a few times as she carried on her cleaning of the tavern.

The locals were quieter than expected, she noticed as the Bree people were staring at the darkened cloaked figure. The groups of people’s whispers to whom she served drinks earlier that evening were all speaking in hushed voices. “That’s one of those ranger folk. I hear they’re dangerous.” The time slowly ticked past as the locals dissipated out of the tavern. The playing of music made its way out of the pub. She looked out at the bards playing in the rain. A drizzle had just started as she said goodbye to the last customers.

The cloaked man was still at the back of the tavern. She kept an eye on him but did not think that unless he needed help, she was much for worrying on customers if they had a room in the tavern she was only here as a job to be a barkeep. Her mind drifted as she went to get her cloak, to cover her outfit as she walked home. Her dark coloured trousers were tight but gave her a slight show off to her curves. She never felt part of the family.

Her sisters were tall and thin, whereas she was shorter than both her mother and sisters. She was always more of an ugly duckling. Her family life was not simple, nor was it going to be easy. Her boots were dragging from the mud that the track she took most days, the path was quiet, the rain was getting heavy as Devon wrapped her cloak around her body tighter as she curled into the tree line heavier. Her mind was flashing back to her childhood.

“Hahahaha, come on, ugly, you will never catch me,” Ferne shouted as devon tripped back over in the mud. Her checkered dress made it hard to run in as she was barefoot, her shoes were stolen away from her by her sisters. Devon never liked dresses as a young girl. Her sisters often teased her about the dislike them. Her skin was covered in mud as her brown eyes squinted at two shapes in front of her. Their voices high pitched as they shrieked at her. “Haha, devon is chubby, and she can’t get up.” Ferne and Cecilia started running again as devon picked her self up off the floor. “I will get you one day,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered close.

Devon looked up at the sky as she kept going down the track. Her hazel eyes brimmed with tears from the memory as she tucked her cloak over herself, wiping at her eyes before carrying on with her journey. Her body was slightly cold as her body got farther away from the Bree. Her eyes fluttered shut as she kept moving. Her clothing soaked through from the rain, her body started to shiver, the mud being too slippery for her footing to hold any longer.

The woods were more sheltered as devon slipped between the trees. Her hair was matted from her cloak being soaked as she walked amongst the large pine trees. The forest soon fell from her as she lay on the forest floor. Her legs curling up into a foetal position on the forest floor.

Aragorn pov

The sound of brego’s hooves squelching in the mud as he pulled on the bay horse. The large pine trees over his head did give him little shelter as the rain lashed against his cloak. The female he followed quietly, staying behind her quite a bit of the way as he whispered in elvish to brego. Quiet mutterings as the footfall stopped. The woods opened up into a slight clearing as he dismounted, looping the reins over bregos head as he walked into the woods.

The roots were slippery as he picked his way over them. His eyes settling on a body from the looks of it in the centre. The rain was getting heavier as he tied his beloved steed to a tree before creeping closer to the body. It was a female, her skin deathly pale from the cold as her clothes were soaked through to her skin.

His first reaction was to pick her up, but he was not entirely sure how without startling the lady. His clothes were slightly wet as he picked the female up, unknown where she was from or going as he watched the woods. The leaf canopy swayed as he gripped at the unknown stranger, his face watching hers, seeing her relaxed features as he mutters to himself. “Nin mel.”

His eyes wandered over the strangers' facial features as he quietly walked brego following him as he grabbed the reins that he attached to a tree earlier. The body was still slightly breathing, letting him know that she was alive but only barely before hypothermia would get her.

His eyes wandered over the features of her face. Her nose was slightly wonky, and her lips were large and easily kissable as he kept walking; the slow, steady pace made it easy to carry as he just watched his footing. The woods soon opened up to a clearing, the fire recently burned down, and his sleeping gear easily locatable as he placed her on a thick blanket just to give her some warmth as he placed another blanket on the top of her, usually did not have two blankets. Still, there was supposed to be a cold snap in the air as he watched the storm clouds clear on the horizon, as he made up a small fire of wood which he had rummaged around for earlier whilst setting up camp.

The fire burned nicely as it provided a heat source for him, and this complete stranger he found in the woods. It was noticeable that she was either going home to the woods as he placed the mouthpiece for his pipe into his lips. His eyes watching as she slept, hoping the warmth of the fire would get her so much less pale than she looked when he found her.

The rain started again as the smoke cloud from his pipe, his eyes continually watching the female as the rain poured down in the woodland clearing he had set as a camp. The fire kept up as the rain dampened it down slightly.

Devon pov

Her eyelashes fluttered open, the rain sheeting down as she propped herself up on her elbows, feeling dazed from only just waking up, her body marginally warmer as she watched the fire burn on the wet ground. Her body was somewhat warmer as she sat up, her hazel eyes scanning the silhouettes of a horse and a man—complete strangers as she watched him from a reasonably good vantage point.

Her hair was messy as she tugged her fingers through her hair, the dirt cloaking her ends as it splayed over her back. The blanket on the ground damp as devon soon got up, her footsteps trying to sneakily move past as she looked for an exact opening in the trees for her escape.

Devon’s clothes were still slightly wet as she got up onto her two legs, her body somewhat wobbly as she started walking towards a clear opening in the trees. A voice soon caught her attention as it spoke to her in a gruff tone. “What do you think you're doing leaving when you could have died, and there is no saying you still can’t die from the storm.” Her head soon turned around as she snarkily replied, “well, unlike some others, I still have to go home and get jobs done.” A light chuckle came out from the stranger’s voice. “If it is on my watch, I would not let you go home at all.” Devon looked straight at him, her voice not breaking at all as she monotony of her voice dropping slightly as she kept her eye on him. “Hmmmmm, and what does this mean you will do to me, stranger?” a deep chuckle came out of him as he got up from the tree stump that he was previously sat on before he spoke again, this time his tone rougher as his footsteps took steps towards her. “Anything I would do to keep you.” her voice hardened on the surface yet again as she toyed slightly with the cloaked stranger. “I challenge you to a game of riddles then, hope your brain is enough to match your brawn.” her face contorted into one that was not easily readable. She waited for his reply patience was never her strong point. As she was waiting for a reply from the stranger, her mind drifted back again.

The smell of blood was noticeable as the house was a pigsty. The leftovers from last nights chaos were every time that devons mother and sisters decided to have a party. Devon's hair was loosely tied in a bun as she sighed at the mess. Devon was an okay child by any means; her outfit was ripped and not cared for as she heard the shrill voice of her mother. “Wretch, why is this not clean yet.” devon winced as her upper arm was still sore from the fall she had just yesterday. Her lack of healing knowledge tried to heal it the best she could as the blood dried on her skin. It was the same as it usually was. She was the unwanted child, her sister and parents ruled her choices, and maybe one day it would break her to do the worse, but that was not the day.

Her stomach was open that night, the night where she did not know if she would live to see her day.

Devon's eyes were glossed over slightly; her hand went down to the large wound, which had only just healed up 2 weeks ago. Her ears heard the strangers reply as he spoke back to her. “Deal, but you look like you have seen a ghost.” devons eyebrows knitted together as she said again. “I have seen nothing, but what do I expect for a stranger to know.” his voice was a calming influence slightly as he spoke again. “You go first, then little one.” devon stood, her eyes still knitted tightly together as she told her tine of voice unwavering as she challenged him. “At night, they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?” he stayed quiet for a bit before answering her. “The stars” devon scowled slightly as she looked at him to give her a riddle. “It lies behind rocks and rills, and under mountains and hills. It cannot be seen or felt, nor even heard or smelt. What is it?” devon quirked her eyebrow before speaking again, this time slightly cocky as she opened her mouth. “The dark.” her face smiled somewhat as she watched the stranger.

Aragorn POV

The female made him curious, he wanted to steal her. The game of riddles was a curiosity he had been normal, but she was covering something up. He would soon find out that the girl challenging him underneath, she was obviously not a damsel in distress but his curiosity was telling him that she was being hurt in a certain way. He asked the girl. “Now little one what would you do if the wolf knew he could keep you forever.” the scoff that came out her mouth before he walked forward, his strides predatory as she stepped back. “I would run.” his chuckle that came out of his mouth was gruff almost rough and brooding as he spoke again. “Then I must catch you my little one.” he was soon wrong when she made a break for it, his legs much more able to catch up as he loped through the trees like a wolf was when their prey was fleeing. Her hair easy enough to follow as the predator and prey game soon would be stopped as the girl tripped over a tree root. He was one to take advantage as he watched her before pinning her so she could not get up.

His body was above hers as she squirmed and wriggled around on the dirt. Her mouth hurling insults at him. “You bastard all I need to do is get home.” he soon chuckled as he watched her looking at him in disdain. His voice spoke again. “And you did not think I would not chase you down little one.” he was greeted with her fist hitting him in his chest. His eyes watching hers as he moved his face closer, his voice quiet and soothing as he watched her. “I am not here to hurt you please just let me help.” the female had a spirit like that of a wild horse not wanting to be tamed. “Just leave me alone please.” her eyes were glassy the tears in them not shed as he lowered his lips to kiss her, the woodland birds were singing their song as he lifted his lips off her. “Now why did we need to fight and why do you have to get home Dilthen er ?”

#aragorn x ofc #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #tw abuse #tw abusive family #tw physical violence #tw physical abuse #the heart lines

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vampiric-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Inkling

Jasper x Reader

This is Part 2 of the Jasper miniseries. Here is Part 1.

Summary: After the negative events of the last few weeks, Alice offers an explanation that just doesn’t seem to add up. You believe there is more to the mysterious family that meets the eye.

Word Count: 2,540

Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @eggmettcullen @scuzmunkie @xcharlottemikaelsonx @oi-itsemily @cacti-succulents-andlesbians @aw0kenangel

A/N: There’s less Jasper in this chapter because a few things needed to happen in this part to keep the ball rolling. As the series progresses, the prerogatives of the Cullens will make more sense.

The buzzing chatter surrounding you broke the silence as you sat alone in a local café. It had been raining all day, and the people of Forks sought the solace of a sweet hot chocolate. You shifted in discomfort. Your socks were moist with dirty water you’d collected from splashing through a large puddle on your way in; and the pouring rain made your sleeves cling to your arms. You sat shivering at a corner table, goose bumps scattered across your exposed skin. The welcoming scent of coffee beans comforted you as you waited for your own hot drink to arrive.

A glare from a boy studying on the table beside you caused you to stop fidgeting with the sugar stick between your fingers. “Can you stop tapping?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. You put the stick of sugar back in its place and took a deep, steady breath. You rarely met strangers, but lately you’ve been in a weird head space. An anonymous note in your locker had brought you here, requesting a meeting.

“Here you go,” the waitress said as she placed your scalding drink in front of you, the steam swirling from its surface. “And sorry for the wait. It’s always crazy here on these stormy days.”

“Thank you.” You weren’t in the mood for small talk right now. On top of this mystery meeting, you had gotten nowhere with the Cullen stuff. Everything had gone back to normal at school. No glares. No staring. No interacting of any kind. So, when Alice Cullen herself strutted through the door and straight towards you, the shock nearly knocked you over.

Her heeled boots clicked on the wooden floor. Stylishly dressed in an all-black ensemble with a trendy overcoat and a navy-blue scarf; her designer bag hung lavishly from the back of her chair as she slid into her place across from you. She smiled. “Thank you for coming, (Y/N).”

“What- seriously?” It came out louder than you intended, and the boy at the neighbouring table glared at you a second time. You whispered harshly, “I thought you guys were happy pretending I didn’t exist. Or do you have a new assumption to harass me about?”

Alice’s perfectly arched eyebrows formed a frown. “Actually, I came to apologise for our behaviour. Can I buy you a toasted sandwich or something?”

You scoffed. “A toasted sandwich won’t change my mind. What the hell was all of that? Actually, no. Never mind. I’ve been banned from talking to any of you, so I should leave.” Without letting it cool, you sculled your drink. The heat burned your throat as you tried not to wince. You couldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of a Cullen. Not again. You grabbed your phone and your keys and pushed your chair back.

“(Y/N), please. You deserve an explanation for everything.”

“Damn right I do!”

“Please sit and give me a chance to give you that. You’re welcome to leave, but please at least let me start?”

You plopped back down in your chair like a grumpy child and slouched. “Fine. Start.”

“Jasper was the first to notice. He noticed not long after the school year had started, but he mentioned nothing to us. Not that he needed to, he had no intentions - no offence.” You rolled your eyes. She swallowed. “But when Edward saw the way you looked at Jasper, he put it together. He’s gifted at reading people, and he felt you were getting too attached–”

“That was no-one’s assessment to make.” Your tongue still burned from your drink.

Alice nodded. “You’re right. It wasn’t. But Edward sees things in people… Often his own opinions and ideals surrounding certain topics will cloud his judgement. He mentioned his interpretation to Emmett in passing, who repeated it to Rosalie with different details. By the time I’d heard any of it, it sounded like you were plotting to separate us, which was why I was upset. I’m sorry, (Y/N). If I had known you had no intentions of actually breaking us up, I would have made them stop. No, I should have made them stop regardless of what I thought. Being a family for so long, we’re protective of each other. But I shouldn’t have let it reach the point that it did.”

The sugar stick once again found its way to your fingers as you stared at the girl in front of you. “Why are you telling me this?” It just didn’t sound right, despite Alice’s insistence.

“Because I’ve seen how hurt you were by it, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself or believe you’re not worthy of receiving love. We behaved like a bunch of callous bullies. We’re sorry and so is Jasper.” A hard prick stabbed at your chest.

“It’s whatever. There isn’t anything we can do about it now. What’s done is done, right?”

“Jasper wanted to come and apologise to you in person, but he was afraid. He’s quite empathetic, which is why he couldn’t bear to talk to you yet. Even Edward-”

Edward. “He was right, in a way. While I had no intention to do something that would hurt you or make Jasper leave you, I certainly thought about what it would be like if he was mine. It just seems like a big jump to make.” Alice’s brown eyes twitched as they widened. “He assumed I thought about something and then launched into action against me–and you say he’s good at reading people? It just all seems a little weird.”

“Yes, our parents had a word with Edward about jumping to conclusions like that. He just didn’t want to see me get hurt. Jasper in particular feels terrible about how he handled everything.” You feigned interest as she tried to deflect your attention with Jasper’s name. “He thought reminding you of his love for me would make you change your mind about him, and when that didn’t work his first instinct was to shut you out. This should be coming from him, not me, but please understand that he regrets how his behaviour translated. And (Y/N), we all want to apologise to you. You’re allowed to talk to us, you know. We don’t bite. And the others are too ashamed to speak to you themselves without being approached first. Will you give us a chance to make it right?”

If you were ever getting a shot at finding out what they were hiding, this was it.

You smiled sweetly, “I’d prefer it much better if we did that.”

Alice returned your smile, her kohl-lined eyes lighting up. “Remember, there’s no rush. After what happened, you don’t owe us anything. Take as long as you need.”

You nodded your head. “I will.”

For the first time in weeks, you arrived at school with a smile and something to look forward to. From the moment you entered the campus, you took the precaution to not actively think about your intention to dig deeper. It still seemed ridiculous, and you were sure you’d be cringing at yourself later on–but the circumstances were just too weird to you.

You spent the better half of the morning surrounded by your friend group, not ready to branch out and find the Cullens just yet. If they were as sorry as Alice had made them sound, they could stew in it for a while longer. You had already planned which order you intended to approach them in, too. Emmett would be first, as he seemed the least threatening. Next was Rosalie, and lastly Edward, who was the root cause of all of this.

You weren’t ready to go anywhere near Jasper.

The bell rang, and your group said their goodbyes as they went to their lockers. You fumbled with the combination lock on yours and gritted your teeth when it wouldn’t open. “Pretty sure the code hasn’t changed since yesterday,” a deep voice sounded from your right. Emmett. This was wrong; it was supposed to be you approaching them.

“Well I’ve had a rough few weeks.” You shot back. His wide smile faltered for a moment before shrinking away.

“I’m sorry about my contribution to that.” He spoke softer than usual. His eyes were the same warm gold as Jasper’s. Were they biologically related? Wait. No thoughts on campus.

“Yeah, the entire thing really sucked for me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel the way you did. I knew it wasn’t right. That excuses nothing, but I don’t want any bad blood between us. I’m really not that kind of guy.” His expression seemed genuine.

“You could have fooled me.” It came out before you could stop it. “Wait, no. Emmett I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair-”

“No, I get it.”

“No, you don’t. You did nothing. You didn’t even glare. I can’t be this mad at you.”

“I did nothing. That’s the problem. I let it blow out of proportion and by the time it got there, I couldn’t reign it back in. Alice gave you an idea of what happened, right? If I had kept my mouth shut after speaking with Edward, none of this would have happened.”

“If you had relayed the correct details and factored in Edward’s theatrics, none of this would have happened.” Rosalie appeared what seemed like out of thin air. You were sure you hadn’t seen her hovering nearby. Her warm brown eyes met your nervous gaze. You hadn’t been ready for any Cullens yet. “I’m sorry, too. You did nothing to warrant that reaction from us. I’m sorry for allowing myself to jump to those sorts of conclusions before you had even decided anything.”

If you had blinked, you would have missed Emmett nudging Rosalie with his elbow. No thoughts on campus. At least one storm was ending. Rosalie’s welcoming smile was not a sight you’d ever thought you’d see; and it was a clear sign that the discomfort would be over soon. But there were things - subtle things that didn’t always add up.

“I guess we’re cool then,” you said. You looked up at the couple properly. Although they didn’t compare to Jasper, they were both so attractive it was frustrating. It was the first time you’d seen them up close. Rosalie had the healthiest-looking flaxen hair you’d ever seen; and they both had such amazing skin. Neither of them had a single blemish to show. In fact, you recalled that Alice had pretty flawless skin as well—and Jasper’s complexion always looked so perfect. It was as if it blessed their entire family—which was even stranger because… Stop, just in case.

They were both smiling. Emmett reached out his hand for you to shake. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Thank you for letting us apologise,” said Rosalie, as the last bell rang and the hallway emptied. It wasn’t like they’d given you much of a choice.

Jasper had done nothing specifically to attract your attention. All he did was stroll over to his locker. But even just walking, the way he carried himself, how almost seemed to glide, never failed to knock the wind out of you. You caught his attention though, by staring, and he immediately looked at you. His bored expression suddenly drenched in regret. The negative feelings from the last few weeks consumed you; the humiliation, how repulsive you felt you were to him. There was an empty feeling in your chest, and as his apologetic amber eyes beckoned you over to him. Your legs moved before you could stop them.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk yet,” Jasper pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. “But if you change your mind, call me?”

You clenched the paper tightly as it transferred from his fingers to yours, and your heart fluttered. Your mind went blank as you tried to respond. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed, you resembled a fish. Quickly, you turned away from him and walked back in the direction you came from. Your cheeks were burning as you continued to walk; thankful as you rounded the corner for not stumbling, but less enthused to see another Cullen in front of you. Alice. Again.

You knew it would continue to hurt you if you compared yourself to her; but she just looked so damn good all the time. If any of the Cullens were devastatingly beautiful, it was Alice - with emphasis on ‘devastating’. And the worst part of it was how nice she was trying to be to you. It was easier to soldier on when you could pretend she didn’t exist.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” She smiled kindly, eyebrows raised. You looked at her forehead, her skin didn’t wrinkle. It never did. She must have had some work done.

“S-Sorry, Alice,” you stammered, “I’m in a hurry.”

You picked up pace and rushed by her, taking refuge in the bathroom. She didn’t follow. You let out a sigh. You had come close to thinking again. You still scoffed at the idea that they could read minds or something, but you continued to guard your thoughts, anyway; and when you saw Alice’s eyes, one nearly slipped out. They were definitely much lighter yesterday, like chocolate - you were sure of it. Just then, they looked almost black.

It was driving you crazy. Tears began forming, but you refused to let them fall. Not over this. Not over something you were imagining. Jasper’s eyes flashed in your mind. That rich golden colour… When you’d first started liking him, you recalled Googling if his eyes were even possible and learning they were, but that they were rare; and for Emmett to share them as well was strange.

You bolted out of the bathroom and grabbed a random student passing by. She jolted from the shock of it. “Which of the Cullens are biologically related?” You sounded so aggressive, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

She chewed her bubble gum a few times and gave you a dumbfounded look before frowning at you. “Jasper and Rosalie Hale, obviously. What the hell is wrong with you?” She jerked her arm out of your grasp and shot daggers at you.

Unrelated, both with a scarce eye-colour. They seem to know what you’re thinking. They all look the same; pallid and tired-looking, yet alluring. You couldn’t stop yourself from going over the details.

You sprinted out into the parking lot, nearly knocking a guy down the stairs on your way. Before you could restrain yourself, you’d pulled a pen and a notebook out from your backpack and your hand began writing.

Wednesday. Alice, brown.

Thursday. Alice, black. Rosalie, brown. Emmett, gold. Jasper, gold.

#jasper miniseries #vampiric-daydreams #twilight fanfiction blog #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagines #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight reader imagines #reader insert imagine #reader insert #vampire fanfiction #midnight sun #twilight #jasper x reader #jasper hale x you #jasper whitlock x reader #cullens x reader

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halpertstuna · 4 years ago

Text

someone to stay - jj maybank pt.2

summary: an abandoned child who felt unwanted since day one got adopted once again and was required to move to the outer banks to live with a lovely elderly woman, but just as she started to feel happy, something had to go wrong and as a result she took a job where she met none other than the blond busboy, jj maybank.

A/N: this is part the second part of my imagine “someone to stay”, if you haven’t read part one yet you can read it here

paring: jj x reader

word count: 2,171

warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of cancer, death, mentions of abandonment, almost a panic attack? probably typos

-> masterlist <-

{2/2}

(gif credit: @sebastianstahn )

The next morning you were woken up by the ringing of your phone.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice raspy. “Hi, am I speaking with Y/N Y/L/N?” a woman’s voice chimed on the other side of the line.

“You are” you replied still half asleep, trying to focus.

“I’m calling from the hospital, Dr. Brown has some news to give you about Noreen Lewis, but it’s not for the phone. Can you come here?”

As she spoke you felt your heart begin to pound out of your chest, is Noreen okay? What did she mean when she said it wasn’t for the phone?

“I- I’ll be right there” you blurted out hanging up.

You quickly brushed your teeth, showered without washing your hair, got changed and ran to the hospital.

When you got there you went up to the receptionist’s desk, asking for Dr. Brown.

You were told to go to Noreen’s room, Dr. Brown waited outside the door for you and ushered you to the chairs in front of the room. He signaled you to sit down and you hesitantly obeyed.

You tapped your foot rapidly whilst looking at him anxiously, waiting for him to talk as you played with the ring on your finger, the one Noreen gave you for your sixteenth birthday.

“there really isn’t an easy way to say this...” he started, “the chemotherapy... it wasn’t affecting the way it was supposed to-“ “what do you mean it wasn’t affecting?!” You interrupted cutting him off, your face and body radiating off infuriation and disappointment.

He continued “we did another MRI scan and found out the cancer had already progressed to stage 3B by the time we started treatment”.

You were overwhelmed, in absolute shock, you didn’t know what to say.

An exasperated look spreading across your features entangled with sorrow.

He gave you a sympathetic look, which only irritated you more.

Growing up as a child that was abandoned by their mother, meant always being pitied and looked at with sad eyes and as much as you hated it, you eventually got used to it.

But this time was different.

This time you felt absolutely useless, you despised it.

Him giving you that look only made it worse.

“Where is she? I want to see her.” You seethed through greeted teeth and furrowed your eyebrows once you noticed how much remorse his eyes held.

“Now.” Your voice firm and filled with rage as you got up.

You followed him into the room and rushed to her bed, she was asleep. “When she wakes up, it’ll probably be a good time to bid your goodbyes” Dr. Brown calmly noted exiting the room.

You sat next to her bed until it got dark, crying as you watched her sleep, lost in your thoughts.

It reminded you of that one stormy night when you were 12 and couldn’t fall asleep due to the noise of thunders, so you snuck into Noreen’s room.

You didn’t want to wake her up, but didn’t want to be alone either so as a result you just sat on the small mint coloured sofa chair near the bed, while you watched her sleep.

About half an hour later she woke up, looking at you.

“Hey” she rubbed her eyes “how long have you been sitting there?” You shrugged. “Were you watching me sleep? Cause it’s kinda creepy” she mentioned sarcastically and you snickered.

“Well, are you gonna keep sitting there or join me, muffin? I guarantee you the bed is more comfortable”.

She shifted making space for you and you quickly climbed into the bed, tucking yourself under the comforter.

You fell asleep right away, knowing you were safe.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a cough, her eyes slowly flattered open and you shifted in your seat the second you noticed she was awake.

“Hey...” you whispered with a faint smile.

She mirrored it and you felt your heart swell, even in times like these, her smile still managed to melt it.

“I’d ask how you’re feeling but that’s a stupid question” you tried laughing at your comment but instead a sob escaped your lips.

She lifted up her shaking hand and rested it on your cheek, wiping the fresh tears with her thumb

“d-don’t cry, I want my last view to be your beautiful smile” she mumbled and you giggled, nodding your head.

“Does it hurt?” You asked. “A bit” she replied nonchalantly, as if she had only fallen down slightly scraping her knee and wasn’t on the verge of death.

You reached out and held her hand in yours. You couldn’t help but shed another tear, knowing she was in pain.

“All I ever wanted since the moment I met you, was to make sure you knew how loved and cared about you are. How worthy you are of a beautiful life. I hope you know that.” You sniffed and nodded.

“I’ve lived a spectacular, full life. And I am thankful for every moment. I’ve had the privilege of knowing you, getting to watch as you turned from an inverted child who isolated her heart from all of humanity, into this incredible, caring, not to mention immensely funny and talented young woman. Who is honest, never afraid to say what’s on her mind and is completely selfless. And for that, I am thankful.”

The tears you desperately tried holding back were now streaming down your face.

“It’s ok, everything’s gonna be okay” she said in a calming tone squeezing your hand but you averted your gaze from her, unable to face her. “hey, look at me” her words soft, you turned to her with puffy red eyes, you didn’t want her to go.

“I’m going to be okay. And so are you. You’re going to achieve everything you want. Don’t be afraid to let people in my love, and from what you told me, I better be seeing you with that JJ living the happily ever after you deserve” you chuckled in tears.

She let out a series of loud coughs and you felt your heart sink.

She looked up at you with loving eyes “I’m going to join Jasper now, and I’ll tell him all about the daughter I was blessed with” you held her hand tighter as if it would keep her here, with you.

“We’ll be watching you, making sure you’re okay. I’m ready to let go now. I will always, always love you muffin” she confirmed and you nodded quickly “I love you too, thank you for everything, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you” you sobbed out.

She smiled at your words, then closed her eyes.

You felt the grip on your hand loosen, a few seconds later an audible, long beep came from the ECG.

You refused to believe the scenario in front of you, you had to get out of there.

You sprinted out of the hospital stepping into the cold, dark night.

You started running, you didn’t know where, you just knew you had to leave.

A series of heartbreaking sobs left your slightly parted quivering lips, rocking your body as you felt your heart crumble into a million pieces.

Your vision was blurry from tears and you couldn’t see a thing.

Out of breath you came to a halt, resting your hands on your knees as you tried stopping the tears.

Your chest heaving, your breathing only intensified as you felt rain drops fall on your skin.

You didn’t even notice you were stood outside your house until you looked up. The rain got stronger and the wind blew through your now wet clothes.

You were a sobbing wreck. You grasped the hem of your shirt in pain, balling your hand into a fist and felling to the ground, the other hand tangled in the roots of your hair, pulling slightly.

You felt helpless, cold and alone, that was until two arms wrap around your small frame, shielding you from the rain.

Your eyes darted up in fear, but once you recognised the scent of JJ’s cologne which you memorised from all the times he drove you home, you relaxed in his touch.

“it’s okay, it’s just me” he cooed rubbing circles on the small of your back. you cried into his chest in which you found comfort.

“It’s not fare” you whimper, gasping for air.

You couldn’t breath, you felt your chest heat up.

You started choking, coughing as the air just didn’t seem to find it’s way to your lungs.

“Hey hey hey, look at me” he demanded in a hush tone, holding your shoulders in arm length, “everything’s going to be okay, you just have to breath” you looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language.

He pulled you back to him, placing your head on his chest which rose and fell in a steady pace “breath with me” he stroked your hair gently.

It was hard but after a few minutes you managed to steady your breathing back to normal.

He helped you up and into the house, then let you shower and change into dry clothes, whilst he sat on the other side of the door.

He was too scared to leave you alone, but still respected your privacy.

When you finished, JJ took the liberty to make you hot chocolate and you wrapped yourself in a blanket plopping down on the couch with him beside you.

“Thank you” you broke the silence, “anytime” he gave you a closed mouth smiled.

“what were you doing here anyway?” you questioned.

“I was really worried after last night and when you didn’t show up for work today I knew something was wrong, so I finished my shift and came straight here to check up on you” you looked at him with a surprised expression as he confirmed he genuinely cared.

‘Don’t be afraid to let people in’ the words echoed through your mind.

You scooted closer to him on the couch and hugged his side. He didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and hold you close.

“My best friend died tonight. She was all I had. She saved me but I couldn’t save her. When I was ten she adopted me and a few weeks ago she got sick. I took this job to pay for treatment but unfortunately, it didn’t help. She didn’t deserve this. And now I’m alone again. This is why I don’t let people in... they always leave.” You spoke through unshed tears.

He only held you tighter, clueless of how to respond. He knew how it felt; being unwanted, distancing yourself from others to avoid the ache you feel when they leave.

“I know how it feels, you’re lost and hurting right now, it’s okay” He showed you empathy, “and I promise, i will never leave you”.

And for the first time in a while, you felt relieved, not alone. His words gave you hope and that was a promise he intended to keep.

“Do you want to tell me about her?” He asked squeezing your shoulder gently, you didn’t even know where to start.

You went on a rant, telling so many stories and memories.

“She sounds amazing” he noted “she was” you remarked.

“Too bad I didn’t get to meet her” he regretted his words the second they left his mouth, afraid he said the wrong thing.

“She said the same thing about you!” Your voice slightly louder than you intended.

“Oh so you talked to her about me? What else did you say?” A self-satisfied smirk played across his face as he tried to lighten the mood, succeeding.

“Don’t let it go to your head Maybank” you warned nudging him lightly, an amused laugh escaped his throat.

The two of you talked for hours, it was nearly 3am and you started feeling drowsy.

“Will you stay?” You pleaded “I’m tired of being alone”.

“Of course” he swiftly responded “I’d never leave you” he promised.

You didn’t bother going to your room. He laid down on the couch and you placed your head on his chest.

His hands found your waist and you found home in each others embrace.

He kissed your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than he should, and you dozed off in his arms to the sound of his heartbeat.

The sight of your smaller figure wrapped around his looked so natural to him. He couldn’t comprehend how someone could leave you.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed it was morning.

Your eyes flattered open and you greeted him with a croaky “hey”.

A smile spread across his face as he greeted you back.

“Were you watching me sleep? Cause it’s kinda creepy” you sarcastically marked and he chuckled.

The two of you gazed silently into each other’s eyes for a few minutes before both falling asleep.

He helped you through your highs and lows after Noreens death, always by your side. He was there for you when you needed someone the most, someone to stay.

And he did.

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