#that and falling through the floor into the void
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
âFIDELITYâ |part9
MASTERLIST -`âźÂŽ- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank
Summary: Kook!Readerâs world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely personâJJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues
Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharingđ, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.đđ
previous - next
Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didnât know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldnât unravel it.Â
You hadnât done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrivedâitems for your daughterâs room.Â
Alone.Â
Since the moment you arrived in this town, youâd always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing.Â
The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didnât want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didnât want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldnât cry. You wouldnât cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it.Â
You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a nameâit all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness.Â
You hadnât wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything?Â
You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were peopleâso many peopleâbut none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didnât work.Â
The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if Iâm too late? What if itâs over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror.Â
When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe⊠someone else? But what if they couldnât come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing.Â
Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldnât move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do.Â
A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldnât afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move.Â
You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude.Â
Since moving to this town, youâd thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasnât just sitting in silence. It wasnât merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldnât reach anyone, as though you were invisible.Â
The trembling didnât stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurryânot because you couldnât see, but because you couldnât concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment.Â
You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do?Â
Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you.Â
You couldnât bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldnât face it. If you didnât look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind.Â
Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that youâd wake up. That youâd open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare.Â
You wanted to wake up. You didnât want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh.Â
You had left everything behind. Everyone.Â
For a life with your baby.Â
You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you?Â
Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the acheâso reminiscent of a menstrual crampâwould just go away.Â
Only days ago, youâd noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didnât care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, youâd been excited about buying clothes for it.Â
For this?Â
For it to be taken away?Â
When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality.Â
Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest.Â
You had never seen them. Theyâd only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breakingâof losing themâfelt like your heart was being ripped out.Â
When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment?Â
Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby?Â
Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this?Â
Were you supposed to mourn?
To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didnât want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the sameâstagnant, unchanging, and safe.Â
The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldnât afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily.Â
But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you theyâd come to your home. They told you not to hang up.
Then you realizedâyou needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you.Â
If you were there, you wouldnât feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side.Â
You didnât even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your momâs number, then your dadâs, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable.Â
Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result.Â
And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didnât care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer.Â
As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: âPlease pick up.â You needed someoneâanyoneâto be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.
He wouldnât ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldnât turn you away. Heâd come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasnât still angry, that he didnât hate you for not terminating the pregnancy.Â
When the call ended without an answer, you didnât stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldnât come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise.Â
Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest.Â
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tearsâall stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didnât give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.
Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasnât the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. âPleaseâŠâ When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer.Â
Wasnât this his baby too? Didnât it matter to him? You hadnât made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didnât need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldnât leave you stranded.Â
Not you.Â
You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true.Â
Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed heâd answer.
You werenât strong enough to endure this.Â
You didnât want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words youâd need to say if he picked upâwhen he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.
This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasnât just rejectionâit was the crumbling of a trust you hadnât even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That heâd help you. That he wouldnât leave you to face this on your own.Â
As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didnât even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything youâd dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this?Â
You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes youâd just bought.Â
You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it goneâneeded it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today.Â
The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadnât answered. Your family hadnât answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides.Â
After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself.Â
Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message.Â
When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadnât touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath.Â
Howâs it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?
It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm.Â
And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear.Â
You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.
The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. Heâd come. He would, wouldnât he?Â
With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through youâwhat if he didnât answer? âPleaseâŠâ you whispered, barely audible. âPlease pick upâŠâ
It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message?Â
âHey, Princess. I noticed weâve upped the calls lately. Canât manage without me, huhââ
The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJâs voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edgeâit was everything. It made you feel as if youâd already done all you could.Â
âI need you here.âÂ
The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood.Â
To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible.Â
How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you?Â
When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. âIâm bleeding.â The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheadedânot from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it.Â
You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. âI called everyone, butââ
âIâm on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, Iâll be there, okay? Donât worry. Iâll get there as fast as I can. Youâll be fine. Youâre going to be fine. Iâll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.â His words were quick, determined, unwavering.Â
You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldnât see it. Even if this was your fate, you didnât want to accept it.Â
âIâm scared.â A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street.Â
âIâm coming. Everythingâs going to be okay.â
â
Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectationsânot that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride.Â
Had he ever been proud of himself, really?Â
He couldnât focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past.Â
His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasnât a corner of the Outer Banks he hadnât roamed. The beach, parties, the country clubâheâd scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you.Â
He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, heâd find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you.Â
He missed your presence. Your scent.Â
He missed the moments in bed with youânot the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you.Â
But Rafe was a coward. He couldnât admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didnât need to hear it from anyone.Â
He hadnât told his father. He hadnât told anyoneâTopper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand.Â
You were the only one who truly knew him. And heâd lost you. Because he was a coward.Â
He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, heâd want you to talk more in those old videos. Heâd spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again.Â
He couldnât adjust to your absence.Â
When he threw himself into alcohol, he didnât think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life.Â
He couldnât stand Topper and Kelceâs phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafeâs mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldnât bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else.Â
Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face.Â
He hadnât touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldnât. It wouldnât be the same. They wouldnât be you.Â
There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachmentsâblamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didnât know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different.Â
It was intoxicatingâbetter than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive.Â
He loved whispering âI love youâ while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadnât said it enoughâlike the idiot he was.Â
You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when heâd tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours.Â
It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice.Â
Heâd worked so hard to get Wardâs approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafeâs potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasnât Sarah he was looking atâit was him.Â
For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it.Â
But it had cost him you.Â
He couldnât bear the thought of losing his fatherâs approval. He couldnât face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didnât want to feel that hand pulled away.Â
He hadnât wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just⊠happened. Too fast. And heâd been too scared.Â
Scared of seeing that disappointment in his fatherâs eyes again.Â
Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else mustâve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway.Â
Under Topper and Kelceâs relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second.Â
He looked for your old friends, the ones heâd seen you with before. He hoped youâd be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldnât come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there.Â
That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day.Â
For the chance of you.Â
The more he didnât see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hopingâmaybe if he drank enough, heâd hallucinate you.Â
He didnât know how much he drank. It didnât even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didnât bother looking their way. He just drank and searched.Â
You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasnât an open relationship; he wouldnât have shared you with anyone.Â
You used to pull him onto the dance floor. Heâd groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didnât hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you.Â
Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot heâd been. He shouldâve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked.Â
His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again.Â
You had believed in him, even when he didnât believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, heâd felt like heâd succeeded, just a little.Â
Now he hated himself for choosing his fatherâs approval over youâand the baby.Â
The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your childâhis child. And the thought of not being there...Â
He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his fatherâs affection like some pathetic creature.Â
Which he was.Â
And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this momentâand himselfâfor choosing so poorly.Â
Rafe thought heâd made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezieâs arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, heâd managed to make it to his room.
Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. Youâd have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadnât seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.
You were always there with him.
When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafeâs room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasnât even sure it existed until you came along.
When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last nightâs party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focusâcrowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.
He didnât remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smellâhis own and the roomâsâwas rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.
He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.
Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasnât enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.
Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadnât truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasnât just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything heâd tried to suppress. âYou really are a master at screwing things up,â he muttered bitterly at himself.
His gaze drifted around the roomâclothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.
It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didnât know who heâd talked to, what heâd said, or worse, what heâd texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.
Notifications flooded inâgroup chats, Instagram likesâand then, there they were. Three missed calls.
From you.
His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called?Â
And why at midnight?
It couldnât be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night.Â
For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same argumentsâabout the baby, about why you didnât want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.
He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadnât stopped thinking about youâor the life you mightâve had together.
Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage heâd relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.
Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it mightâve been you twisted something inside him.
Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.
Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.
The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.
The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected.Â
âHey,â Your voice was quiet, cautious.
For a moment, Rafeâs words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, âHey⊠uh, you called me?â
It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.
A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, âI was drunk.â
The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?
âAre you okay?â he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.
âIâm fine.â But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didnât push. Maybe he didnât want to know the truth.
âAlright,â he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.
âOkay,â you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. âI have to go.â
And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.
Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she�
Had you gone through with it? The decision heâd pushed you toward but never truly wanted? Heâd convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.
He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didnât know how to feelârelief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadnât stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.
He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything heâd lost.Â
He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when youâd already walked away for good?
#jj maybank#obx#rafe cameron#jj fanfiction#jj serie#obx jj#obx jj maybank#obx cast#obx fic#obx4#obx jj x reader#rafe x you#rafe obx#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron smut#rafe outer banks#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe fanfiction#obx season 4#outer banks season 4#outerbanks#obx 4#sarah cameron#john b routledge#kiara carrera#pope heyward
280 notes
·
View notes
Text
almost, but not quite â leehan
pairing â leehan x reader genre â friends to lovers, fluff, crack, university au wc â 8.5k misc/warnings â loser!leehan with avoidant tendencies, slight mutual pining, bonedo group dynamics, also architecture student!leehan... heh, a lot of aquatic and ponyo references, a pov switch happens between leehan and myungjae, getting froyo to avoid confessing, alcohol consumption, kissing playlist â heavy by the marĂas // nervous by the neighbourhood // halleyâs comet by billie eilish // patutunguhan by cup of joe // intro (end of the world) by ariana grande // i know you by faye webster // tsunami by niki // ikot by over october // take a chance with me by niki note â please know i have dropped this and pick it up in multiple instances because i'm not built to write fluff. still, i hope you enjoy because i see myself in leehan :]]
synopsis â if thereâs one thing leehan didnât understand, itâs the gross, sticky emotions he feels with you. yet, thereâs an undeniable warmth that lingersâand thatâs when he knows heâs screwed.
(in other words, the five times leehan found himself at a crossroads and the one time he decided on what he wanted with you.)
if the world were to end, leehan believes it would start with a meteor shower. before they crash against the soil, their trail of flames would catch on tree branches, the fire spreading through forests. their craters would swallow civilizations, and the floor would crack beneath his feet. the world will go up in flames within the blink of an eye; how dinosaurs met their demise would be the same fate he would face.
jaehyun finds it stupid, arguing it would be through an alien invasion. (âthereâs too much proof! i mean, have we forgotten about area 51?â is the same point he never fails to make.) it didnât help that he believed leehan could be an alien in disguise, regardless of how many times leehan showed him his birth certificate.
but how the world ends for leehan happens without him even knowing, waking up in the middle of his fall into the never-ending void. the harsh light morphs into amber tones with every descent as heat prickles his nape. leehan imagines the sting of lava hitting against his skin, burning him alive to a slow death, but itâs his descent into the ocean.
how leehanâs world ends is not from a meteor shower or an alien invasion, but with his plummet past the ocean floor all the way to the core.
yet, the center of his earth doesnât happen to be molten lava.
itâs you.
âwhoâs jaehyun talking to?â sungho frowns in confusion before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
leehan looks up from his phone and attempts to find his friend among the students who fill up the cafeteria. as he cranes his head past unacquainted faces, he spots the familiar boy talking with a stranger. âno clue.â before he can go back to doom-scrolling, jaehyun bursts into laughter.
it shouldnât be a big deal; the sight of his best friend doubling over is an everyday occurrence for him, but not anyone can achieve it unless they knew the spectrum of jaehyunâs humor.
jaehyun catches leehanâs puzzled look and shoots him a smile. his hand lingers on the mystery personâs shoulder. before leehan can look back at his phone, you turn around.
leehan freezes.
if thereâs a view that could beat the great barrier reef, it would be you. (even if leehan has never seen it. he just knows.)
âoh, theyâre coming our way,â sungho points out.
like a human meeting a siren, leehan couldnât rip his eyes off of you. your graceful strides resemble the movement of sea creatures. a coral forms on your nose with every laugh. yet, itâs sea of jellyfish in your eyes that could make him crumble.
before he knows it, you stand in front of him with your eyes on jaehyun. if his friend was saying something, he never catches onâexcept for your name. âthis is y/n.â
he repeats your name to himself; a song to be sung.
âhi! itâs nice to meet you.â your smile is made of the sun and sea. the expanse of blue glimmers as it crashes against himâout of enchantment and back into reality.
âhow do you know jaehyun?â sungho asks.
you glance at your friend. âweâre in the broadcast club together. you know, heâs basically made to host.â from your compliment, jaehyun rolls his eyes and nudges your shoulder.
leehan rips his gaze from you, his hand finding a spot by the back of his ear as he fiddles with the last strands of his composure. heâs out of his mind. whatâs he even thinking about you? for all he knows, you could be dating jaehyun.
oh god, are you dating his friend? what if you two have been going out for years and he never knewâwait, it shouldnât even matter.
leehan doesnât know anything about you so he feels indifferent towards you, right? right?
sungho tilts his head in curiosity. âoh! what do you do?â
in the process of glancing at you, leehan briefly locks eyes with his best friend. jaehyunâs eyes glance dart between you and leehan as a smirk makes its way to his face.
whatever his friend is thinking of, leehan only assumes the worst. is jaehyun going to misunderstand the situation? how does leehan explain to him that heâs just nervous around you? would his friend take it against him for looking at you?
leehan thinks itâs over for him. Â
âtech. you know the people who manage the mixing board?â as you imitate yourself moving the sliders, leehan lets out a giggle without a second thought. as you smile at him, leehan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. he looks back down to his phone, hoping you canât notice the pink tint all over his face.
âthatâs cool! even cooler than what jaehyun does.â
sunghoâs joke only brings jaehyun to smack his arm. âhey!â he frowns before glancing at you. âheâs kinda right.â
ânot even kinda, he is right,â leehan remarks as he ignores the sea in his stomach.
jaehyun groans as his two friends fist bump each other. before they can ruin his reputation any more, he looks at you and says, âiâll see you after class?â
you nod. âbye! it was nice meeting you.â you glimpse at his friends before locking eyes with leehan.
your eyes are seas that leehan wishes he could swim in. he would hold his breath just to stay in them, undergo the sting of his lungs just to admire them.
but itâs your smile that snaps him out of your possession. when he realizes heâs staring at you, his elbow slips off the table.
âare you okay?â sunghoâs question is accompanied with a frown of confusion. while concern paints your features, the same, all-knowing smirk rests on jaehyunâs face.
leehan clears his throat as he fixes his posture. âyeah, iâm good.â he canât bear to meet your gaze, not after his slip-up and certainly not after jaehyunâs reaction.
âokay, well iâm going. nice meeting you both!â with your farewell, you leave the group of three.Â
once jaehyun finds his spot next to leehan, the worst possible scenarios flood leehanâs mind. the last thing he wants to do is ruin his friendship with him.
yet, heâs dumbfounded when jaehyun chuckles. âdude, if youâre going to have a crush, at least make it discreet.â
leehanâs eyes grow wide over jaehyunâs accusation. âi do not like y/n.â he snickers. âwhat are talking about?â
his friend clearly misread his actions. how could he even like you when he barely knew you? over one interaction, too? jaehyun needs to have more faith in him.
the disbelief in jaehyunâs features tell leehan otherwise. âare you seriously going to play that card? sungho, back me up.â he looks at the boy across from him whoâs too busy eating away to even help him out. âdidnât you notice his eyes? they were practically hearts!â
he shrugs as he finishes his food. âbeats me. leehanâs always been an oddball.â
âno, but heâs not like his usual silly self!â
leehan grumbles, nudging his shoulder against his troublesome friend. âquit it. stop making this weird.â
âwhatever.â jaehyun rolls his eyes before jabbing his finger against leehanâs chest. âjust know that i know your little secret.â
leehan grows annoyed at jaehyunâs accusations. heâs already said he doesnât like you that way. how could jaehyun even think that? leehan swats away jaehyunâs hand before getting off his seat. âiâm leaving.â
âwhat? why?!â his friend clings onto his arm. the pout on his lips attempts to hold him back from his departure. âdid i tease you too much?â
leehan shakes his head as he shrugs off jaehyunâs grip. âno, iâve got a plate to cram.â he slings his backpack and drawing tube on his shoulders. âiâll see you guys later?â
sungho only musters a hum before shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. as leehan takes his leave, jaehyun rests his chin on his crossed arms. despite the sigh that leaves the dejected boy, sungho pays no attention to him. âyouâre not even going to ask why iâm sad?â
âjust let him be. iâm sure he doesnât like them.â
jaehyun groans in response.
if thereâs one thing heâs certain about, itâs leehanâs crush on you. sure, his friends donât see it, but one thing he knows for sure is leehanâs interest in youâheâll do anything to make sure it comes into fruition.
and if thereâs one thing leehan hates to admit to, itâs jaehyun being right in his suspicions, so heâll keep goingâdeny, deny, deny, whatever heâs feeling because it doesnât mean anything.
it shouldnât.
but to leehanâs dismay, his mind would always drift back to you.
leehan swears he hasnât thought about you. unfortunately for him, he never crossed paths with you since that one fateful encounter.
it shouldnât be unfortunate. after all, he knows nothing about you.
(except for your name. and your course. and that youâre in the broadcasting club with his best friend. and that youâre a big fan of ghibli movies. and that every spotify playlist is perfectly curated to fit every mood, from the âslow morningsâ to the ârageful eveningsâ as youâd like to put it on their descriptions.)
absolutely nothing, really.
as he found himself in the middle of midterms, the idea of you started to slip away in between papers and unfinished plates.Â
leehan likes the library during exams season; place filled with students who are struggling like him. as night has dawned upon them, bulbs of yellow light up at every table. heâs always been able to work better at the library. after all, it doesnât help that jaehyun is lounging in their dorm, enjoying his freedom from academic obligations.
still, leehan cannot deny his exhaustion as he attempts to finish one of his many essays. it works in his favor that his hoodie does its job in concealing his fatigue from others, allowing him to isolate and make sense of the words on his screen.
perhaps itâs for the best for you two. if he found himself entangled with you, maybe he wouldnât get any work done. he already begged his professors for an extension, and heâs starting to think that might be the last time theyâd understand. the last thing he wants on his mind is youâ
âleehan?â
the source of his sleepless nights stands right before him. it seems like youâre unscathed from what this season brings but your laptop and bag filled to the brim with readings suggest otherwise.
still, itâs the same jellyfish-like glow in your eyes.Â
âo-oh, hi!â at his voice crack, his eyebrows shoot up. âsorry, hi again.â
âno, itâs fine! i understand.â you smile in a poor attempt to suppress your laugh. âi just wasnât expecting to see you here. waitâyou do remember me, right?â
heâs surprised that thought comes across your mind. âof course i do, y/n. how could i ever forget jaehyunâs cool friend?â
you roll your eyes at his flattery, trying to ignore his comment, but the smile on your face says otherwise. âat least. it wouldâve been embarrassing to approach you and find out you donât remember me, which i understand but i think i wouldâve run away.â
your shy demeanor causes waves to crash against his heart, the sound of your voice enchants him, andâsnap out of it!
he shakes his head in an attempt to regain his composure. âwhat brings you here?â
âiâm here to work as well, but iâve been walking around trying to find a table and i canât find a vacant spot.â as your eyes flicker to the empty chair across him, heâs quick to move away his scattered things, some pens falling off the table.
âyou can sit with me!â
âare you sure? iâd understand if you need your own space, really.â
leehan can try all he wants to shake off the thought of you, insist that he doesnât have a crush on you (because he really doesnât), but he isnât going to have you leave this library in defeat. you two are in the same boat, trying to meet deadlines while running on a few hours of sleep and caffeine. he isnât going to leave you stranded.
âyeah, iâd be happy to have someone join me. i canât be the only one going crazy here,â he reassures you. you take that as your sign to sit with him.
(and this isnât his attempt to spend time with you. really, it isnât.)
he tries to continue where he left off on his work. if he continues to put off this essay, he wouldnât only lose another hour of sleep but risk receiving a failing mark.
yet, his eyes are drawn to you. regardless of all the risks, of all the threats that loom in the deep ocean, he can only look at you.
which is why it comes to his surprise when you meet his gaze.Â
leehan is quick to break eye contact and act like heâs working. heat rises to his cheeks. in the sea of typing, your giggle reaches his ear.
now, he isnât sure how red heâs become.
âi didnât know you like ponyo.â
a hum of confusion leaves him. as you stare at the stickers plastered over his laptop, your finger darts at a jellyfish one. âthatâs from ponyo.â
his face flushes. âoh! yeah.â the last word trails into a whisper.
âis that your favorite ghibli movie?â
leehan melts into his seat. not from the nerves but pure embarrassmentâbecause he has no clue what ponyo is. from what heâs gathered, itâs a ghibli movie, has jellyfish in it, and⊠thatâs all he got. after all, he bought that sticker at a convention a few months back.
(itâs starting to make sense to leehan why the artist showed him a collection of anime characters back then, and it didnât help that he asked to see more fish stickers instead.)
he should be honest with you; if he doesnât know what the movie is about, then maybe youâd indulge him with everything you like.
yet, another lie is said. âyeah!â it leaves leehan in shock, in embarrassment, in a situation he couldâve avoided. he shouldâve tried to save himself from the unfolding mess, but the beam in your eyes outshine all sea creatures heâs studied up on. âwhat about you?â
your smile grows bigger. âi love that movie! you know, thereâs supposed to be a symphonic concert happening in a couple of months.â leehan only musters out a hum, trying to cover up his anxiety with interest. as you learn on the table, you ask, âwho do you think you are between ponyo and sosuke?â
leehanâs absolutely fucked, but he knows how to keep his act up; avoid answering and throw the question back. âwho do you think iâm more like?â
you take a moment to think. as your fingers tap against the table, a small hum leaves you. âbased on vibes, i think youâd be ponyo.â leehan can only nod.
once silence settles between you two, leehan thinks heâs in the clear. heâs ready to put this interaction behind him, even kick himself for lying to youâ
ânow, what about me?â
âuh,â he mumbles as he discreetly searches up the movie.
with your wide-eyed gaze, the pressure to answer is multiplied by ten-fold. leehan thinks this is even worse than answering an exam worth 40% of his final grade. he wish he could be swallowed up; it pains him to keep the act going.
by some miracle, you read his thoughts. âyou donât know anything about ponyo, do you?â
he sighs in relief. âoh, thank god, i couldnât keep this up any longer. i only got that jellyfish sticker because i like fish, and no one told me itâs a reference to a movie until you pointed it out.â the frown painted across your face makes him feel like heâs been stung by a jellyfish. âiâm sorry. i shouldâve just told you that i had no clue what you were talking about, but i panicked and i didnât want to ruin the conversation with my ignorance andââ
you burst into laughter, causing neighboring tables to glare at you. as you throw an apologetic smile to those you disturbed, you try to hold yourself back from laughing any more. leehan wishes you didnât stop then; those few seconds turned into a song stuck in his head.
âiâve never met anyone whoâs into sea creatures.â
leehanâs breath hitches. is he weird for liking fish? would you be freaked out by his tank filled with corydoras? is it over for you and himâ
âbut i think thatâs cool.â your words snap him from his thoughts. âdo you have some as pets?â
the question brings him to grin. âcorydoras and snakeheads.â
âyou wanna tell me more about them?â
leehan thinks you might be itâthe one, as riwoo likes to rave on about when imagining his unfolding futureâfor him.
but heâs gone through weeks filled with stress and the exhaustion gets in the way of his work; itâs probably the same case for his feelings towards you. before he can spiral into a never-ending hole filled with delusions, he shakes off the idea. âmaybe another time.â
âyouâre right. sorry about that. we both came here to work and iâm clearly distracting you.â
his eyes grow wide, scared to send you the wrong message. âno! youâre okay. i like talking to you.â as your expression shifts from apologetic to shock, he quickly adds, âabout my fish! yeah, about them.â
while a nervous chuckle leaves him, you smile. âi like talking to you, too.â
leehanâs skin heats up.
âabout ponyo, even if you didnât know what i was talking about,â you tease. âmaybe we can watch it together when weâve got time. i donât know what itâs like as an architecture student, but i can spare a few hours.â
leehanâs senses elevateânot from your suggestion but over the mention of his course. âhow do you know my course?â
he didnât want to get ahead of himself, really, but he canât control his mind from jumping into conclusions. did you search him up right after the first meeting? were you curious about him?
were you interested in him the same way he is with you?
âmyungjae mentioned it.â
his hope dissipates. âoh, that makes sense.â disappointment is evident in his tone.
still, your smile remains. âmyungjae talks about you quite a lot.â
leehanâs groans as his mind jumps to the embarrassing stories that his friend could possibly say. âi would hope itâd be good things.â after all, jaehyun knows too much about leehan, and he didnât want him to influence your perceptions surrounding him for the worst.Â
a quiet moment stretches between you and him.Â
âyeah, all good things.â
itâs a silent agreement for the two of you to get back to work; crunch out sentences filled with grammar mistakes and words derived from google searches of synonyms.
still, leehanâs eyes drift back to you every once in a while.
if thereâs one thing jaehyun is set on proving, itâs leehanâs crush on you.
itâs been weeks since he first saw his friend freeze at the sight of you. the first time leehanâs eyes held a certain glow that resembled the jellyfish sticker on his laptop.
on the other hand, sunghoâs grown tired of jaehyunâs supposed baseless accusations; all jaehyun needs to do is show the signs to prove it all.
he stands in sungchanâs kitchen, swishing around a mix of alcohol and mixers in his cup. the bartop is filled with bottles of liquor and drinks, a variety for him to choose. while everyone is off to enjoy the party, he stands with riwoo and sungho. as sungho shares about the gossip heâs heard, his fingers playing with the hem of his crop top, riwooâs pink antennas bounce with every laugh. while theyâre caught up in their own conversation, jaehyunâs gaze shifts between leehan, who stood by the corner of the living room with taesan, and the front door that swings open every five minutes.
âdude,â riwooâs voice snaps jaehyun back into their conversation, âwhatâs gotten into you?â
sungho frowns at jaehyun who only takes a sip from his drink. jaehyunâs odd but never to a point that heâd stop himself from enjoying a party.
âare you waiting for someone?â
from riwooâs question, sungho manages to connect the dots, and a frown settles on his face. âare you kidding me? even at this party? is that the only reason you begged us to come?â
jaehyun believes that heâs a mastermind. it was easy to convince his friends to show up to sungchanâs halloween party; the mention of alcohol and familiar names seemed did the trick. after all, they all saw the opportunity to de-stress from finals and end the semester on a high note.
the icing on top of his plan was your agreement to show up.
âis this about leehanâs supposed crush?â
sunghoâs hip rests against the counter as he looks over at his friend from a distance. âwe donât even know if he likes them, but jaehyunâs so insistent on saying he does which, by the way, isnât cool. donât make it weird between them.â
in all other instances, jaehyun would agree with his best friend, but he shakes his head before saying, âjust watch and see. by tonight, i will change your minds.â
âif only y/n shows up,â riwoo snickers.Â
regardless of his friendsâ comments, jaehyun stands tall. âtrust me. i know they will.â
sungho rolls his eyes at his friendâs confidence. âwhat makes you say that?â
âjaehyun!â
the familiar voice rings in jaehyunâs ears. âspeak of the devil.â with a smile on his face, he looks over to see you approaching his group of three, all dressed in a mustard-yellow shirt, grey shorts, and a green pail bucket hanging on your arm.
âsorry! i was finishing up my last requirement a few hours ago.â
jaehyun slings his arm around your shoulders. âiâm just glad you made it.â
âyeah, mainly because you begged me to do so.â
âhe did the same to us,â sungho snickers.
jaehyun rolls his eyes. âwe all know thatâs not true. you just wonât admit that you wanted to party, too.â
âiâll have you know that sungchan invited me before you did,â you remark before you grab yourself a clean cup. with jaehyunâs arm still wrapped around you, you drag him along in staring at the selection of drinks on the counter. âwhatâre you drinking?â
âoh, the perfect mix!â you donât think twice about jaehyunâs words until you watch him grab on different bottles of liqueurs and mixers. âlike juice, i tell you.â
âthatâs dangerous.â a nervous chuckle leaves you before he shakes his head.Â
âyouâll be fine, tipsy after one drink at most.â you roll your eyes at your friend being the cause for your impending doom. âby the way, this is sungho, as youâve met before, and riwoo.â jaehyunâs introduction has you turning around to greet the two.
âyouâre dressed as saiki k! i love that anime.â riwoo chuckles at your exclaim. as you look at sungho, you spot the neck of an electric guitar peeking from behind him. âyou play?â
he snaps out of his trance and hums in confirmation. âsorry, i was trying to figure out what youâre dressed up as and i still have no clue.â
âoh!â you reach out into your bucket before pulling out a small keychain of a gingered-folk dressed in red. âiâm sosuke, from ponyo.â
riwooâs hands come together. âi see that now!â
once jaehyun hands you your drink, you take in his costume; a purple sweater that drowns his figure with rock nâ roll girl plastered at the front. âwho the fuck are you?â you sip on jaehyunâs concoction. the sweetness of the drink masks the taste of alcohol. itâs a mistake to drink this, not because this will lead you to an incurable hangover but because of jaehyunâs answer.
âiâm darla from finding nemo.â
you choke on your drink. jaehyunâs quick to rub his hand against your back. in the middle of your coughing fit, laughter slips in between. âwhat the fuck?! i wouldnât have guessed that.â
jaehyun clicks his tongue before holding your arm. âwhich is why i have a partner to complete my outfit! come.â
before you know it, he drags you through the crowd of people. whenever your bucket crashes against someone, youâd quickly apologize before jaehyun hauls you five steps forward. you donât understand the rush, but jaehyunâs smirk makes you believe otherwise.
jaehyun believes heâs a mastermind; he isnât going to miss the perfect opportunity to push his plan forward.
âleehan!â his friend, dressed in a fish outfit with yellow and white stripes, rips his gaze away from taesan and settles on the two of you. his relaxed smile morphs into a thin line as his droopy eyes turn wide. itâs moments like these that make jaehyun question how his other friends fail to see the signs.
taesanâs eyes follow. âjaehyun! you came at the perfect time. i just needed a refill of your mix.â the moment he spots you, he straightens his back. âi donât think weâve met before. iâm taesan.â
ây/n.â the makeshift cat ears formed by his hair bring a smile to your face. âdidnât know iâd meet a catboy today.â
âyeah, wellââ
âtaesan, come with me.â jaehyun grabs his arm.
taesan and leehan frown at him. âhuh? canât you just make it and bring it here?â as taesan swings his empty cup, jaehyun rolls his eyes before dragging him to his side.
with your confused expression, he forces a smile. âno. i need to introduce you to someone, anyway,â he lies behind his teeth. while you accept his words at face value, leehanâs eyes grow wide at his friendsâ escape.
before his lovesick friend can protest, jaehyun and taesan take their leave.
âwhat the fuck was that?â taesan shouts the question as they make their way back to the kitchen.
jaehyun shakes his head until they reach riwoo and sungho. âthatâs the person i was telling you about! the one leehan likes.â
taesan glances at the two before bursting into laughter. ânah, i think theyâre just friends.â
âiâve been saying that for the past weeks,â sungho complains before he sips his drink. âevery time jaehyun teases leehan, it almost looks like heâs going to kill himself.â
riwoo hums as he observes his friend. âwhat even makes you so sure that he likes them?â
âoh, iâll show you.â jaehyun pulls out his phone before going through his contacts.
as sungho peers over, he frowns at the contact name. âwhatâs he going to know?â
âhey, can you at least make my drinkââ
the call is picked up by their friend, whose eyes are shut and hair ridden into a mess. âhello?â he groans.
âwoonhak, do you think leehan likes y/n?â
a pause ensues.
âwho?â
sungho smacks jaehyunâs arm, causing him to hiss at the contact. âwhyâre you bothering the kid? canât you see he was sleeping?!â
âat 10:34 p.m.? the nightâs still young!â taesan jokes as he sings out the last sentence. âanyway, about my drinkââ
âthis is about the person i was telling you about! the one in the broadcast club.â despite jaehyunâs attempt to jog his friendâs memory, heâs met with a confused and sleepy groan. âthe one who likes ponyo.â
for some reason, that piece of information clicks in his drowsy friendâs brain. âoh, yeah! what about them?â
sungho shakes his head. âthis is pointless. heâs clearly too sleepy to have this conversation. byeââ
âno! woonhak, you are going to help me prove that i am right about leehan and y/n.â
riwoo laughs in disbelief. jaehyunâs persistence is not new, but itâs the first time theyâve seen it involving their friend. âand how are you going to do that?â
âlike this.â jaehyun flips the camera, showing woonhak the view of leehan. woonhakâs face moves closer to the camera in an attempt to focus on his friend, who rocks back and forth in place as he talks to you.
like clockwork, leehan leans forward. âsee! donât you think theyâre so close to each other?â jaehyun points at the view.
sungho chuckles before resting his hand on his shoulder. âitâs a party. iâm sure they canât hear each other that well, especially since theyâre near the speakers.â
âheâs right. i mean, they are close, sure, but it doesnât really mean anything.â although woonhak shares the same sentiments as sungho, jaehyun doesnât admit defeat. heâs secured in his suspicions; the last thing heâll allow is for him to be swayed until he shows them all signs affirming it.
âokay, but look at his thumbs.â his friends dart towards leehanâs hands that are wrapped around his cup. âheâs twiddling them! donât you think heâd fidget around someone he likes?â
riwoo sighs. âiâm sure heâs just nervous because he doesnât know y/n that well.â
yet, jaehyun shakes his head at riwooâs assumption. âbut thatâs the type of anxiety you expect from someone with a crush.â
âthat is true.â taesanâs comment brings all eyes on him. iâm kind of just agreeing at this point so that jaehyun can make my drink.â everyone groans and scolds the alcoholic.
âokay, but he could still be warming up to them. i mean, theyâve only known each other for a few weeks now,â woonhak adds on. itâs clear that calling him isnât helping jaehyunâs case. woonhakâs two more comments away before the call is dropped on him.
at this point, jaehyunâs desperate. he couldnât have his plan fall through or he would never live this down. if anything, he might end up getting scolded by sungho. (âthis is what you get for being so hard-headed!â jaehyun can imagine sunghoâs harsh tone that would be accompanied with flared nostrils.)
yet, itâs like the universe heard jaehyunâs plea. leehan does the unimaginableâa gummy grin takes over his features.
âholy shit,â taesan whispers.
riwoo looks back at his friends. âthereâs no way, right?â
leehanâs never the type to grin easily, always sticking to tight-lipped ones and smirks. such smiles are different from whenever he'd laugh; a beam in the middle of a conversation comes like bioluminescent waves.
âwait, the quality is so bad. i canât see why you guys are shocked,â woonhak complains from the other end of the line.
âitâs just that leehan is smiling, like really smiling,â sungho briefs the confused fellow. his head tilts as he continues to watch you two interact. âi mean, y/n couldâve told a joke. like, that possibility is still there.â
jaehyunâs patience runs thin the more sungho remains dismissive. âwhy donât you want to admit that iâm right? is it that hard to just say, hey, jaehyun, you might be right about leehan crushing on y/n. sorry about that! like, is it that hard?â
despite jaehyunâs frustration, sungho sighs. âitâs not that, really. i just donât want to assume anything about his feelings.â
jaehyunâs frown falters. when sungho puts it that way, he recalls all the times he mightâve made leehan uncomfortable, going lengths to ignore what his friend says; he mustâve been a terrible friend to leehan. and for once, jaehyun admits defeat. âyeah. you know what, youâre right. i shouldnât assume whatever he feels.â
âwhat makes you so certain about those two, anyway?â woonhak asks.
jaehyun looks over at you two, backs against the wall and shoulders pressed to each other. from leehanâs grin to the crinkle by your eyes, jaehyun smiles to himself. âbecause iâve never seen them that happy unless theyâre together.â
because to him, you two are a match made by the seven seasâhandcrafted by the gods that rule the oceans with the intention of having you to stick together like corals and fish. while his friends canât see that, he hopes with enough high and low tides that theyâd start to see the same vision as him.
yet, the waters hear his final plea; one final sign that might affirm jaehyunâs suspicions.
as you walk away from leehan, making your way to the washroom, his eyes never leave you. his grin resembles the softness of sponges heâd ramble about, and the jellyfish-like glow in his eyes didnât leave.Â
âoh my god, leehan likes y/n,â sungho gives in to jaehyunâs conviction.
âwait, what? howâd we get here? what happened?â
jaehyun doesnât think twice about dropping the call. (only to pick up and earn an earful of complaints about leaving woonhak in the dark, especially after waking him up.)
leehan thinks heâs dreaming.Â
heâll wake up in a classroom to his professorâs lecture on parametric design or urban revitalization. before heâll know it, heâll watch the clock tick away until the bell rings. if not to a lecture, leehan might wake up to jaehyunâs knocks, only to groan and doze off once again.
he should be dreaming, really, because in no universe would he be seated on the couch of the living room and watching ponyo with youâexcept for this one.Â
leehan canât find the words to explain how he got here. since his last class was canceled for the day, he was going to rush home and take a long needed nap. yet, the waves managed to bring you to him at the right time.
the thing about leehan is that could never say no to you. whether it be for a small favor or rearranging all his plans for the day, he thinks itâs only right to accept anything you throw at his way. youâre his friend, after all, which is why he didnât think twice about having you over for the long-awaited ponyo watch party.
now, he finds himself seated on a sofa with you, speakers blasting your favorite film. the space is littered with all forms of knickknacks, sea-like or music related. itâs filled with leehanâs and jaehyunâs personalities, showing an apartment filled with love. when leehanâs free time lined up with jaehyunâs, theyâd make it a habit to lounge and watch all sorts of films.
while heâs never had issues getting invested in what he watches, itâs only now that he faces that issue.
he swears from the bottom of the ocean that he wanted to focus on the movie, but it all seems impossible with you. the smell of your laundry detergent. your skin against his arm. the quiet, steady breathing of yours that syncs with his.
âleehan.â as you tilt your head in curiosity, he holds his breath. âare you watching?â
and the thing about you is that you always saw right through him. over the course of a few weeks, past the seafoam and algae, you always read him.
he clears his throat before scooting away from you. âof course.â as he stares right at the television screen, a chuckle leaves you.
silence hangs between you two.Â
leehan glances at you. youâre eyes are already on him.
âgotcha.â heat rises to his cheeks.Â
you sink into the couch with a pout. âif you didnât wanna watch, i would understand.â
âno, itâs not that at all!â as your eyes snap to him, he sighs. âi really want to watch this with you. my mindâs just over the place.â
you face him, concern painting your features. âwhatâs going on then? why donât you tell me whatâs up?â
what you donât know is that youâre his distraction. even at this moment, leehan canât form an answer to your question. he can never think straight with you; the jellyfish you spoke of in your favorite movie could never compare to the ones in your eyes.
he takes one glance at your lips before breathing out. ânothing.â as he shifts his attention back to the movie, he tries to shut down the conversation. âitâs fine.â
leehan expects for the subject to drop, go back to watching your favorite movie in silence, until your hand rests on his thigh.
âleehan.â
when he looks at you, the distance between you two is enough for the seafloor to crack. the waves in his stomach roar. his breathing halts, almost scared that one exhale will cause you to crumble like a coral reef. when you lean towards him, hot water rushes out of the splits.
yet, you stay still.
the waves wonât carry him to you; all he needs to do is pull his feet from the wet sand to close the distance.
âhey, do you want to get someâoh!â
you pull away from him. as you attempt to resume watching the movie, leehan looks back at the intruder. there stands a shocked jaehyun whose eyes dart between you two.
âuh, i should probably go.â you get off your seat. âi still have some papers to work on, you know.â
leehan shakes his head in reassurance before standing. âof course. i can go with you back to campusââ
âno need!â you interject before shooting an awkward smile. âit was nice seeing you two!â
without any second to spare, you exit out of leehan and jaehyunâs shared apartment.
âwere you guys about toâŠâ
leehanâs eyebrows shoot up. âno! that would never happen,â he says as he shuts the television.
a moment ticks by.
before leehan knows it, jaehyun drops to his knees. âno!â his head finds its spot behind his hands. âwhy did i walk in? i shouldâve just kept my damn mouth shut!â
leehan rolls his eyes before walking to his distressed friend. his distraught state should bring concern but itâs an everyday behavior that leehan expects. ânothing was going to happen.â
yet, jaehyun continues to wail.Â
leehan grabs hold of jaehyunâs arm and helps him stand up. âcâmon, what did you want to get?â
jaehyun groans before fixing his posture. âi literally saw you two about to kiââ
âwe werenât!â leehan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks back to todayâs events. ânothing is going on between us.â
and there shouldnât be anything because you two are just friends. Â
despite his defense, jaehyun frowns. âwell, something is definitely going on!â he crosses his arms. âi saw it with my own eyes, so you better start saying something if you like them.â
but leehan shouldnât like you. to him, youâre still jaehyunâs friend before anythingâeven before his friendâand he should respect that.
his silence speaks volumes, bring jaehyun to sigh. âi mean it when i say thereâs nothing wrong with liking y/n. why are you scared?â
leehan has always admired his friendâs sensibility. jaehyun welcomes emotions, allowing himself to run on its highs and lows, walking around with his heart on his sleeve. admittedly, itâs something leehan wishes he could say the same about himself.Â
all his life, heâs learned to run away from vulnerability. he believes that emotions are inherently disgusting, almost sticky, and should be avoided at all cost. after all, what comes after vulnerability is a moment of inevitable embarrassment.
yet, itâs from jaehyunâs confrontation that leehan realizes he canât run away from the waves anymore. soon enough, heâll have to run to the ocean, allow himself to be consumed by the water, and let himself bathe in whatever he feels towards you.
but itâll take steps for him to get to the sea. âletâs go get some froyo.â
so for now, heâll continue to run until he grows tired.
leehan remembers the last time he felt this nervous; stomach churning and heartbeat racing with every second. it was for his final defense for his research study. he spent days locked up in his room, piles of clothes found left and right with a corner stacked with empty coffee cups. jaehyun likes to describe it as the great pacific garbage patch that leehan rants about.
who could blame him? with the panel of nitpicky professors, he only had his index cards filled with chicken scratch and his trusty fish keychain to rely on.
when he came out of the defense victorious, the keychain became a lucky charm. for difficult assessments. for life-changing decisions.
for you.Â
it shouldnât be a big deal to leehan, but he holds on to the charm as he waits for you to pick up his call.
ever since he opened up to jaehyun about his confusing feelings, the situation is impossible to avoid. jaehyun claims that the tides leehan rides on are from his crush on you. although leehan still denies it, his friend takes it upon himself to push him across the shoreâso long as heâs closer to sea.
âhello?â
ây/n!â his voice cracks, a cough following to cover it up. âhi.â
âoh! howâd you get my number?â
he drums his fingers against his desk. âi, uh, got it from jaehyun.â
âoh, okay. whatâs up?â
leehan takes a moment to breathe as he grabs hold of the tickets. maybe he shouldnât ask you. it would be better for taesan and sungho to go to this event like they originally planned. yet, he would only receive an earful of complaints should he back out now.
âleehan?â
âsorry, i justâŠâ he shuts his eyes. âare you free this weekend?â
âyeah.â
his friends have pushed him across the shore. now, the water is close to his feet. all he needs to do is ask.Â
âdo you, i donât know, wanna watch the ponyo symphonic concert with me?â
a beat passes.
leehanâs heart races.
a moment of embarrassment.
he shouldâve known better. how could he allow himself to be talked into doing this? he should run farm away from the seaâÂ
âyou got tickets?! how?â your squeal breaks him from his trance.Â
leehan chuckles, breathing unsteady, and says, âitâs a secret.â
âkeeping secrets from me now? thought we were friends.â somehow, your playful nature and curiosity never fails to lighten up the moodâeven if you never fail to make him nervous.
leehan could never think properly with you; he loses all common sense or composure, catching him off guard with every impulsive decision. âwhich is why iâm asking you out.â his eyebrows shoot up at the implications of that phrase.
âasking me out?â you giggle on the other end of the line. âlike a date?â
âsorry, i meanââ
âiâm just messing with you,â you cut him off from his tangent. as he sighs in relief, you say, âbut iâd love to go with you. send me the details.â
he smiles to himself. âiâll see you, then.â
âokay, bye.â
once the call drops, leehan flops down onto his seat. as he stares up at the ceiling, he plays the phone call back in his head, and his cheeks start to hurt.
for once, vulnerability awarded him with something.
the sea has grazed his feet.
leehan thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb in the theater. considering that heâs never been here before, heâs grown conscious of his attendance to the symphonic concert. in these moments, he wouldâve run away, ditched the event and locked himself in his room, but he made it through the nightâall thanks to you.
in the unfamiliar, heâs able to find comfort through you.
âthat was amazing!â thereâs a skip to your feet as you exit the theater with leehan. âi think my ears were blessed.â
leehan chuckles at your joy. âiâm happy you think that.â as much as he would like to share the same enjoyment, his happiness stems from you.
people continue to make their way out, knocking shoulders against you two. âyou donât think the same?â you throw the question over the loud chatter.
âiâm sure you appreciated it more than i did.âÂ
your nose scrunches at his accuracy.
the bustling crowd doesnât die down, swarming the lobby even further with every second that passes. while you attempt to stand tall within the busy crowd, your faltering smile gives leehan enough reason to protect you.
he loops his arm with yours. âhold tight.â before you know it, he dashes out of the theater with you.Â
the breeze of the night hits his cheeks. a sigh of relief leaves you as you find yourselves in the open space. âthanks. i was scared that i was gonna trip,â you mention.
âi could tell.â
you laugh as you nudge your elbow against him. âoh, shut up!â
in these moments, leehanâs feelings towards you were pushed to the back of his mind. in these moments, you two are friends; nothing more, nothing less.Â
still, you latch on his arm, like tentacles, like sea anemones, almost like you canât imagine letting him go.
leehan walks on the edge of the pier; between embracing or ignoring intimacy.
you both get in the backseat of your uber. with how late the concert ended, you and leehan fall into silence as the car drives off to your complex.
streams of fluorescent lights fill the window. the radio plays a soft melody that reminds leehan of the sea. heâll look at everything, so long as your arm around his remains off his mind.
yet, all it takes is your head on his shoulder for him to freeze up.Â
a shaky exhale leaves him. his heartbeat fills his ears. when he looks over at you, he notices your eyes are shut. as a series of quiet snores escape you, leehan thinks back to jaehyunâs words.Â
why is he afraid of you?
in all the time you spent with him, you learned everything about him; his quirks, his habits, his unconventional interests. he swore that you would walk out on him, drift away like plywood in the sea, as you got to know him.Â
yet, you stayed through it all.
he should know better than to disengage with you the moment his fears come into play. without even thinking, he was villainizing youâevery moment that teetered the edge of intimacy had only made him pull back like how seaweed rips through ship ruins.
in his eyes, the worst thing that comes out after intimacy isnât the embarrassmentâitâs the uncertainty that follows. thereâs comfortability in familiarity; nothing ever goes wrong if he plays it safe. yet, his mindset may have upheld barriers that restrain your relationship.
leehan only understood that the moment jaehyun pointed it out. in all the time heâs spent with you, heâs never fully given you credit, assuming the worst about you the moment you do anything that encourages vulnerability from him.
and still, you welcome him with open arms.
what if youâre good? what if this is good?
all he needs to do is fall into the sea, plummet through the ocean floor, until he arrives at your embrace.
âweâre here,â the driver says as he pulls into the driveway.
to leehanâs surprise, your eyes open in an instant, catching him red-handed. in a split second, he looks away from you, a cough following afterwards.
when a soft giggle leaves you, he knows heâs only dug himself a deeper hole.
you both exit the car as you walk to the entrance of the builidng. for a moment, you stand beside each other, no word being said, and leehan wishes it could stay that way. he doesnât want to say goodbye to this night just yet.
yet, you look at him with a smile, and say, âi really had fun tonight. thank you for thinking of me.â
âno, thank you for sharing your favorite movie with me.â leehan looks down to the ground as his foot kicks against the concrete. âi think itâll be my favorite movie.â
âthink youâll end up loving it more than me?â
he smirks. âno oneâs love for ponyo will ever compare to yours.â you laugh at his remark.Â
leehan notices how your hands fiddle with each other. heâs never seen you uneasy; you always carry yourself with confidence everywhere you go. yet, itâs in this moment that it hits himâwere you just as nervous as him?
in all the times his fears got the best of him, did your doubts do the same to you? were your nights plagued with ideas of him in the same way he fell asleep to the thought of you? did you second guess every action, every instance, like he did?
but most of all, did you want him, too?
âokay,â you breathe out, âiâll see you soon.â
once you turn your back on him, heâs left to watch your figure walk away.
thereâs security in the familiarity. avoiding intimacy saves him from embarrassment and uncertainty. if he were to shift the tides at this moment, who knows what could happen between you two?
the sea grazes his sand-covered feet.
despite the unknown future, is diving into the ocean worth it for you?
before leehan can spiral into his thoughts, he grabs your arm and spins you around. your wide eyes meet his. as he pulls you closer to him, his arm finds their spot around your waist.
the distance between you two allows him to take in your features; your trembling lips, the jellyfish glow in wavering eyes.
at the same time, what could happen between you two?
as his hand reaches for your face, you melt into his touch.
the possibilities are endless; youâre the risk heâs willing to take.
with eyes closed, he dives to meet your lips; soft like how he imagined. itâs a slow kiss, one spent trying to learn you in ways he only thought he could in a distant dream. yet, leehanâs hesitance shows with every second spent exploring you.
when your hands rest on the back of his neck, leehanâs fears dissipate, a small sigh leaving him in between. at his relaxed state, you take the lead. your nose grazes his cheek as your fingers play with his hair. leehan grows dizzy, hand gripping your waist as he tries to keep up with you.
somehow, your lips felt familiar; heâs secured in you.
as you pull away, your erratic breathing matches with his. the sight of your lips that once interlocked with his only makes him want more.
he goes for one more, causing you to giggle, and he smiles in between kisses. your fingers dig against his shoulder as he savors the taste of you. how could he have denied himself of this? if this is what it meant to kiss you, he wouldnât have second guessed diving into the sea.
you break the kiss, a grin on your lips that canât match his. âtook you long enough.â
leehanïżœïżœïżœs world doesnât end in a meteor shower, or an alien invasion, or even through his descent past the ocean floor. past the sand, the dirt, the minerals, the core of his world is not molten lava.
instead, itâs a pair of arms that embrace him. wholly. flaws and all.
and leehanâs world doesnât end, after allâitâs only begun with you.
networks tag list: @kflixnet @k-labels @onedoornet @kstrucknet
boynextdoor permanent tag list: @bonedors @0310s @whyilovewhales-pdf
story tag list: @bananielle @yunextdoor @heechwe @taesanrot
@loserlvrss @blooqz @mari3s @saintriots @koodaes
@seokkiez @candycane-lemonade @chewnotchoke
#works of moni#onedoornet#kflixnet#bjnet#k-labels#kstrucknet#leehan#boynextdoor#kim donghyun#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor x reader#leehan x reader#leehan fluff#leehan boynextdoor#boynextdoor fluff
127 notes
·
View notes
Note
can you write about the sexy fish man (you know the one)
why yes of course i know which sexy fish man you're talking about!
soft hits, hard truths
sebastian solace x fem!reader imagine
artwork: artwork is NOT mine. art is by @grub-hut on tumblr. go check out their work. sebastian mf solace, everyone
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
summary: after a misunderstanding, sebastian refuses to let you go to bed angry with him. determined to make amends, he begrudgingly starts a pillow flight.
cw: sebastian solace x fem!reader, fluff-ish, suggestive themes of intimacy (MDNI), sebastian is bad at comforting, he tries anyways, you've known him for a few weeks now, a sort of romantic relationship is already established between you two, his shop has a shower and spare mattress in the back, thank goodness he had soap and pajamas, amends are made if you know what i mean
a.n: in honor of beating pressure and sacrificing my posture in order to do it, cheers.
· · âââ ·đ„žÂ· âââ · ·
water droplets fall onto the cement floor as you wring the rest of your wet hair dry. fortunately, sebastian solace had allowed you to stay in his shop for the rest of the night after a day of running from the monsters of the hadal blacksite. unfortunately, you had just found out that he was the primary reason you were being chased by said monsters in the first place.
you walk out of the barely functioning restroom into a cozy little cubby-space just behind his shop. sebastian watched you dry the rest of your hair as you walked towards a broken mirror and started combing through it with your fingers. fuck, he thought to himself. he so badly wanted to be the one to brush the rest of your hair just so you didn't have to lift a finger. but of course he wasnât going to say that out loud.
"will you talk to me?" he mumbled under his breath, making his way towards you. you eye him from the mirror but continue doing what you're doing. you feel his presence behind you and sure enough, you watch him lean down and rest his forehead against your shoulders.
you smelled like vanilla. you smelled like the vanilla he used to smell during the winter holidays and it was driving him insane. "i'm sorry, okay?" he whispers. now this caught your attention. "did the sebastian solace just say the words 'i'm sorry' to me?" you turn around and walk towards the makeshift bed. he follows you. "i donât believe it.â a sigh escapes your lips, plopping down onto the mattress and covering yourself with the blanket. you turn away from him.
âi didnât mean for things to turn out this way- well, okay i did, but i didnât expect meeting you midway through my plans.â sebastian scratches the back of his neck, staring at your back. âfishbait, if you hadnât crawled through the vents and into my shop, i wouldnât care who gets eaten by those monsters. but you did, and now it sucks seeing you get hurt because now iâŠâ
he trailed off, his voice catching. shit, this was hard. years of solitude and roaming the dreadful cold hallways of his captorsâ prison had hardened his heart. he didnât expect it to happen, but your presence and excessive bantering had brought back an excitement in him (though he would always mask it off with annoyance). all sebastian knew was that even though life sucked, seeing you made it suck less. he couldnât take it anymore. he needed to hear your voice again. the void of silence between the two of you was starting to create an atmosphere of distance. he could care less if the world hated him, he hated it back. but there was no way in hell would he allow you to look at him with such loathing. panic settling in him, sebastian impulsively does something that catches you off-guard. he grabs the nearest soft pillow and throws it in your direction. it hits your face.
you quickly turn around and sit up to shoot him a sharp glare, pillow in hand. âare you serious?â you seethe.
âiâm dead serious,â he said, grabbing another pillow. âyouâre mad at me? fine. but youâre not shutting me out.â before you could react, he throws a second pillow. this time, it lands in your lap.
he notices a flicker of something crossing your face - anger, disbelief, and⊠maybe a hint of amusement.
âbig mistake,â you shoot him a sly smile.
you launch the pillow in his direction and suddenly, there was war. more pillows flew, tension unraveling with each hit. the both of you were laughing now, dodging attacks and running around the small room. it wasnât fair that he was larger than you in size but you could make do. and plus, sebastian was extra careful making sure not to hit you too hard. and here in this moment, seeing another side of sebastian, you realize that you could never stay mad at sebastian solace for too long.
tired from the fight, you trip onto the mattress and fall backwards. he follows suit and lands on top of you, your faces inches apart, panting and out of breath. he supports himself with one arm as he gazes at you with an unreadable expression. âdo you forgive me?â he whispers, breathless. the room was a mess, but your silence had been broken.
you plant a soft kiss on his forehead. it was truly unfortunate that the both of you were placed in this prison against your wills, but you knew that he would never intentionally hurt you. âi forgive you.â
oh fuck, he melted. impulsively, he slides one of his hands behind your back and pulls you closer to him, taking your mouth in his, kissing you fervently. your arms tighten around his neck, kissing him deeper. in a heated frenzy, you guide one of his hands downwards. he grunts as he lifts your shirt up, trailing wet kisses down your stomach.
you smile, feeling the warmth of his mouth. âto make up for you nearly killing me, does this mean i get a discount at your shop tomorrow?â
he laughed, a warm, deep and genuine sound that softened the space between you. âiâd give you a discount every day for free, fishbait⊠and this,â he whispers sliding down your pajamas, âthis is just a huge bonus.â
· · âââ ·đ„žÂ· âââ · ·
#sebastian pressure#sebastian solace#pressure#sebastian x reader#junovae#pillow fight#letters to juno#pressure roblox
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
My friends: explain to me again why you spent over $1000 on PC parts?
Me:
âšheâš
#in all honesty my machine was in desperate need of an upgrade#but it was the near unplayable condition Lies of P was in that made me cave#I just want to be bad at the game cause I suck at it not because the game runs at 3 frames a second#the ladders and doors not loading was my main gripe#that and falling through the floor into the void#but now the game runs as smooth as butterđ#lies of p#oct 2023#fairy is rambling#đŠ let your conscience be your guide#also pic was taken by a friend while I streamed to her lmao feel free to use it at will
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
yeah i'm on a watcher lore kick today
#i'm usually on a watcher lore kick but like i'm wearing the shirt and listening to the playlist#though like this is a sillier manner (drawing a scene from bad-traffic-smp-ideas) than what i'm usually doing#which is wide eyes shrunken irises filled with tears screaming inside hyperventilating pacing until i fall through the floor into the void#when i'm not full-on rolling around shrieking and thrashing and destroying things and sobbing
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 2/2
By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.
In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.
So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.
When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.
He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.
The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.
The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.
It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.
And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.
However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.
Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:
Children.
Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.
Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.
They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.
It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.
When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:
Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.
Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.
"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.
Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.
He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.
Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.
He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.
Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.
He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.
He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.
"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.
He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.
All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?
#OKAY SO YOU KNOW THAT ONE SCENE IN THE BOOK OF BILL OR SMTH WHERE THEY SHOW ALL THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE VERSION OF DIPPER AND MABEL#WHEN THEY WEREN'T AS LUCKY AS THEIR ORIGINAL COUNTERPARTS#THAT'S WHO STAN MEETS HERE#I need you people to know that I had to rewrite this whole thing like 3 times because my dumbass#was writing a whole ass fic in TUMBLR DRAFTS so obviously it kept deleting itself <3#but it was worth it for the Stan angst <3#watch how many trigger warnings I can fit in this post#tw child death#tw death#tw dead animals#tw graphic description#tw graphic violence#tw graphic#tw body horror#tw scopophobia#tw gore#TELL ME IF I GOTTA TAG MORE!!#gravity falls#gravity falls au#HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU#stanley pines#stan pines#grunkle stan#dipper pines#mabel pines#pines twins#absolutely not beta read- so if there are any grammar mistakes or plot holes... shhhhhh you saw nothing...#my writing#my fic#my art
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1
âWhat is going on?â Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.
John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.
âConstantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,â Superman explained. âHe is working on the summoning circle now.â
âIs that safe to do on the Watchtower?â Batman asked, as cautious as ever.
âYeah, mate,â John answered for himself. âThis one is a good one. Havenât met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything Iâve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.â
Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadnât stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.
The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.
Another hand joined it.
And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.
John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.
âWho dares to call upon the Ghost King?â the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through Johnâs head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.
Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasnât scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.
Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the beingâs view.
The being didnât seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. âB?â
Batman inclined his head slightly, âPhantom.â
âShit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,â the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.
âUnderstandable,â Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.
John could only shrug incredulously at Supermanâs questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.
The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. âYou could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."
âPainful?â Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.
âYeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the makerââ
âThanks, I think?â John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.
ââso it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,â the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.
âWe'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.â
The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half capeâ one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.
Like it was just waking through a door.
Like it was nothing.
John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.
âAll good,â they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. âSo, what did you need the Ghost King for?â
-
Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruceâs head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.
Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.
The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to afterâŠ
Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.
âThank you for your assistance, King Phantom,â Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.
âI didnât say I could assist. Iâll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,â Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. âMy influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.â
âOf course,â Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. âListening is a great start. If youâll take a seat.â
Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruceâs chair.
âUm, King Phantom, your majesty?â Flash started nervously. âBatman doesnât really like to be touched?â
âReally?â Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldnât see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruceâs shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)
Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.
Jâonn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see Jâonn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantomâs ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.
âAh,â Jâonn said softly.
âAh? Ah what?â Flash asked, his words almost a whine. âWhat do you know?â
Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantomâs hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.
âAh,â Wonder Woman said with a little smile. âJâonn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.â
âGood to meet you also, Wonder Woman. Iâve heard a lot about you,â Phantom said as she sat down next to them.
âI wish I could say the same,â she said with a teasing smile directed Bruceâs way.
âHn.â
Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. âItâs okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. Heâs just bad at doing things the normal way.â
Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantomâs side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.
âHoly shit!â Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. âYouâre Batmanâs husband!â
âGuilty as charged,â Phantom said.
âWait, no, youâre what?â Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. âHuh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but youâre so⊠lively! Waitâ is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?â
Phantom laughed again and shook his head. âNo, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I donât mind and besides, Iâm only half-dead.â
âHalf-dead?â Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.
Phantom just waved the concern away. âItâs complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so thereâs not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.â
âSo,â Hal started, ignoring Bruceâs glare and sliding into a seat finally. âYouâre married to Batman in your civilian form as well?â
âOf course, it would be silly otherwise,â Phantom said and then added, âand no, I wonât tell you who B is. Thatâs for him to choose.â
âOkay, but like, we can talk to you, right?â Flash asked, eager as ever.
âWell, Iâm here, arenât I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?â
Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantomâs back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.
--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Pillow Talk
Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more⊠hands-on.
âł pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader
âł warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)
âł wc: 3,485
âł notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3
âGoodnight.â
Chosoâs voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumesâhe doesnât expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listeningâa response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall.Â
Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.
The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and heâs grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.
Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.
He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. Thatâs what you said, at least. Home decorâŠhe doesnât get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too.Â
Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.
With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.
In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.
Heâs never been on one, but heâs seen plentyâin movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet⊠not quite right. Thereâs a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he canât quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.
âŠHe doesnât know how long heâs like this but fuck he canât sleep.
He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. Heâs tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.
Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teethâhe categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.
He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchenâhe thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.
But thatâs okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he canât even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the darkâthe same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surelyâ
He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggledâa laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.
And then there was the spaghetti.Â
Itâs a simple meal and he eats it far too oftenâbut itâs good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didnât mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.
Choso couldnât help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipationâinnocently underhanded is the request. You wouldnât be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldnât be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to helpâ
He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.
The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesnât want for much but god did he wantâ
And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.
Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where itâs still confined.
Heâs fully hard. He hadnât even realized it happened, hadnât recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.
Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse thatâs impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleepâ god he just wants to sleep.
Itâs a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadnât even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deepâall sensations heâs experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewilderedâŠand annoyed, above all else.
The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient timesâwhen heâs trying to sleep, or worse, the times when heâs with you âan all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if youâve done something to him. Heâs been a decent friend to you, so itâs with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.
Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his kneesâgood enough.
He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure heâs doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Chosoâs nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.
His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesnât crest, doesnât even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.
He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesnât know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.
But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.
The pillow crumbles beneath Chosoâs hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.
His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that wonât go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to screamâit isnât working, it isnât working, why isnât it working?
With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.
Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.
You.
Itâs a new thought, one heâs never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesnât question where the idea comes from; itâs an instinct, an impulse he canât quite name but canât ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.
The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.
He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. Itâs sharper, more focused, and itâs like nothing heâs ever felt before.
Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.
His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching youâit wouldâve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counterâ
His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.
Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.
The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way thatâs almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax thatâs so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.
He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your handâŠÂ fuck, he imagines your hand.
Chosoâs body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with youâyour smile, your laughter, your touchâhow can he so vividly feel a touch heâs never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it.Â
With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead.Â
Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.
His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if heâd taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.
Chosoâs hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he canât bring himself to let goâan irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.
He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he canât stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.
His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after.Â
He wonders if he shouldnât be thinking of you this way. Heâs never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. Youâre friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.
Heâs struck with an odd desireânot the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. Heâs grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you.Â
But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#choso kamo#choso kamo smut#choso kamo x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#choso x you#jjk choso#jjk smut#jujutsu choso#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso kamo x you#choso jjk#choso#kamo choso
774 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could I possibly request a blurb for Fresa? Young fresa walking up to ale and just standing in front of her (monster inc. boo style if you catch my drift) and just saying 'hug'. Alexia just picks her up and she buries into Alexia's neck and falls asleep, and Alexia just keeps doing whatever she was doing
Totally okay if no but might be cute x
part of the void universe hugs II a.putellas
now a moody teenager you might not always want the suffocatingly tight bear hugs your sisters ambushed you with, but much younger you were the polar opposite, demanding affection from them whenever you wanted.
alexia in particular was a favorite of yours for obvious reasons, the main being she hardly ever said no.
"hug!" you chirped, holding your arms out expectantly as the sixteen year old looked down at you in amusement. your sister squatting down to your height you exhaled happily as she hugged you tightly, only as she tried to let go and stand up, she couldn't shake you off.
"fres, nena i am trying to help mami make dinner." your sister laughed, attempting to peel you off as you grunted unhappily and clung on even tighter.
"hug." you repeated firmly, the footballer giving in with a sigh and hauling you up, sitting you on her hip and holding you tightly with one arm as she stirred with the other.
"you are a very good hugger pequeña." the older girl smiled, kissing your cheek as your head rested tiredly on your shoulder, eli returning from taking a phone call a few minutes later to find you dead asleep on your sisters hip.
"ale. hug!" the girl glanced up hearing your little footsteps thunder into her room, sat at her desk trying to study she hardly had time to open her mouth before you were stood expectantly beside her with your arms held up.
"hermana i need to study. can you go give mami or alba a hug?" the girl tried to shoo you away gently, but a firm shake of your head and you were wiggling your way beneath her desk.
alexia scooted her chair back a little as you tried to climb up and onto it with her, tiny three year old limbs not quite long enough to let you achieve it. "fresa." alexia couldn't help but chuckle at your persistence.
"hug." you held your arms up and cracking at the adorable pout on your face your sister scooted her chair back more and hauled you up, sitting you on her knee as you clung onto her happily and she shook her head.
"like a little leech." the girl chuckled under her breath, pen poking at your forehead as you looked up at her happily before squeezing her tightly, arms remaining as wound around her taller body as you could as you wiggled to get comfortable.
and when eli came to check in if alexia needed anything a half an hour later, there you were curled up asleep on her knee.
"alexia!" the girl looked up, smile fading as alba burst through the kitchen doors followed by a four year old hot on her heels, scowl on alba's face as her older sister raised an eyebrow. "que?" the girl asked, her friends sat around the table playing a card game.
"fresa is driving me crazy! she will not listen to me." alba groaned dragging her hands down her face. "watch." alba demanded wagging a finger. "fresa, bed time." alba ordered as you shook your head.
"no!" you grinned happily, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, your pyjamas on backwards and red clutched tightly in your hand.
"she was supposed to be asleep an hour ago alba. you promised!" alexia warned with a glare, having made a deal with the younger girl to do her laundry for a week if she watched over you while alexia had friends over and eli was at work for the night.
"i tried! it is like she does the opposite of what i say. fresa, sit!" alba demanded pointing down at you as you just smiled innocently up at her. "fresa, do not sit down." alba ordered next, alexia's friends snickering as you sat down on the floor.
"she is not a dog estĂșpida!" alexia threw a dice at her younger sister with a glare who ducked. "you put her to bed then!" alba scowled, stomping angrily out of the kitchen, door swinging shut behind her.
"alba we had a deal!" "alexia i don't care!"
"oye, and what are you doing fresita?" alexia noticed you trying to drag a stool toward the fridge, her friends all cooing over how cute you were as alexia stood and towered over you.
"hungry." you shrugged, whining as your sister plucked the stool out of reach. "bed time." she warned, pushing your head playfully and holding out her hand for you to take, waving for her friends to skip her turn.
"hug!" you demanded, holding your arms up as alexia happily hauled you up into her own arms, hanging you off her hip as you hugged her tightly and she made her way toward your room.
"bed time diablillo." your sister chuckled, pulling your covers back and trying to drop you into bed, unable to break the iron clad you grip you had going around her neck, hanging off of her like a little monkey.
"fres, no. hermana you are going to sleep!" alexia warned a little stricter, grunting as she tried to pry you away but you whined unhappily and still clung onto her.
"aye dios mio. fresita i have friends over, you are too little to be up this late. mami will be upset!" she tried to remind as you shook your head, fists still balled into her top as she groaned.
"hug." you grunted, wrapping your legs around her for extra grip as your sister sighed, knowing what she should do but that the realities of you not just getting up and following after her once she yanked you off and put you to bed were slim anyway.
"bien. you win little monito!" your sister tugged playfully on your ears and turned around, heading back out of your room and toward the kitchen again.
she dismissed her friends questioning looks with a flick of her wrist, taking her seat again as you got comfortable on her lap, all of the other girls cooing and awwing as to be expected within a few minutes you were dead asleep in your sisters arms.
and when eli got home later that night thats exactly how she found you, clinging on tightly to your eldest sister whose long legs and arms hung awkwardly off the edges of your tiny kid sized mattress, with you curled up happily on top of her like a cat.
you and your hugs.
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas#woso#woso community#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso blurbs#đâïž
570 notes
·
View notes
Text
Notes: Reader is not explicitly Adami (MC), but you can choose to read it that way. Somewhat headcanon-heavy, mild mouth torture, implied kidnapping, creepy behaviour lol. Scarletella x Reader, or Scarletella has a slightly more hands-on approach to learning your language.
You have no idea where you are. Youâre not alone, though.
The man with the scarlet umbrella steps around you with slow, tentative steps, circling you. At no point is there the sound of his feet hitting the floor. When you attempt to take a step away from him, his umbrella is lowered in a flash and stops your movement. His arm brushes against yours. It passes clean through your skin, only leaving a slight layer of cold moisture on your skin. Heâs like mist. Elusive, but no less oppressive. Even if you had been able to run, there is nowhere for to go in this never-ending sea of red.
The apparition clothed in red tilts his head at an angle that, had he been human, sacrificed part of his spine. His speech isnât as soft as your ears as his touch. Itâs a string of incomprehensible noises, part guttural and raspy, part rolling and rumbling like a distant thunderstorm. There is no hope in your mind that you could repeat any of the noises. And yet, he does. It doesnât take long for you to take note of the fact that heâs saying the same things, over and over and over again. It offers you a clear view of the black void inside his mouth.
You swallow a mouthful of nervous spit, and his red pupils dart down to follow the bobbing of your throat. Then, his own neck shimmers as if copying the movement. Now that you donât think you might die at any moment, your mind is granted a moment to catch up with the situation. The tips of his umbrella still prick into your back. Perhaps the best decision would be to try and communicate.
âUmâŠâ In less than a blink, he leans forward, eyes no longer trained on yours. Instead, theyâre drawn to your mouth, but still you press onward. If youâre given no other choice than make a âdumb horror movie protagonistâ-esque decision, you might as well give it your all. âDo you, maybe, have any idea whatâs going on? Are youâ Oh.â
His form in front of you flickers, almost appearing translucent in parts. In contrast, his hand looks real as can be, and itâs only when he reaches out that you realise his touch is no longer ghostly. Cold fingers prod at the tiny gap in between your teeth. Forcing your mouth further open with them, he wraps his fingers around your tongue before you full and well realise whatâs happening. Spit dribbles down your chin. Your face scrunches up, you shake your head, but you stop moving as soon as he squeezes down harder. With a scratchy noise, the nail of his little finger scrapes along your molars.
âShtop!â You say, though the word in incomprehensible to your own ears. Your tongue wriggles, futile, against his touch. For a moment, he stills entirely, even his grip on you slackening. His mouth closes. Then, when he opens it again, you catch a glimpse of a pink tongue just like your own where there had been previously nothing.
He tries to copy what you said. The tip of his newly-created tongue tips forward as he tries to form the âsâ. After a couple of attempts, his smile falls, and his nails once again dig into soft flesh. A shudder travels through your entire body. As you remain quiet, he starts to actively scratch at your tongue, making tears spring to the corners of your eyes.
âStop!â You repeat, and he once again stills, before trying to copy the noise once again. Itâs with a kind of frenzy that he tackles the task and, you wonder for just a moment, what it is he is actually trying to achieve by doing this. Your heart races in your ears. Maybe, just maybe, if you taught him enough, he would⊠Let you go?
#homicipher#homicipher x reader#mr scarletella#mr scarletella x reader#pls ask me to tag this lol i dunno what to tag it as
703 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'll Be Yours If You'll Be Mine
character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
prompts: âWeâre not just friends and you fucking know it.â / âItâs hot when you talk back.â / âYou just canât help yourself, can you?â (18+)
main masterlist âąÂ prompt masterlist
You were pacing the floor of your flat, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, when you heard the telltale knock. It was the pattern the two of you had set long ago. Usually, it would make your heart race for a whole different reason. Tonight, however, it was simply anger.
You unlocked the door and let it slide open. Din stood there with his gloved hands set on his hips, his fingers tapping anxiously against his belt. His helmet straightened as his visor gave you a careful once-over.
"Hey." He lowered his hands to his sides and nodded towards the comlink that was still clutched in one of your fists. "Is everything okay?"
You took a step back, wordlessly inviting himself inside. Din hesitated a moment before striding through the doorway. You took a deep breath for composure, but the effort was in vain, and you snapped the same way the door did behind you.
"You're back in town, and I have to find out from a vendor?"
Din huffed, lifting a single hand back to his hip. "Is this the emergency you commed me for?" He used his helmet to gesture to your comlink again.
You narrowed your eyes at him as you crossed your arms. "Were you even going to tell me you were here?"
"So, you're not in danger?"
"Answer the damn question."
Din sighed. His helmet swung to the side, his voice lowering as he responded. "I'm just passing through. I'm not supposed to be back yet."
"But you are." Your jaw flexed. "And I had to find out from a vendor, Din. A stranger."
Din paused, his armored chest rising and falling in a steady breath. He then shook his head and started to walk forward. "I don't have time for this."
Before he could pass you, you set your free hand firmly upon his cuirass, splaying your palm across the silver metal and forcing him to stop. His visor was just inches away from your face, but you were too focused on your own rage to make note of it.
You swallowed hard, and when you finally spoke again, your voice was smaller, exchanging some of your anger for your hurt. "Why are you avoiding me?"
Din exhaled a light breath. After a few heartbeats of silence, he lifted a gloved hand to gently wrap it around your wrist. "I'm not."
Your gaze searched the void of his visor. "It feels like you are."
Din looked down as he lowered your hand from his chest. For a moment, he held your hand between his own, but he released it not long after. "Like I said before, I'm just passing through." His modulated voice was strained. "I'm not even supposed to be here."
You circled your jaw, your stare still focused on his visor. "I understand that." You steadied yourself with a breath and went on. "I just wish you had told me. I would've liked to see you." Your gaze flickered down in a moment of shyness. "If only for a little while."
Din tilted his helmet. "I can't always let you know where I am. It could jeopardize my jobs."
You frowned. "I wouldn't tell anyone."
"I know." Din sighed again and set his hands back on his hips. "But if I comm, then I risk someone hearing, and if I'm always here, they'll know where to find me."
Your brow shot up at his words. These were starting to sound like parting words. "What are you saying, Din?"
Din looked down and shifted his weight between his feet. "I'm just asking you to understand, as a friendâ."
His words made your fragile recollection of yourself shatter. You tightened your hand into a fist around your comlink again and pointed the other finger into Din's chest. "But weâre not just friends, and you fucking know it."
Something shifted in the air as the words sat between you. Din's chest had stalled, his visor taking its time with giving you another once-over. You remained where you were, your own chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as you gripped onto whatever self restraint you had left to keep yourself from losing your cool.
It felt like forever until Din spoke again. His voice sounded far away, as if his mind was somewhere beyond this moment and this room. It was a rasp so low and so quiet that you could barely hear it. "Itâs hot when you talk back."
You blinked a few times, your traitorous body preparing itself to melt at the words. Your stomach did backflips as you fumbled for something to say. "Are you serious?" You scoffed, flattening your hand against Din's cuirass to push off of it. He stumbled back a few steps, but was never at true risk of losing his balance. "I finally call you out on your shit, and that's all you have to say?"
Din shook his helmet at you before he chuckled. The sound was breathy, somehow managing to both piss you off more and to spread the hot flame that had started to burn deep within you. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"
Din stepped forward, reclaiming the space you had tried to put between the two of you. He looked down at you, his helmet tilting as he spoke in a voice that was lower than you had ever heard it, practically a whisper that crackled through his modulator.
"You try to fight me every time you want to fuck me."
Your jaw dropped, and your heart went right along with it. Over and over again, you ran his words through your mind, but you couldn't begin to process them. Your body was starting to heat up so much, and so quickly, that you were about to break out into a sweat.
Din kept his voice low as he went on. "The reason why I can't see you when I pass through here is because I won't be able to keep myself away from you." He nodded towards the door that was still at your back. "When you let me inside, all I want to do is take you to your room and keep you there until everyone in this town knows I'm here because they've heard you screaming my name."
Your heart was thudding so hard against your chest that you were convinced Din could both see it and hear it. You were still staring up at him with wide eyes, breathing as if you had just run a race. Never once did you ever think you would hear such words from him, no matter how much you had hoped for itâand even dreamed about it.
Din let out another soft chuckle. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Your gaze gave him a slow once-over, buying you time as you still struggled to speak around the sudden lump in your throat. "Only if you really mean it."
Din wasted no time lifting his hands to the sides of his helmet. When the metal slid away from his face, the first thing you caught sight of was his brown gaze, which was practically black in his evident desire. The heat of the room increased tenfold with his obvious attention set on you. "I can prove it."
It was impossible to keep yourself away from him. You drifted closer out of instinct, your hands rising to the back of his neck as his settled on your waist. "What about your job?" You shook your head. "I don't want you to jeopardize it for me."
Din lifted an eyebrow. "I'd rather jeopardize a job than jeopardize what we have." He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he went on. "Especially now."
You hummed and began to smile at him. "Okay." Your nose brushed against his. "But you're not fucking me as a friend, right?"
Din huffed. "No." He tightened his hold on you, bringing you impossibly closer. "I'm loving you as yours." He nodded. "If you want to be mine."
You grinned, your lips teasing his as you echoed his same words back at him. "I can prove it."
Din returned your smile, and as his hot mouth finally met yours, you knew it would be a promised fulfilled, for both of you.
#wowzaaaaaaa i need a man like him fr!#din djarin#the mandalorian#din djarin x reader#din djarin fic#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#prompts#dindjarindiaries
798 notes
·
View notes
Text
From Gold to Mold
Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)
A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so thisâll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, Iâm sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and werenât. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasnât able to find your blog for whatever reason.
When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?
âHello,â you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. âIs there anyone here?â
Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here⊠wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.
âWhat happened,â you ask yourself. âHowâd I get here?â
Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, andâ
âOh my god,â you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. âThey killed me.â
Thatâs right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.
âWait,â you say, realizing something very important. âIf they shot me, then why am I here?â
Sure, you arenât religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery thatâs always been associated with heaven. And this sure isnât the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.
Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldnât you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?
You realize youâre crying and youâre amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But thatâs been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the worldâs punching bag.
âSuch powerful emotions,â a familiar voice says.
You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.
âMomma,â you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, sheâll disappear.
âThis form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,â she says. âFeelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.â
âWhat,â you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, itâs not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.
âWhat did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,â you shout in disgust.
âThis form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,â Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. âHow interesting.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about? Howâd you get here and what did you do to Momma?â
âAnd itâs not just this form.â You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. âYou hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.â
âYou deem this one a failure,â Bruce says.
âThis one a hypocrite,â Dick says.
âThis one a brute,â Jason says.
âThis one a know-it-all,â Tim says.
âThis one a stranger,â Barbara says.
âThis one annoying,â Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. âAnd while youâve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.â
âAnd you deem this one a monster,â Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. âYou hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.â
You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, itâs Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if thereâs anyone who you can depend on, itâs him.
âWhile this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,â Alfred says. âAlthough, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.â
Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Mommaâs death; sure, youâve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, heâd choose them over you since heâs always helping them, but heâs always been there for you since day one!
âNo,â you say, pleading with the man. âAlfred, I donât!â
âBut you do,â the butler responds. âAccording to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.â
âYou also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,â Bruce adds. âAnd that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.â
You finally realize that somethingâs wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that theyâd care, anyway) and youâve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.
So, how the hell did they know all this?
âYouâre not them, are you?â
âNo,â Not-Bruce answers. âWe only took the forms of those you see before you.â
âThen who the fuck are you,â you growl. âAnd where the fuck am I?â
âWe have no name,â Not-Alfred says.
âWe are one, and yet we are many,â Not-Damian finishes.
âIt is impossible to define a being such as us,â Not-Jason chimes in.
âAlright, that doesnât answer my question,â you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. âThen answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.â
âYes, we know of your attack,â Not-Stephanie says.
âAs for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,â Not-Bruce says.
âMy mind,â you exclaim. âHow?â
âWhen you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,â Not-Tim explains. âIt is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.â
âMy memories,â you ask, dumbfounded.
âYes,â Not-Damian responds. âThrough your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.â
âIf you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,â you snap at them.
âWe know now that we were in error,â Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. âWe owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.â
âSo, what do you really look like.â
All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.
âWe are not sure if you wish to see our true form,â Not-Alfred responds.
âWhile you are the first sentient being weâve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider⊠terrifying,â Not-Stephanie adds.
âI donât care,â you snap. âIâm not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell donât want you taking Mommaâs form! And if weâre going to talk, weâre gonna do it face to face!â
âVery well,â Not-Bruce acquiesces.
And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, youâre scared youâll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you shouldâve let them stay like that.
Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didnât freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.
âHoly shit,â is all you can say.
âWe told you you would not approve of our true form,â it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.
âWhat are you,â you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.
âWe are have no name,â it responds. âBut, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.â
âMegamycete?â
âYes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.â
âFour-hundred years? Thatâs as long as Gothamâs been around.â
âWe have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a âLazarus Pit,â a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.â
âAnd this pit made you the way that you are?â
âThe pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gothamâs citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.â
âSo,â you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. âYouâre like some fungal god?â
âWhile we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.â
As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really donât want to know the answer, but thereâs that damn stubborn part of you that has⊠no, it needs to know.
âSo,â you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. âEarlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?â
âYes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.â
âSo, if weâre in my head right now, whereâs me? I mean, my body?â
Although the Megamycete doesnât have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly youâre going to find.
And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and youâve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions theyâre definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.
âOh my god,â you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. âOh my god!â
âWe saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.â
âSo thatâs it, huh?â While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like youâre hyperventilating. âThis is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where youâre likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?â
âIf you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.â
You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but itâs there.
âIâm alive,â you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.
âYou still live,â it answers back. âYour life force is low, but still there.â
âBut how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People donât live after something like that!â
âWhile a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.â
âBut Iâm still going to die, right?â
âYes,â it answers, seemingly sympathetic. âIf you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.â
So, you survive attempted murder, but youâll still die in the end.
âFuck,â you mutter. âWasnât the end I had in mind.â
âWhat did you have in mind for your death,â the Megamycete asks.
âShouldnât you know what i had in mind for my death?â
âWe do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.â
You chuckle at that. âI thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.â You smile at the memory of the chair. âIt was a damn good chair.â
âWe see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.â
âYeah, thatâs the one. Wouldâve been perfect to spend my last days in.â
âPerhaps you still can.â
You look up at the Megamycete. âWhat?â
âWe offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.â
âAnd youâll get what?â
âYou become our host.â
âWhat,â you balk. âHost?â
âYes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.â
âAnd why the hell would I agree to that,â you exclaim. âYou fix my body just to take it over? No deal!â
âYou misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.â
That certainly cools your temper. âSo, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like Iâm the only one benefitting from this deal.â
âOn the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.â
The Megamyceteâs words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, youâd do anything to experience it, too.
âPlease, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.â
Youâve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.
âWe can do that for you. With us at your side, youâll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.â
âAlright,â you relent. âIf all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.â
âWe thank you, Y/N,â it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.
And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that youâre back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.
Thatâs when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, itâs an incredibly odd sensation.
(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)
âWait, youâre saying I can shapeshift?â
(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may âshapeshift.â)
When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didnât know any better, youâd say it never happened at all.
And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldnât say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you werenât going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didnât feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the cityâs early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruceâs greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprisesâ tech and projects that heâs spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.
âI feel like I could run circles around Einstein,â you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. âNow how do I get out of here?â
(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamberâs ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gothamâs birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)
The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. Youâve never liked thieves and the thought of your Mommaâs treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).
(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)
Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, youâre overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.
(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)
It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mindâs eye and focus on the three kidnappers. Youâre taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gothamâs criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.
With your destination known, you search through the Megamyceteâs archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. Itâs extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while youâre multiple birds, youâre still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like itâs nothing. In a matter of seconds, youâre on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gothamâs buildings.
âYou know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.â
(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)
The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that youâve just fulfilled a dream youâve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodspringsâ to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!
Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamyceteâs roots. You land on a nearby buildingâs rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.
Whatâs going to happen here needs to not get back to you.
âWhat,â the bouncer stutters. âWhat the hell?â
âLeave,â is all you say.
The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.
(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)
âGood,â is all you say as you enter.
The noise coming from patronsâ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gothamâs criminal element; everyone here looks like theyâve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.
And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!
âIâm here for them,â you say, pointing to your quarry. âThe rest of you are free to go.â
âUp yours, freak,â some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. âWhat the hell?â
He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the manâs heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.
While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; youâve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you canât deny thereâs a part of you thatâs not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gothamâs a slightly better place for his passing.
For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until itâs just you and your prey.
âLook, man,â you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. âI donât know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.â
The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see itâs your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. Youâre relieved to know that youâre not missing any of your school stuff and donât have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, youâre still missing the most important thing: your Mommaâs pen.
âHere, take this, too.â The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.
That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.
âHoly shit,â Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.
âItâs that kid,â Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. âBut, we killed him, right?â
âMy pen,â you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. âWhere is it?â
You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.
âMy pocket,â he says. âItâs in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasnât able to sell it.â
While youâre happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shopâs display window, youâre utterly disgusted at the thought of this manâs audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the manâs pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.
(Not even death could separate you from your Motherâs memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)
âLook, weâre sorry for what we did to you,â the man pathetically whimpers. âReally, we are.â
âDid you know this was my Mommaâs pen,â you ask as if the man had not just said something. âI lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.â
âWe didnât know, man,â Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. âWeâre sorry.â
âWe promise we wonât tell anyone about this,â Tom adds. âJust let us go and youâll never see or hear from us ever again.â
âYouâre right, we wonât see each other again, but wouldnât you like to know who I was forced to live with?â The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. âI was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.â
âBut he saidââ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.
âThat bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,â you shout, shutting him up. âI was his first biological son, but heâs completely forgotten about me!â You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. âBut it doesnât matter. I donât need him. Just like you donât need your lives.â
And with that, you rip the manâs head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.
(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)
âNot gonna happen,â you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. âI have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, Iâm going back home.â
(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)
And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the cityâs skyscrapers, so hopefully youâre safe from detection. In just a few minutes, youâve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that shouldâve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamyceteâs roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you donât have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.
You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruceâs picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like itâs nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.
But, while youâre physically invigorated, youâre mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While youâve been flying under the radar of Gothamâs vigilantes for years now, youâll afraid that even they wonât be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, youâve listened to their conversations when they thought you werenât around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkhamâs most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: âGothamâs off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and youâll regret it.â
Honestly, youâre confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his âtrue childrenâ to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who shouldâve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.
You shove the manâs image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasnât important to you, but now, heâs irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really donât. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.
Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfredâs caller ID staring back at you.
âHello,â you answer.
âMaster Y/N, are you alright?â
âYeah, of course. Why wouldnât I be?â
âBecause itâs over an hour since you shouldâve called me since getting off work.â You wince when you peek at your phone and see youâre overdue your nightly call with the butler. âSo, I ask again: are you alright?â Based off his tone, heâs not going to accept âIâm fineâ as an answer.
âYeah, I am.â You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. âI just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.â
âOh, Master Y/N, Iâm sorry.â His tone says heâs bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man youâve come to see as a father figure. âI know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?â
âYeah, I will be. Iâm gonna miss him.â
âOf course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? Iâm halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I shouldââ
âNo,â you cut the man off. âYou donât have to come back early, Alfred.â With everything thatâs happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. âIâll be fine, really.â
âIf youâre sure,â he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesnât press the issue. âIâll let you go, Iâm sure youâre tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep Iâm sure youâve missed this week during your spring break.â
âI will, Alfred, donât worry. Iâll talk to you tomorrow.â
âVery good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.â
âGood night.â
You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.
(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)
âBecause Alfredâs highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, heâd probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.â
(We do not wish for that to happen.)
âMe neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think weâre gonna do great things together.â
(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)
You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, youâre actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.
Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.
âLooks like someone had fun here,â Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. âWhat do you think?â
âLooks like someone had a score to settle,â he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. âEspecially these three. Based on how they were killed, Iâd guess whoever did this was after them.â
âDoesnât look like Jokerâs handiwork,â Jim adds. âNo one hereâs smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.â
No, this is definitely not the clownâs MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesnât explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkhamâs high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.
âThis is definitely the work of someone new,â he says, bending down to study the squashed head. âAnd with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.â
Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.
Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bundlofcigars @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper
#male reader#yandere batfamily#batfamily#batfamily x male reader#batman#yandere barbara gordon#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#dc x male reader#yandere stephanie brown#batfam#from gold to mold
668 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hangovers & tattoos
Based on this request.
Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary: Reader wakes up in Azrielâs bed with a mysterious tattoo that eerily matches his.
Warnings: slightly suggestive, all silly fluff though
2.4k words
Sunlight streamed through the open curtains haphazardly, my brows twitching together as I groggily pulled myself from the depths of sleep.
I awake with a groan, rubbing at my eyes that had been sealed shut. As soon as I open them I'm met with a horrible pound to my head, my entire body aching with every movement I make. I rolled onto my stomach, stuffing my head in the cold pillows with a huff.
I had to make an effort to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth as I settled over the fact that going back to sleep would not be an option.
I twist onto my side, staring at a winged figure with his head against my pillows, dark hair cascading over his eyes. I smile at the sight of Azriel sleeping so peacefully. Then I realize he's sleeping so peacefully, in my bed. I jolt, scrambling away from his sleeping figure and inevitably tumbling off the mattress.
I hit the ground with a hard thud, followed by my hiss of pain as the hardwood sends paralyzing shock waves throughout my entire body.
Before I can collect myself I hear an incoherent mumble that came from the Shadow Singer. I tense, bending down to avoid being caught sneaking around in my own bedroom.
"Are you alright princess?" His voice was deeper than usual, still filled with sleep. I freeze for a moment, wondering how he had managed to know it was me, even if he did see me he was still half asleep. Then I quickly void that thought and curse myself for not thinking about his shadows, the same dark tendrils that were now twining around my ankles.
"I'm fine," Is all I can manage.
"Gods, my head is pounding," He grits out and I'm unsure if I should get back up onto the bed or stay down on the ground out of his sight, where I felt much safer.
Last night... it had been a blur entirely, the only thing I can remember is Cassian handing me and Azriel our first shot of the night, followed by many, many more. I clench my eyes shut, attempting to fish anything more from the night before out but I come up blank. "We didn't uh... did we?" I murmur, the pregnant silence is heavy as he thinks over the dilemma.
"Are you sore?" He says and I roll my eyes at his arrogance.
"No," I scoff.
"Then no, we didn't," He hums.
That hadn't been good enough, so I looked down at my outfit, a sigh of relief leaving me as I realized I was still wearing the same underwear from last night.
Last night when I seemed to obtain a case of amnesia. Cassian and Azriel had invited me to go out, Mor tagged along, and then... nothing. I had no idea why Azriel was in my bed or what drunk decisions I made to get that to happen.
Slowly, I rise from the floor and rush towards my wardrobe, still dressed in the short glittery dress I had boldly picked last night.
"What are you doing?" He rubs at his eyes, staring at me as I begin to take off the straps of my dress. I froze, realizing he was still there.
This headache wasn't making our situation any better.
"Changing?" I say, looking down at my rumpled outfit.
"This is my room," He said, sitting up from the pillows, the sheets falling off of him and revealing his bare chest, toned with rippling muscle. I swallow thickly, glancing around the room that was now so obviously not mine. I nearly crumbled from embarrassment, my cheeks tinging a scarlet red.
"Right, sorry, I'll go," I sidestep towards the door and his dark brows crease.
"Wait," He calls, slipping from the warm sheets I had gotten such amazing sleep in, and follows me to the door. "I'll make you breakfast, as a thank you for... whatever took place last night," He glances back to the bed and then back to me.
"You don't have to," I shake my head, eager to get out of the ordeal entirely.
"I want to, c'mon," His hand makes contact with my lower back as he guides me from his bedroom and down the long hallway.
I had been crushing on the Shadow Singer for over a year now. It had been unbearable to watch him bring other girls to bed since simple one-night stands with no connection aside from physical, but still, I wish I had even that amount of relation with him. But now heâs got his hand on my back, about to make me breakfast just because we woke up in the same bed together. I was sure I wouldnât be able to get over him if I tried.
I made coffee while he worked on breakfast, my head felt as if it was swelling into my skull, a painful feeling that stabbed into the most sensitive parts of my brain.
I softly groaned as I poured a heaping spoonful of sugar into my steaming cup. I left Azriel's mug unattended, knowing he preferred the bitterness of it while I simply drank it for the caffeine, wanting to get rid of the taste altogether.
A low whistle sounds from down the hall, paired with a heavy set of footsteps that were unmistakably Cassian's. "Morning you two," The male said as soon as he spotted Azriel and us silently moving through the kitchen.
"Morning," Azriel grumbles but I can't even function enough to manage a reply. Cassian's hulking figure brushes past me and toward Azriel, where he had been by the stove. "Hands off," Azriel spat, and I hadn't been watching but I could only assume Cassian was attempting to steal from the pan while Azriel swatted him away.
"Hey, I didn't know you got a new tattoo," Cassian gasps and I whirl around to look at the two males, my eyes narrowing on a sketch of ink over the Shadow Singers' fourth finger, swirling down onto the back of his palm and wrapping up his wrist. Azriel looks at it as if he's never seen it before, his brows twitching together. Cassian gasps again and we look at him with expectant expressions, waiting for him to explain.
"That's a mating ceremony tattoo," He mumbled beneath his breath. Azrielâs eyes snapped to me like he had something to confess.
"A what?" I nearly choke on my own air. Mating? If Azriel was mated already there was no way in hel I'd ever have a chance. I knew I shouldn't have waited so long for him to ask me out, knew I shouldâve asked him myself and faced rejection.
"A mating tattoo, matching with your significant other, you get them during the ceremony," He explains as if we genuinely hadnât known what a mating tattoo is.
"That's ridiculous, I think I'd remember mating with someone, I wouldn't even know where to begin to find someone like that," Azriel scoffs, eyes now avoiding me at all costs and glancing up at the ceiling, to the stove where he had been cooking.
"Well then I suppose we need to find who has the matching tattoo," Cassian hums, then dramatically gasps louder than his last two, pulling his hands from his pockets and inspecting his unmarked hands.
"Oh thank gods," Azriel sighed in relief with a heavily sarcastic tone when recognizing that Cassian's hands were bare of ink.
"Cass be serious, you'd know if it was you," I argue, rolling my eyes at his idiocracy.
"You'd be able to feel something like that," I bring up my hands to show him.
âAz would probably know himselfâ" I start but I quickly cut myself off when I notice a black smudge on the bottom of my ring finger.
I flip my hands around and stare at them intently. The black tattoo on my left hand embedded into my skin as if it's always been there, and now that I knew I swore it pulsed with life. I ran my finger over it, then began to frantically rub at it, wondering if itâll come off, if this was all some sick joke. But it remained, and then all of it came crashing down on me.
Mated tattoos. Mated. Azriel and I are mated.
"You're my," I couldn't even get the word out. "My," I breathed through the word, staring down at my hand, black ink wrapping around my wrist, up the back of my palm with swirls and wisps of black until twining around my ring finger entirely. Mine was much lighter than his, more delicate, but the same pattern nonetheless.
He held his hand out towards me, palm facing mine. I tentatively met it with my own, settling my palm against his, his hand much, much larger than mine yet somehow the tattoos had matched up, each line on my skin swirling into one on his.
"Gods, how drunk were we last night?" I sigh, a line coming between my brows.
I pull my hand away from his despite the magnetic force pushing us together telling me not to. "I'm going to leave you two to it," Cassian slowly removes himself from the uncomfortable situation.
"Wait, do you remember anything?" I whirl around to face him. He looks between us, and then his eyes go wide, staring at neither of us but rather what's between us, a golden tether tying our souls, binding them beyond just connection.
"Maybe ask Mor," He rubbed at the back of his head, and I knew with the movement that his hangover had been just as horrid as mine.
"Thanks anyway Cass," I mumble and he nods before excusing himself down the hall.
I slowly turned back to my coffee which was no longer steaming.
It was an effort to even swallow, the silence between us thick with tension, filled entirely with questions that don't have answers, and answers to questions we were too afraid to ask.
"So, mates, that's pretty cool," I mumbled beneath my breath and a smile curved at his lips, attempting to suppress the grin but ultimately failing.
"This is absurd," He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Shouldn't you be taken by The Frenzy?" I wonder, glancing over to him. He swallows and I watch as his throat bobs with effort, avoiding my gaze.
"Oh, I am,"
"What do you mean?" I spin around to face him, my mug cupped in my hands as I stare at him curiously.
"I hadn't noticed it at first, it's kind of how I always feel," He confesses and my brows crease, my confusion doubling over.
"Towards you I mean, I've known we're mates for a while now," His admission nearly makes me choke on my coffee.
"You didn'tâ why didn't you tell me?" I stutter, placing my cup down before I drop it. He had known all this time? Hasn't he picked up on the hints I had been attempting to give him? Or had he been dragging me along in fear I'd reject the bond?
"I would've told you sooner if I knew you'd find out like this," He gestures between us, at the golden line tethering my core to his I realize. "It's unfair," He adds.
"What is?"
"You were drunk, you didn't get to choose to accept it with good conscience," He explains with a sigh, my new mate clearly in distress about the events he could've avoided if he just confessed a day earlier. "And now you can't reject it, and I feel like I somehow forced it upon you," His hands fall to his sides in defeat and my heart softens. And maybe it was the power of the mating bond that gave me the confidence to take a step forward and grab his tattooed hand with my own.
"Azriel," I start, lacing his fingers through mine. "I would never have rejected you," I confess, looking into his eyes with only truth in my gaze. He stared for a moment, taking my words for what they promised.
"But we're friends," He argued, afraid we just ruined something that was already good, and I had known the feeling well for the past few years. But now I knew he felt the same way, and there were no longer any doubts I had about us being together.
"Did you only have feelings for me because you knew we were mates?" I tilt my head, taking another brave step forward.
"I uhâ no, I liked you before," He stumbled over his sentence and a smile tugged at my lips at the effect I had on him when I got closer, my chest coming to press against his and he didn't move, we stand in the middle of the kitchen, not worried about the rest of the world around us.
"Good, we're even then," I nod.
"Even?" He arches a perfect brow.
"I liked you before, too," I confess and his eyes widen only a fraction, but it was a large reaction from the stoic Spymaster nonetheless.
"So, is it okay if I kiss you?" He asked quietly as if this was a forbidden act. Two mates kissing, so simple, yet held so much meaning.
"Yes Az, it's okay if you kiss me," I consent with a soft smile and he mirrors it, tentatively leaning in as he presses his lips to mine.
Something blooms in the pit of my stomach, something that's always been sprouting there but never had the nutrients to grow. Though, as he kissed me everything had felt so complete, like a puzzle piece I had been trying to solve for years slotting into place.
He pulls back and I think to follow him but instead, I allow the separation and look up at him with a bashful smile. His eyes are glazed over with something I haven't seen before, a mix of adoration and lust. He presses his lips to mine again, this time more confidently with little hesitation as he cups my jaw in one of his hands while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me into him.
"You feel The Frenzy now?" I whisper against his lips and he nods eagerly. "It's fucking, painful," He sighs, needing me closer, so much closer. "There's only one way to fix that, hm?" I taunt and his grin turns wolfish. "You're sure Princess?" He arches a brow and I now with a willing smirk. "Please," I hum, pecking up the side of his jaw.
With that, he swooped me up into his arms and practically winnowed us back to his bedroom, making me giggle in both delight and surprise as we landed hard on the bed I woke up in this morning.
General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @cauldronboilme27 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127 @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @secretlyhers @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @mahealanipunea @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @andreperez11 @nerdy4itall @whatsupbi8 @one-big-fangirl
Azriel Taglist: @coolepowersthings @lovely-giggles @quiettuba @ilovewarner45 @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn @dnfhascorruptedme
Comment a âđâ to be added to the general taglist!
Comment a âđ€â to be added to the Azriel taglist!
#suriels tea#acotar#fanfic#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#x reader#azriel#request#acomaf#bat boys#azriel x you#azriel fluff#azriel x reader#azriel spymaster#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar x reader#acotar x y/n#acotar x you#x you fluff#acotar fluff#x reader fluff#fluff#azriel x y/n#requested fic#acotar fanfiction#fanfiction#x reader acotar#suggestive#cassian
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader
summary: PART ONE TO TACO TUESDAY! PART THREE HERE! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.
word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.
a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut ĂȘtre... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!
â full fic under cut! â / ao3 link here! / I donât have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if youâd like to be notified of future fics!
Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.
You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream.Â
Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound.Â
âWhat the hell?â You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress.Â
As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude â always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, thereâs a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.
Had it really not been a dream?Â
You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He â Remy â stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.
As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face â the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.
"Mornin', cher."Â
What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?"Â
Even though youâve seen him naked before, youâre still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze.Â
"Hungry, mon ami?"
"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?"Â
Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We shoâ did. I ainât remember the last time I had it like âdat."Â
You take a breath, and think back. It doesnât take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie.Â
The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that youâd never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said â moaned â his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way heâd stroked your hair as you fell asleepâŠÂ
You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you.Â
"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar â like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you.Â
"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night."Â
You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. Heâs a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great.Â
âListen, I⊠Iâm not usually like⊠that. I donât hook up with random guys or anything.âÂ
âIs âdat what âdat was?â He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. Thereâs something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off.Â
âWasnât it? Isnât that what thatâs⊠classified as? IâmâŠâ
He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. âWell, I dunnoâ, cher. You fell asleep in my arms⊠and Iâm still here.â
You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasnât just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things.Â
First, was the fact that youâd never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did.Â
Second, was the fact that youâd also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something youâd ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, youâd been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You werenât actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasnât that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.
Third, was the undeniable fact that something â and you didnât know what â but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that youâd felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours.Â
Lust at first sight. Thatâs got to be what it is, you decide. Youâre in lust with him.
But why not test it againâŠ. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again.Â
The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. âMaybe we should⊠do it again⊠for good measure. RemyâŠâ
"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' âdat voice...?"
"What if that's what I want?"
Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before âÂ
As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door.Â
âIâll get it.âÂ
Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you donât trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.
"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated.Â
Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."
You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.
Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering.Â
"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!"Â
You huff. "What do you want, Wade?"Â
"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you.Â
"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-"Â
"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"
"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..."Â
"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."
"What are you talking about?"Â
"What are you talking about?"Â
"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --"Â
Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?"Â
You cast your glance behind you briefly â heâs ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. Heâs already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies.Â
Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?"Â
You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows whatâs happening.
âMorninâ, mon petit rouge.â (My little red)
âOooh, I felt a tingle with that one.âÂ
Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face.Â
"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is biggerâ"
You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. âCHRIST, Wade!"Â
âOh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.âÂ
Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if heâs waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.
âOkay, so we did. Happy now?âÂ
Wadeâs shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. âHallelujah. There, doesnât honesty feel good?âÂ
Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. âNot as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?âÂ
âHeard that.â Wade barks.Â
Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on.Â
Remyâs hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. Heâs apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly.Â
âAnyway, this isnât a threesome â could be, but isnât â so Iâm going back home. I have a big⊠wet⊠chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.â
Youâre relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you arenât quite sure what mightâve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you donât want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place.Â
You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade â which all things considered, wasnât that bad, but youâre still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.
âWhatâre you all mad for, cher? Câmon nowâŠâÂ
âWho does he think he is? Making me confess that⊠and Iâm a grown woââ
âYou was pretty loud last night.â He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips.Â
You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. âWhose side are you on here?â Â
He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.
At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.
âYours.â His voice is so sure, so low and so close.Â
Well⊠his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers.Â
âWho you beinâ modest for, huh? You donât need âdis. Ainât nothinâ I havenât seen before.âÂ
âI⊠I donât knowâŠâ you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like youâre standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. Youâve never felt safer. Uh-oh. Thatâs not good.Â
As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remyâs hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.
He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin⊠your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.
"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."
"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."
"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..."Â
The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth.Â
Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?"Â
You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin.Â
You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip. Â
The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently.Â
ââDatâs it, babygirl, just like âdatâŠâ
As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.
Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out.Â
âHoo, you donât need no help from Remy, you know what youâre doinâ.â
You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.
Remyâs grip tightens on the counter top. Heâs doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that youâre gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he canât remember the last time heâs felt this good â certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels â and sees â is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.
You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you donât care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that youâre craving.
âMon coeur,â He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic.Â
âBelieve me when I say âdis, cher. I wannaâ make a mess on your face, but Remy ainât ready for it to be ovaâ. Câmere.âÂ
With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, heâs hoisting you up into his arms and youâre ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.
âWait-waitâŠ. What are you doing?âÂ
âEatinâ, mon ami.â He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips.Â
âHooâŠâ He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. âYou get yourself all worked up while you were down âdere? She is glisteninâ, cher.â
Youâre almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadnât told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge.Â
Itâs as though he can tell youâre withholding something from him.Â
âAh-ah, cherâŠâ He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. âTell Remy whatâs on your mind.â
âI⊠I like giving head⊠I like giving you headâŠ. I likeâŠâ
He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling.Â
âUgh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.â You curse yourself for being so honest.Â
Now itâs Remy thatâs on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. Heâs burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan.Â
Pause. Letâs just recap. Just to make sure weâre on the same god damn page. You met this guy at WadeâsâŠ. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now heâs giving you the most toe-curling head youâve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay.Â
Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot heâs working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and thatâs when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit.Â
âSweeter âden âdat maple syrup up on your counter,â he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again.Â
A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if youâll just slide off the counter, but really⊠the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth.Â
Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and â Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal.Â
âHuh, I didnât hear anyone say you could be doinâ âdat yet, ah?âÂ
Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss.Â
âFfffuck,â you whisper. âFuck. PleaseâŠ.âÂ
âI said no, cher. Not yet.â Thereâs a playful lilt in Remyâs voice and it drives you crazy.
âFuck me then, pleaseâŠ. I need to feel you.â Â
He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. âYou ainât gonnaâ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.â (my little doe)
He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. Itâs such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. Sheâs got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor.Â
âCâmereâŠâ
Youâre in his arms again, and heâs swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively.Â
âI donât know if this table can support meâŠ. âÂ
âDonât you worry âbout âdat, cher. It might not, but Remyâs gonnaâ be holdinâ you tight. This is just givinâ me a bettaâ angle, âdas all.âÂ
He wasnât lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. Heâs so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck⊠you think. Youâre falling into a deep, dark hole that you donât think you can climb your way out of.Â
Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you canât help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.
âGod, yeah⊠yeah, fuck me hardâŠ!â You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.
âOnly if you give it tâ me, cher⊠the way you takinâ this dick, I ainât gonnaâ last long.â
You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you â hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remyâs got his dick so deep inside of you that youâre seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile.Â
With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent.Â
âI could do this with you all dayâŠâ You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there.Â
âMe too, cher, me too.â He nods, blinking slowly. âBut I canât be doinâ âdat⊠not today.âÂ
You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. Theyâve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but thereâs something behind them. A sort of⊠coldness, that has your arms falling away from him.Â
âYou have to leaveâŠâ you say softly, suddenly understanding.Â
Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.
Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about whatâs showing. Like he said before, heâs seen everything. You turn, and spot him â standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.
Heâs attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but thereâs a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though heâs in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that youâre staring sullenly.Â
âRemy be needinâ to deal with some things, cherâŠâ he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. Itâs none of your business, youâre sure. You want to ask him if heâll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once.Â
âThanks,â you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. âI had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.âÂ
âGood tâ know, cher.â He says. He sounds genuine, but heâs still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like heâs trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly.Â
And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on.Â
To the closed door, you whisper: âI⊠think I love you.âÂ
He doesnât hear it and maybe thatâs for the best.Â
#Gambit#Remy Lebeau#channing tatum#Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit#channing tatum gambit#Gambit x reader#gambit x you#remy lebeau x reader#remy lebeau x you#female reader#Deadpool and Wolverine#Deadpool 3#x reader fics#myfics
630 notes
·
View notes
Text
Spinning on Vinyl
''You remind me of a song that I can't seem to skip''
Angst, Happy Ending, Fluff
The apartment feels eerily quiet without her. The kind of quiet that presses in on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Itâs not like this is the first time youâve been alone hereâAlexia has always been traveling for matches, for training camps, for endless commitments that took her far away from this small, shared space. But tonight, it feels different. Heavier.
You glance at the half-empty wine glass sitting beside you on the floor, untouched for a while now. The rich, red liquid doesnât hold the same allure it did an hour ago when you first poured it, hoping it might numb the ache growing steadily in your chest. But wine canât drown out everything, and it certainly canât drown out memories.
In a slow, deliberate motion, you reach over to the vinyl record player resting on the shelf. The same one the two of you had found in some vintage shop on one of those rare days when Alexia wasnât rushing to the next match or the next media appearance. You remember her smile when she saw it, how she picked it up with delicate hands, her eyes lighting up like a childâs. She had said it reminded her of her childhood, of Sundays spent with her family listening to old records, the music mingling with the smell of her motherâs cooking.
Now, the player feels like a relic of something lostâsomething youâre trying desperately to hold on to, even as it slips through your fingers. The needle touches the vinyl, and the first crackle fills the room. The static noise that used to sound comforting, like a prelude to something magical, now feels like the space between you and her. Thin, fragile, barely holding it all together.
The music begins, soft and slow, an old song that you both loved. It was the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a blanket, pulling you into each otherâs arms without a word. You close your eyes, sinking into the sound, letting it carry you back to a time when everything felt simpler. Back when Alexia was yoursânot just in fleeting moments, but truly yours.
The bassline vibrates through the room, echoing in the emptiness, and you can almost hear her voice in your head, low and soft, singing along under her breath as she always did. You smile faintly at the memory of itâthe way she used to sing off-key just to make you laugh. She wasnât a performer, not in that way. She saved her grace for the pitch, but in these quiet moments, she was unguarded, playful, completely at ease.
God, how long has it been since youâve seen her like that?
Your eyes drift to the framed photos on the wall. Thereâs one of the two of you, her arm slung around your shoulder, both of you grinning at the camera after one of her games. Her jersey is still drenched in sweat, hair messy from the action, but her eyesâher eyes were on you. You remember the moment clearly. It was the first time sheâd kissed you in public, right there in front of the cameras, after she scored the winning goal. She had pulled you close, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring something in your ear that made you laugh, but now you canât remember what she said. Just the feeling it left behind, warm and safe.
But that warmth has faded, replaced by the cold void of her absence.
The vinyl continues to spin, the needle gliding effortlessly through the grooves. Each note feels like a heartbeat, each lyric a whisper of something lost. You donât even try to stop the memories nowâthey flood your mind, unrelenting, filling every corner of your thoughts with her.
You can picture her so clearly. The way she used to curl up on the couch after a long day, her legs tucked beneath her, that soft smile on her face as you laid beside her. The smell of her shampoo, something fresh and clean, the way her hair would fall into her eyes when she was too tired to push it back. The sound of her laughterâlow, almost raspy, but full of life. You can still hear it, like an echo bouncing off the walls, even though itâs been weeks since you last heard it in person.
God, itâs been weeks.
You glance at your phone again, your thumb hovering over her name. It feels like itâs always been there, waiting for the right moment to press call, or send a message, or do anything that might pull her back to you. But you canât. You havenât. The space between your last conversation and now feels too wide, too difficult to cross with just a text.
Sheâs always somewhere else. Even when sheâs here, sheâs always got one foot out the door, ready for the next game, the next match, the next chapter of her story that youâre barely a part of anymore. It wasnât always like this, though. Once, there was balance. There was her, and there was you, and it felt like the two of you existed in this beautiful harmony, like two notes perfectly in sync. Now, itâs as if youâre playing different songs, neither of you willing to change the tune.
The music picks up, the tempo quickening, but it doesnât bring comfort. If anything, it reminds you how things have been moving too fast. How her career is growing and expanding in every direction, while you feel like youâre standing still, watching from the sidelines.
And maybe thatâs what hurts the most.
You never wanted to be a spectator in her life. You wanted to be a part of it, truly part of it, not just someone she comes home to when the world isnât watching. But lately, thatâs all youâve beenâsomeone who waits, who watches, who wonders if thereâs still space for you in her world.
The song swells, and with it, so does the ache in your chest. You lean your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, letting the music wash over you. You focus on the rhythm, trying to lose yourself in it, trying to forget the gnawing emptiness that seems to grow with every passing day.
But you canât forget her. You never could.
The song changes, a softer melody now, and with it comes the familiar pull of nostalgia. You know whatâs coming next. This was your songâthe one you and Alexia always danced to, barefoot in the kitchen, her hands on your hips, your head resting on her shoulder. The first time she heard it, sheâd laughed, pulling you into her arms without hesitation, spinning you around as if no one was watching. Youâd laughed, too, feeling weightless, like the rest of the world didnât exist beyond that moment.
The memory is so vivid, you can almost feel her now. The heat of her body pressed against yours, the way her breath would ghost across your neck as she whispered something silly, something that would make you giggle, even though the moment was already perfect. Sheâd twirl you around, her fingers never leaving your waist, like you were the only thing tethering her to the ground.
You open your eyes and sigh, the weight of it all pulling you back to reality.
But thereâs no Alexia here. Just the music. Just the memories. Just you.
The room fades around you, swallowed up by the growing intensity of the music. The song on the record shifts, and with it comes a memory so vivid it pulls you in before you can stop it. Itâs one of the earliest memories you have of her, back when things were new and easy. Back when every look, every touch felt electric, charged with possibility.
It was your first time at one of her games. You remember the nervesâthe restless energy in your stomach, unsure of what to expect. Sure, youâd seen Alexia play on TV, heard her name shouted in crowded rooms, but watching her from a distance was nothing compared to being there in person, seeing her live in her element, where she shined brightest.
The stadium was a sea of faces, all of them there for her, but you felt like the only one who mattered. There, in the cold evening air, with your heart beating faster than it should, you found your seat and waited, the anticipation growing with every passing minute.
The moment she stepped onto the pitch, everything else fell away.
Alexia was magnetic. There was no other way to describe it. The way she movedâso effortlessly, so fluidâit was like watching art in motion. Each step was deliberate, each pass precise. It wasnât just a game to her. It was something deeper, something that coursed through her veins like it was what she was made for. She owned the field, commanding it with a quiet intensity, and you couldnât take your eyes off her. You didnât want to.
For the first few minutes, you were just another face in the crowd, just another fan cheering her name. But then it happened. That moment when she looked up, searching the stands, and her eyes found yours.
It was like time stopped.
You froze, breath catching in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs. Alexia smiledâa soft, private smile that didnât belong to the roaring crowd or the flashing cameras. It was yours, and yours alone. And in that moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. Not the game, not the people, not the pressure that came with being Alexia Putellas. Just her and you, sharing a moment that felt sacred in a sea of chaos.
You could still remember how your chest tightened at the sight of her. The way your pulse quickened as she ran down the field, weaving between defenders, her eyes sharp, focused, a silent determination etched on her face. Every movement was so deliberate, so graceful, like she was painting something only she could see. And every time she touched the ball, it felt like a promiseâa promise that she would win, for you, for both of you.
As the game wore on, the energy in the stadium shifted, growing more intense with every passing minute. The crowdâs cheers were deafening, their voices rising with the action on the pitch. But you werenât focused on the game. You were focused on her.
You could see the exhaustion starting to creep into her movements, the weight of the match bearing down on her. But she didnât slow down. She pushed harder, her body moving with a fierce determination that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Because you knewâsomewhere deep downâyou knew she wasnât just fighting for the win. She was fighting for you. For this. For the life she was trying to balance between the demands of her career and the fragile, growing thing between you.
Then it happened.
A breakaway.
Alexia darted through the defense, her eyes locked on the goal. The crowd surged around you, their voices a tidal wave of anticipation, but all you could hear was your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you watched her close in on the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed to just her and the ball, and thenâ
She struck.
The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but you heard it. You felt it. It was victoryâsharp, sweet, and undeniable. The stadium erupted around you, people leaping to their feet, cheering her name. And amidst it all, she turned, her eyes finding yours once again, that same soft smile tugging at her lips.
It was for you. The goal, the smile, the unspoken promise between youâit was all for you.
You stood, your legs trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, unable to stop the grin that spread across your face. It was impossible not to be swept up in her energy, in the joy radiating from her like sunlight after a long storm. For a moment, it felt like nothing could touch you. Like you were invincible, riding the high of her victory as if it were your own.
After the game, you lingered by the stadium entrance, waiting for her. The night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat that still pulsed in your veins. The minutes stretched on, each one a little heavier than the last, until finally, you saw her.
She emerged from the locker room, still in her kit, her hair damp from the shower, strands falling into her eyes in that careless way you loved so much. Her cheeks were flushed, not from exertion but from the glow of the win, her confidence radiating like a halo around her.
When she spotted you, her face softened, the sharp edges of the competitive athlete melting away. She was just Alexia again. Your Alexia.
âHey,â she greeted, her voice low and a little rough from the match. There was a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, like she was unsure of what came next, even after all that had passed between you during the game. âDid youâ?â
âYou were amazing,â you cut her off, shaking your head in disbelief. âLikeâŠbreathtaking.â
The corner of her mouth lifted, that crooked smile that always made your heart skip a beat. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours in that familiar, gentle way that was more intimate than anything else. Her fingers curled around yours, and you squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor in her grip from the adrenaline that still hadnât faded.
âI wanted you to see this,â she said softly, her eyes searching yours. âI wanted you to understandâŠthis part of me.â
You nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. Because how could you explain to her that you didnât just understand this part of herâyou loved it? You loved all of her, even the parts that scared you, the parts that took her away from you for weeks at a time. You loved the way she poured her soul into her sport, the way she gave everything, even when there was nothing left for herself.
âIâm proud of you,â you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. âSo proud.â
Alexiaâs hand tightened around yours, her eyes softening with something that looked like relief. âThank you,â she breathed, her forehead resting gently against yours. âIâm proud of you too.â
You smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. In that moment, it didnât matter that the rest of the world was watching her, or that her life was so much bigger than you could ever be. All that mattered was thisâher, you, and the quiet understanding that whatever came next, youâd face it together.
But now, sitting here, listening to the vinyl spin, the memory feels bittersweet. Because somewhere along the way, the promise youâd felt that night slipped through your fingers. The connection that had felt so solid, so unbreakable, had started to fray at the edges, pulled thin by the relentless demands of her career, by the endless distance that seemed to grow between you.
And even though you told yourself it would be enoughâher love, her smiles, the quiet moments you stole between the chaosâyou canât shake the feeling that something is missing now. That maybe, just maybe, the space between you has become too wide to cross.
The soft hum of the vinyl fades into the background as your thoughts drift, wandering through the memories youâve been holding onto so tightly. It's strange how the things that once brought you so much comfortâlike the music, the photos, the laughter you once sharedânow weigh heavy on your chest, like theyâre relics of something you canât quite touch anymore.
Itâs been weeks since you last saw Alexia. Weeks of lonely nights spent with your phone in your hand, wondering if you should call, if you should say somethingâanythingâto bridge the ever-widening distance between you. But every time you pull up her name, your thumb hovering over the screen, something stops you.
Maybe itâs fear. Fear that the space between you has grown too vast to close with a simple text. Or maybe itâs the nagging doubt thatâs been creeping in latelyâthe doubt that maybe youâre not enough for her anymore. Not enough to compete with the whirlwind that is her life, her career, her success.
You hate thinking that way. You hate feeling like youâre waiting in the wings of her life, a spectator in a relationship that once made you feel so alive. But you canât shake the sensation that youâre slowly being left behind, even though youâre desperately trying to hold on.
The apartment feels colder now, as if the memories of her have seeped out of the walls, leaving only emptiness in their wake. You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the blanket tighter as if that might somehow fill the void sheâs left behind. But it doesnât. It never does.
Sheâs always on your mind. Even when youâre not actively thinking about her, she lingers in the back of your thoughts like a half-finished melody. You can hear her laugh, see the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, feel the warmth of her hand slipping into yours. But those memories feel so far away now, like they belong to someone elseâsomeone who existed in a time when things were simpler, when you werenât questioning every unreturned text, every missed call.
You try to tell yourself that itâs just temporary, that this is just a rough patch. After all, Alexia has always had a demanding schedule. Itâs part of who she is, part of what makes her so extraordinary. You knew that from the beginningâknew that she would always be pulled in a thousand different directions. But back then, it didnât feel like a threat. Back then, it felt like you could weather anything, as long as you had each other.
But now⊠now, it feels different.
The record clicks as the needle reaches the end, the soft static filling the room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You sit up, the sudden silence amplifying the emptiness youâve been trying to ignore all night. The apartment feels too big without her, too quiet, and the loneliness presses in around you, suffocating.
You reach for your phone again, your hand trembling slightly as you scroll through the messages. Her name is at the top, of course. There are texts from herâshort, sweet messages telling you she misses you, that she canât wait to come home. You read them over and over, hoping that somehow theyâll soothe the ache in your chest. But theyâre not enough.
Because you want more than just texts. You want her. You want her here, beside you, her arms wrapped around you, her voice soft in your ear as she tells you about her day. You want the little momentsâthe mornings spent tangled in the sheets, the evenings spent cooking dinner together, the quiet laughter that filled the spaces between words. You want all of her, not just the parts that she can give when sheâs not busy being someone elseâs hero.
You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on you. This isnât the first time youâve felt this way, but itâs never been this intense before. The doubt, the longing, the frustrationâitâs all building up inside you, threatening to spill over. You donât know how much longer you can keep it all inside.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, typing out a message youâve written a hundred times before.
"I miss you."
Three simple words. Words youâve said to her countless times, but now, they feel heavier than ever. You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the send button. Part of you hopes that this will be the message that changes things, that maybe sheâll respond with something that will make all of this feel worth it. But another part of youâthe part thatâs been growing louder and more insistentâwonders if sending this message will only serve to highlight the growing gap between you.
Because as much as you miss her, you canât shake the feeling that maybe sheâs getting used to life without you.
That thought hits you harder than you expect, a cold rush of fear flooding your chest. Youâve been trying so hard to stay positive, to tell yourself that things will get better, that this is just a temporary phase. But the truth is, you donât know that for sure. You donât know whatâs going through her mind when sheâs out there, traveling from one city to the next, surrounded by people who worship her, who donât see the side of her that you do. The side thatâs vulnerable, thatâs unsure, that needs someone to ground her.
And thatâs the part that scares you the most. Because what if she doesnât need you anymore?
You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay where they are. Youâre not ready to face that possibility. Not yet.
But as the silence stretches on, broken only by the faint crackle of the record player, you start to wonder if maybe this is the beginning of the end. Maybe all those little moments youâve been holding onto, all those memories youâve been replaying in your mind, are just thatâmemories. Moments that belong to the past, not the future.
You stand up slowly, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you make your way to the window. The city outside is alive, bustling with people, with life, but you feel so far removed from it all. You lean your forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the lights below. Itâs strange how the world keeps moving, even when it feels like yours is standing still.
You wonder what Alexia is doing right now. Whether sheâs thinking about you, too, or if sheâs wrapped up in her world, too busy to notice the growing distance. You want to believe that she misses you as much as you miss her, but the longer this silence stretches between you, the harder it is to hold onto that belief.
Another message from her lights up your phone, and your heart skips a beat. You glance down at the screen, hoping for something more than the usual pleasantries. But itâs just a quick, âTraining was tough today. Iâll call you tomorrow, love you.â
Your fingers tighten around the phone as you read the words. Tomorrow. Itâs always tomorrow. Tomorrow sheâll call, tomorrow youâll talk, tomorrow things will be better. But tomorrow never comes, and youâre left here, waiting in the space between promises and reality.
You type out a quick replyâsomething supportive, something sweet, because thatâs what you do. Youâve always been her anchor, her steady ground when everything else is chaos. But right now, you feel like youâre drifting, and youâre not sure how to find your way back.
The music starts again, the same song as before, its familiar melody wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace. You let the sound wash over you, filling the empty spaces where her voice should be, and for a moment, you allow yourself to sink into the feeling of it allâthe longing, the love, the uncertainty.
Because thatâs all you have right now.
The city lights blur through the window as you stand there, forehead still pressed against the cold glass, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Youâve spent so long in this spaceâthis liminal place between hope and despairâthat itâs starting to feel like home. A home you never wanted.
Your phone buzzes in your hand again, but this time, itâs not a message. Itâs her.
Alexia.
The name lights up the screen, and for a moment, you just stare at it, heart pounding in your chest. You werenât expecting her to call tonightânot after the brief message about tomorrowâbut here she is, reaching out when you were least prepared.
Your thumb hesitates over the green button. Every muscle in your body feels tense, as if youâre holding your breath, unsure if youâre ready for this conversation. Because deep down, you know itâs not just going to be small talk this time. It canât be. Thereâs too much unsaid between you now, too much thatâs been left hanging in the silence.
With a shaky breath, you press accept.
âHey,â you say, your voice coming out softer than you intended, almost fragile.
âHey,â Alexia replies, and you can hear the weariness in her voice, the strain of a long day clinging to her like an invisible weight. Thereâs a pause, the quiet stretch of unspoken words filling the space between you, and for a second, you wonder if she can feel the tension too.
âHow was training?â you ask, trying to keep your voice light, though it feels like a thin veil over the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.
âExhausting,â she admits with a sigh, âbut thatâs not really why Iâm calling.â
Your heart skips a beat at her words, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick. You can hear the seriousness in her tone, the shift that tells you this conversation isnât going to be easy.
âIâve been thinking about us,â she continues, her voice quieter now, like sheâs testing the waters. âAboutâŠeverything.â
You swallow hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. This is it. This is the conversation youâve been avoiding, the one youâve been dreading but also needing. Because no matter how much youâve tried to pretend that things are fine, that this is just a rough patch, deep down you know that something has to change. You just donât know if youâre ready to face what that change might look like.
âMe too,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You bite your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to find the right words that wonât sound like accusations, like blame. âItâs just⊠it feels like weâre losing each other, Alexia.â
The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. Itâs the truth youâve been holding back for so long, the fear thatâs been gnawing at you in the quiet moments when sheâs not around.
Thereâs a soft exhale on the other end of the line, and for a moment, you think maybe she didnât hear you. But then she speaks, and her voice is full of something you didnât expect: guilt.
âI know,â she says softly, her voice breaking slightly. âI know I havenât been around as much, and I hate that. I hate that Iâve been making you feel like this, like Iâm slipping away.â
You close your eyes, letting her words sink in. Thereâs something comforting in hearing her acknowledge it, in knowing that youâre not imagining the distance between you. But it doesnât erase the ache in your chest, the loneliness thatâs been gnawing at you for weeks.
âI donât blame you,â you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. âI know how important your career is. Iâve always known. But sometimes it feels like... like Iâm just waiting for you to have time for me. And itâs hard, Alexia. Itâs really hard.â
âI donât want you to feel that way,â she whispers, and thereâs a heaviness in her voice that makes your heart clench. âI never wanted to make you feel like youâre not important. You are. Youâre everything to me. Itâs justââ She pauses, searching for the right words, the frustration clear in her tone. âItâs hard to balance everything. The games, the training, the travel⊠Sometimes I feel like Iâm failing you, like Iâm failing us.â
Her vulnerability catches you off guard. You can hear the strain in her voice, the cracks in the facade sheâs been holding up for so long. Sheâs always been so strong, so composed, but now, hearing her admit that sheâs struggling too, it hits you in a way you didnât expect.
âI didnât realize,â you murmur, your heart softening just a little. âI didnât know it was so hard for you too.â
Thereâs another pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, more tentative. âItâs just⊠Iâm scared, you know? Scared that one day youâll wake up and realize that thisâmy life, my schedule, everythingâis too much for you. That youâll get tired of waiting for me, tired of not having me around when you need me.â
Her words hit you hard, because they echo the fears that have been swirling in your own mind. But hearing her say it, hearing the raw honesty in her voice, makes you realize that this isnât just about you. Itâs about both of you, trying to navigate a love thatâs complicated by the realities of her career and the demands that come with it.
âIâm scared too,â you confess, your voice barely a whisper. âIâm scared that one day, youâll realize that maybe you donât need me as much as you used to. That maybe your life is easier without trying to fit me into it.â
The silence that follows is heavy, the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on both of you. But instead of making you feel more distant, it somehow makes you feel closer, like youâre both standing on the same edge, looking down at the same uncertain future.
âI do need you,â she says finally, her voice soft but firm. âI donât want to do this without you. I donât want a life where youâre not part of it. But I also know that I havenât been showing you that. I know that Iâve been letting you down.â
You sit down on the edge of the couch, your heart pounding as her words settle over you. Thereâs a deep ache in your chest, but itâs mixed with something else nowâsomething warmer, something that feels like hope.
âI miss you,â you say again, the words spilling out before you can stop them. âI miss us. I miss what we used to have before everything got so... complicated.â
âI miss you too,â she replies, and thereâs a rawness in her voice that makes your throat tighten. âI hate that Iâve been so far away, not just physically, but emotionally. And I donât know how to fix it overnight, but I want to try. I need to try.â
The honesty in her words cracks something open inside you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like youâre finally on the same page. Like youâre both acknowledging the distance between you, but also agreeing to fight for what you have.
âI donât need everything to be perfect,â you say softly. âI just need to know that weâre in this together. That Iâm not the only one holding on.â
âYouâre not,â she promises, and thereâs a steadiness in her voice now, a determination that wasnât there before. âYouâre not alone in this. Iâm here, and Iâm not going anywhere.â
You close your eyes, letting the weight of her words sink in. Itâs not a perfect solution, and you know thereâs still a long way to go. But itâs a start. A step toward finding each other again, toward rebuilding the connection thatâs been fraying at the edges.
âI love you,â you whisper, your voice breaking with the weight of everything youâve been holding back.
âI love you too,â Alexia replies, and this time, the words feel like a promise.
The next few days feel different.
Thereâs still the same space between you and Alexiaâmiles of distance, long hours, and time zones that never seem to alignâbut now, thereâs something else. A thread, thin but unbreakable, pulling you closer together with every word exchanged. The tension that once filled the silence between you has eased, replaced by something softer, something that feels like hope.
She calls more often now. The messages come in with regularityâsmall updates on her day, pictures of sunsets and unfamiliar cities, jokes that make you smile in the quiet of your empty apartment. Itâs not perfect. You still miss her, still feel the ache of wanting her beside you. But thereâs a comfort in knowing that sheâs trying, in knowing that sheâs holding on just as tightly as you are.
Itâs late one evening, almost midnight, when your phone buzzes again. Youâre wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the low hum of a record spinning in the background, when you see her name flash on the screen. Itâs a video call this time.
Your heart flutters as you swipe to accept, the familiar chime of the call connecting filling the room. And then sheâs there, her face filling the screenâmessy hair, no makeup, her eyes soft with exhaustion but also warmth.
âHi,â she says, her voice a little crackly through the phone, but itâs enough to make your heart skip.
âHi,â you whisper back, your lips tugging into a smile. Just seeing her like thisâraw, unguardedâmakes you feel like the distance between you is shrinking, even if only for a moment.
âI miss your face,â Alexia murmurs, her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips. âItâs not the same seeing you on a screen.â
You chuckle softly, curling deeper into the blanket. âTell me about it. Iâm starting to think Iâve forgotten what you look like in person.â
She lets out a small laugh, but thereâs a seriousness in her eyes that lingers. âNot for long, though.â
Your brow furrows, and before you can ask what she means, she shifts slightly, glancing at something off-camera. When she looks back, thereâs a mischievous glint in her eyes.
âIâve been thinking a lot, you know?â she starts, her tone soft but full of intent. âAbout what you said. About how weâve been drifting. I donât want that anymore. I donât want to keep waiting for âtomorrowâ to fix things. I want to make it better now.â
Your heart speeds up, her words sinking in. âAlexia, Iââ
âIâm coming home,â she interrupts, her voice steady and sure. âTomorrow. No more delays, no more excuses. Iâve talked to the team, and Iâm taking a break for a few days. I just want to be with you.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWaitâtomorrow?â
She nods, a small, almost sheepish smile playing on her lips. âYeah. Iâll be there by the afternoon. I know it wonât fix everything, but⊠I miss you. I need to be with you. We can figure the rest out together.â
The rush of emotion that washes over you is overwhelming. For so long, youâve been holding onto the idea of her coming back, but it always felt like something just out of reach. And now, hearing her say itâhearing her make this promiseâit feels real in a way that fills your chest with warmth.
âYouâre really coming home?â you whisper, almost afraid to believe it.
âI am,â she says softly. âFor as long as youâll have me.â
A laugh bubbles up in your throat, tears prickling at your eyes. âI think I can make room for you.â
Alexiaâs smile widens, and thereâs a lightness in her expression that you havenât seen in weeks. âGood. Because Iâve missed your cooking. And Iâm pretty sure I left one of my hoodies at your place, and I want it back.â
You roll your eyes, but thereâs a joy bubbling in your chest that you canât contain. âIâll think about it.â
The conversation continues, lighter now, filled with soft laughter and quiet jokes. For the first time in a long time, it feels easy again. The weight of the distance, the uncertainty, all of it starts to melt away as you talk about nothing and everything. The connection between you feels stronger, more tangible, and you hold onto it, refusing to let go.
When the call ends, the apartment feels a little less lonely. You curl up in bed, her promise echoing in your mind, and for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.
The apartment feels warm the next day, glowing with a soft light from the fading afternoon sun that streams through the windows. Itâs quiet, save for the gentle crackle of the vinyl spinning on the record player in the corner. Youâd put it on earlier, a song that holds so many memories between the two of you. The room smells faintly of vanilla and clean linen, and for the first time in what feels like forever, thereâs a stillness in the air that brings peace instead of loneliness.
Alexia stands in front of you, her hand in yours, as you both sway softly to the rhythm of the song. You catch her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she pulls you closer, her other hand settling against the small of your back.
Neither of you says anything. You donât need to.
Thereâs a tenderness in the silence between you now, a shared understanding that doesnât need words. The conversation youâd hadâthe raw, vulnerable honestyâhas left you both feeling lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. And now, with her here, the familiar melody wrapping around you, everything feels right in a way it hasnât for so long.
The song playing is slow and melodic, each note weaving through the room like it was made for this moment, for you and her. The kind of song youâd listened to on lazy Sunday mornings, back when time wasnât something you worried about. Before the distance.
Alexia tightens her hold on you, her body pressing close as her forehead rests against yours. The gentle brush of her skin sends a shiver through you, but not from coldâfrom the quiet intensity of the moment, the electricity humming between you. Itâs the first time in weeks youâve felt this close to her, not just physically but emotionally.
You close your eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of herâsomething warm and soft, like home. The vinylâs soft crackle and the quiet strumming of the guitar fill the air, creating a cocoon around you both.
âI missed this,â Alexia whispers, her breath brushing against your lips, her eyes still closed. âJust being here with you. Like this.â
Your heart swells at her words, and you lean into her, pressing your face into the curve of her neck. âI missed this too,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, the emotions threatening to spill over.
For a while, you just sway like that, foreheads pressed together, hands resting on each otherâs bodies. Itâs a slow dance, the kind you fall into when time doesnât matter, when the only thing that exists is the warmth of her touch and the steady rhythm of her breathing. The world outside feels distant, like it canât reach you here, in this small bubble of peace youâve found together.
The song shifts slightly, a new verse playing, and Alexiaâs hand slowly slides up your back, her fingers tracing a path up to your shoulder before she gently lifts your chin to meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft, deep brown pools filled with something you havenât seen in a whileâa kind of certainty, a promise that sheâs here, and sheâs not leaving.
âIâm sorry for everything,â she says, her voice barely a whisper between the notes. âFor making you feel like I was slipping away. I never meant to.â Her words are quiet but heavy, carrying the weight of all the moments that had felt so distant, so full of silence.
You shake your head softly, your forehead brushing against hers as you do. âWe both made mistakes,â you reply, your voice gentle but firm. âBut weâre here now, right? Weâre fixing it.â
She nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips. âYeah, we are.â
The music continues to fill the room, the crackling of the vinyl blending with the soft melody of the song. Alexiaâs arms wrap around you fully, pulling you against her chest, and you let your hands rest on her waist, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of her shirt.
Her breath slows, and for a moment, you can feel the beat of her heart through her chest, steady and sure, like itâs syncing with the rhythm of the song. Thereâs something so intimate about thisâno grand gestures, no need for wordsâjust the quiet presence of being with each other, of knowing that after everything, after all the distance and the doubts, youâve both chosen to stay.
As the song winds down, the notes fading into the background, you look up at her, catching her gaze again. Thereâs a softness there, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, and before you can think twice, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Itâs a slow, lingering kiss, full of all the unsaid things that have been building between you for so long. A kiss that speaks of forgiveness, of love, of the quiet promise that youâre not letting go.
When you pull back, Alexiaâs smile is small but real, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. âI love you,â she whispers, the words full of warmth and certainty.
âI love you too,â you reply, the weight of the words settling comfortably between you, like theyâve found their rightful place again.
The vinyl spins to a stop, the quiet crackle filling the room as the music fades. But neither of you moves. You stay wrapped in each otherâs arms, swaying gently to the rhythm of a song only the two of you can hear. The city outside hums with life, but in this moment, itâs just you and her, dancing in the quiet, letting the world melt away.
Alexia leans her forehead against yours again, her eyes closing as she holds you close. âIâm not going anywhere,â she whispers softly, the words like a promise.
And as you stand there together, wrapped in each otherâs warmth, you know that this is what love isâmessy, complicated, sometimes painful, but always worth fighting for. You tighten your hold on her, your fingers brushing her back as you sway gently to the silence.
Right now, in this moment, everything feels like itâs falling into place. And itâs enough.
-
Note: I've been experimenting with a new writing style that uses a lot more words than I typically do. l'd love to know if this is the kind of writing you'd like to see more of in the future.
#woso x reader#woso#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#alexia putellas one shot#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas
420 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Girl Who Cheated Death
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary - There was no one in any universe who would dare to approach you without fear, that is until you meet a certain Shadowsinger. Once stone cold and vicious in your own right, you soon come to realise that perhaps all it takes is a pretty male with hazel eyes to set you free.
Warnings - kinda dark reader, stone cold, lots of sass, swearing, drinking, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of trauma, some subtle sexual tension, everyone being afraid of the reader because she's giving death vibes x
Word Count - 8.9k
Physical descriptions are present in this fic.
Based on this ask! Thank you @cleverzonkwombatsludge for the request đ«¶đ»
"Can I offer some criticism?"
"If it's constructive..."
"You're an idiot," the unwinding braid at your side loosened more with each twist of your fingers, and to your right, through the reflection of the recently polished vanity mirror stood Amren, your closest friend that you had gained when you had first moved to the Night Court one hundred years ago.
It had been no accident that you and Amren had met, in fact, she had been the one to seek you out after a rather intriguing show you had directed at Rita's. Amren watched man after man almost break their necks to look at you, the most beautiful resident of the Night Court, and in all of Prythian. Hair that reminded Amren of a black widow swayed behind you in perfectly loose curls, it was sinfully dark and shone in the faelight, shimmering so brilliantly that Amren had thought that threads of silken web were weaved between each glossy black strand.
Amren also remembered the dress you had worn, it was short and tight, the fabric hugged every curve of your body and kissed the thighs that were connected to those incredible taut calves. If looks could kill then the Night Court would certainly fall to its knees.
It wasn't what you looked like that caught Amren's attention, however. It was the way that every single person in that room shrunk away from your stare, a stone iced glare that was void of any life, all that lay in them was ire and boredom, which quite perfectly summed up what you felt about life in general.
The firedrake sought you out, coming by the gallery you had opened in the city which held an array of carefully collected artworks and mysteriously rare antiques, just to get a glimpse of you, to see the one who had been the first to pique her eye in centuries. Amren had not been disappointed by you. There was something about the way you carried yourself that attracted her to your aura, the perfect posture and slightly hooded eyelids that encased walnut orbs that glimmered gold in the sun. That wasn't all, no, it was also the way you spoke, so sultry and dark, but there was a certain elegance your words. A siren luring souls to the darkest depths of the ocean floor.
Rhys had once suggested that you'd never truly age considering you never smiled. That had earned him a rare small quirk of your lip, and he considered it to be his greatest achievement of his life to date.
It had made sense that the Night Court had been the place where you had chosen to settle, it had moulded very well with you, to the point where Day had become an infantile dream that was floating away in your subconscious. Forgotten.
Despite being a collector of sorts, Amren had soon found out just how far your talented talons stretched, you were incredibly well versed in old dialects, ancient symbols and traditions, a talent that Rhys had soon asked Amren to take advantage of since he was too afraid of you to ask you for aid himself.
Seemed as though the terrifying High Lord of the Night Court was actually scared of something.
"How exactly am I an idiot?" Amren enquired with darkened orbs that kept on glancing downward to the scars that littered the bare spine from the licks of Illyrian whips. They were slightly raised and pallid in comparison to the rest of your healthy glowing hue.
Untethering the last of your braid, you ran your nails over your scalp and pulled slightly, shivering at the relief that surged through you as your hair fell unbound down your spine. All the taut tension in your body quickly evaporated. Silently, you turned on your seat to face your friend, "You're asking me to revamp my evil lair to make it more welcoming for your odd little family," you said incredulously and unblinking, "You're an idiot."
Amren wasn't exactly asking you to make your own home more appeasing to the Inner Circle, she simply meant the private office that Rhys had bestowed to you for whenever he needed your help with something, and it had become a place that you frequented often. It was located in the library of the House of Wind so that your nimble fingers had access to all of the books and ancient texts they needed.
The only settling thing about that office was the view of the golden valley of Velaris, of the snow-capped mountains that loomed to the north. Everything else filled any resident with dread. Tall well-loved candles were scattered about the space, cloths stained with millennia old text hung from the ceilings, tomes lay splayed open on the desk and centre table, each depicting some form of terror. To you, your work was fascinating, studying the origins of evil and all of its forms, to others it was petrifying.
It wasn't odd to find the firedrake confined in your apartment, whether you be with her or not, glass of red in hand and reading some sort of research text. Amren often didn't even glace up at you when you entered your own home, all she noticed was your shadow gliding across the room, drowning out the golden candlelight.
"Rhys would spend more time with you if you did. He's actually really insightful, he could help you with your study."
"Why would I want to spend time with him?"
A poor attempt from Amren to try and push you into a monotone civilian life yet again.
"Fine," Amren rolled her coiling silver eyes and tutted, "Are you ready? Rhys doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Irritation was rife in her voice, you clasped a dainty blood diamond around your neck and allowed your shoulders to drop, "I don't particularly care for your High Lord's time." Rhys was not your High Lord and he knew it, he knew that you couldn't be ruled over and would never answer to anyone but yourself. A queen of her own kingdom. But one he very much wanted to keep on his side.
"Y/N," Amren bit, and you too tugged back the smirk that was quaking in the corners of your mouth.
Meeting her fiery gaze in the mirror, you rolled your head to the side in one swooped graceful motion, "I'm teasing, Amren." Rising from the bench before the vanity, you felt the silken hem of your dress brush against your feet. It was a simple garment, black buttoned up fabric, a deep v-neckline that showed the beginnings of your cleavage, short and soft floating sleeves that cuffed above your elbows.
Smirking with approval, Amren moved to the front door of your ornately beautiful apartment, a personal haven of yours that was vastly different to the office at the House of Wind. Brunette carpets thick enough to sleep upon covered the space, the walls were a shade of milked coffee, warm and inviting, and the ceilings were a soft cream and coved with intricate carvings. A large fire bundled into the far wall at the centre of a wall of windows, before it was a onyx seating area of plush deep seated sofas and armchairs.
It was charming. One of the best views of Velaris was from your living room window.
Leaving your home with the click of the lock, you followed after Amren, falling into place beside her as you walked up the winding paths to the House of Wind. The feeling of people's eyes trailing you had become something you'd become rather accustomed to, they were astounded by your beauty, amazed by how someone could look so breath-taking yet so horrifying.
The House of Wind was as it always was, incredibly luxurious in its own right and shivering at your entrance. It wasn't like the house didn't like you, it just struggled to adjust to your energy, it was starkly different to the usual joy it mostly held.
The echoing voices halted when you rounded the corner, your scent of jasmine and sandalwood soaring through the air, infecting their oxygen. Violet eyes appeared before you within a couple of moments, always wary, always laced with the tiniest bit of fear, "Thank you for meeting with us."
"Well," your eyes sliced across the room, absorbing every face and feature and feeling somewhat intrigued by a face you had never seen before. Tall and tan, shadows swirling at his shoulders, large wings that he had mindfully tucked behind his back, and shiny black hair that fell over his forehead. Rhys stood before you waiting for you to speak, your eyes found his and you hummed, tapping your finger against your clothed thigh, "Anything for the firedrake."
A chortled scoff flew from Cassian and Rhys stepped aside slightly to expose you to the general who soon choked on the air, "Something funny, Cass?" Rhys asked with a smirk, he motioned for you to find a seat and make yourself comfortable.
A deep rooted velvet armchair called to you and you moved to it, paying little attention to the hazel eyes fixated upon you. "No, not at all," Cassian sent you a tight-lipped smile which made Nesta grin, enjoying his discomfort nearly as much as you.
Flames danced in your eyes, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace that welcomed your gaze as though it was a mirror. Turning your head, you folded your hands over your thighs, feeling the exposed skin that lay there from the seamless slit in the fabric.
"How about you skip whatever small talk you were going to offer and get to the point, Rhysand?"
Widened pupils possessed Nesta's gaze, she leaned back into her seat and smirked, a wickedly feline feature, and spoke, "I like you."
No words left your lips, you held her gaze and felt your darkness bubble at her determination to withstand your stare, but she soon stood down; though, she continued to watch you, noting your posture and the way you held yourself. Nesta was in awe.
And she wasn't the only one.
"Straight to the point as always, y/n."
"Am I supposed to be anything but?" Rhys sighed, a headache already forming at his temples from your dry sassing. Perhaps he needed some of that powder that Elain had gifted to Azriel last solstice.
The High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hand to rest on Feyre's knee, a sweet gesture, "We need your help with some particular text that none of us can translate. If anyone is going to be able to decipher it then it would be you."
"What text?"
Boredom coiled in your gut, "It's the story of Koschei, we believe that there may be a key hidden within the text that could help us to defeat him." The coil loosened and your eyebrow twitched, and a dark spot to your left caught that millisecond-long expression, sliding back to its master and humming in his ear.
Koschei was a death-god, a personification of evil. To have your hands on such a text would more than aid your research. It would make you infamous in the underworld of Prythian.
"Is it in my office?" Rhys straightened and nodded stiffly; rising to your feet, you brushed down the pleats of your skirt, "I'll take a look."
Before you could move from the room, a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from behind you, beckoning and hesitant. Slowly, you turned around, noticing how Rhys was now standing, "I would like Azriel to help you with this. I believe that your collective talents will be able to decipher the message faster."
Of course. The illustrious Shadowsinger that you had never had the displeasure of meeting. Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court.
"Studies have shown that I didn't ask for your opinion, High Lord," if anyone else had used the mocking tone toward his title they would have been misted on the spot. But not you, never you. Rhys was too afraid that Hell would rise from your ashes and devour the continent if he even tried it.
A cool kiss slithered around your ankle, and when you peered down you found a shadow curling there, caressing your skin and shivering in delight. Your eyes followed the tendril back to its owner who was clearly mentally scrambling to pull his shadow back to the others. Hazel collided with molten gold and you found yourself yearning for the shadow to return.
"I have to insist," his voice wavered and it didn't go unnoticed by you.
Amren sucked in a breath, shrinking further into her spot wedged between Mor and Elain, knowing that she told had told Rhys multiple times to never order you to do anything.
"What do you fear, Rhysand?"
"I think that you'll find that the word fear is not in my vocabulary," he doubled down and you couldn't blame him, he was an alpha protecting his territory.
Ticking your head to the side, your eyes dragged up his body, and you smirked, a real one that made his blood chill, "Perhaps. But it's in your eyes," not giving him a chance to respond, you turned to Azriel, finding him looking up at you with an almost bewitched possession in his eyes, "Stay out of my way."
Not another word was spoken as you stalked from the room, the only sound being the footsteps of Azriel who had speedily followed after you. Neither of you spoke on the descent down to the library, even that vast space of aged excellence watched you enter; you almost floated across the room, a grace in your steps that Azriel had never seen before, and it had him needing to know more.
How Azriel had never met you astounded him, he would certainly remember a face like yours. It was one that held the power to haunt his dreams.
As promised, the texts had been left on your desk, and you moved to them instantly, tracing your fingers down the bound leather spine and examining the golden embossment, picking apart the symbols in your mind. Rounding the large oaken desk, you pulled the text with you, opening the cover and not even flinching when it thudded against the desktop.
Thick waves fell over your shoulder and you mindlessly tucked them back from where they had originated, not caring about the effect it had on the Shadowsinger who noted how your fingers grazed against your collarbone on its return to the ancient pages before your insightful eye.
"I've never been in here before," a weak attempt to strike up conversation with you. Azriel had heard much about you from Cassian and Rhys, of how awful terrifying you were, how you intimidated every single person that crossed your path and seemingly enjoyed the terror of it.
Azriel understood it, there was something about you that was unnerving, that he could understand why people were uncomfortable in your presence, but he only found himself in wonderment of it.
Without looking up, you turned the page gently and muttered, "Why would you? It's my office."
Displeasure was prominent on your tongue, the taste of it swelled in the muscle but you didn't allow it to be vile, you pulled the bile back and silently choked on it.
Azriel drank in the room, the begging to be lit candles and the large arched windows, the aged tapestries of history that were clearly too valuable to display in your gallery, "The creation of the cauldron," the words pulled you from the text and your gaze narrowed in on the Shadowsinger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands folded neatly at his back.
"How do you know that?"
The Shadowsinger circled to face you and took a tentative step to the edge of the desk, "I've seen a couple of the same markings in a cave. This is the original?"
"Yes," there were many deplorable things you had taken part in to secure your collection as the most impressive in the entire universe, some things you weren't proud of, others, you were very much so.
"How did you get it?" Azriel admired the piece, a depiction of Prythian's creation that no one would ever guess was as important as it was, all because they couldn't read the first language of the fae.
Sitting back in your seat, you placed your magniscope on the surface, an ornate tool used by curators and researchers alike to read between the lines of existence, and watched him, "There are some things in this world that would make even your blood burn, Shadowsinger."
The way you said his name had a shudder flickering down his spine, your tone was sultry and low, like you knew of his darkness and had decided that it was a star in comparison to whatever lived within you.
A golden glow shrouded the room from the setting sun kissing the mountain peak, it washed over you, its light glittering your skin with shimmer, turning your eyes into burnished gold. The blood diamond around your neck cascaded speckles of its hue across the ceiling, and your chest rise an fell with even, calm breaths.
Forgetting the reason why he stood before you, Azriel allowed himself a moment to examine you, the beautifully loose hair that swam down that perfectly curved spine, the eyes and cheekbones, the full lips and the indents of your collarbone. You were by far the most incredible thing he had ever seen.
The stolen moment wasn't one that escaped your eye, a gentle heat pooled at your cheeks and you had no option but to look away, clearing your throat and pouring your attention back into the text in front of you.
Coiling the magniscope in your fingers, you hovered it over the written symbols on the page, moving it in line with every line and swirl you could see. It was a heavy object, and you hadn't been surprised when Amren had mistook the glass orb as a bookend.
"What do you know of Koschei?" Azriel found a place in the seat opposite you, his shadows danced from his shoulders and began to inch toward you, and he made no move or command to stop them.
"There are many legends," you began, craning your neck to peer at the top of the adjacent page, "Attacking his physical body won't harm him, he has split his soul into parts and placed them in other living creatures or sentient objects. Destroy the objects and you have a better chance of ending him."
Azriel angled himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees, "How do you know that?"
Again, without looking up, you spoke, "When you spend a lot of time in the Underworld of this continent you pick up a few things. You also learn how to decipher the truth from the lies."
Another gentle turn of the page.
The taupe scribing possessed the faintest words written in a pale gold ink, so miniscule that any other magniscope wouldn't be able to see it. Though yours wasn't just any ordinary magniscope, it was forged with the stardust of a fallen star, a star that used to burn the brightest in the northern skies.
"You know of the Underworld?"
For a moment, your gaze flickered upward, golden pools peering through your long thick lashes, "Very well."
It wasn't surprising that you had dabbled in the darkest reality of the continent, your knowledge was not cheap, and it wasn't knowledge that you could gain from books alone. Azriel wondered how many souls you had stripped from the earth on your quest for knowledge, perhaps it would cause his count to pale in comparison.
"I could only imagine what someone would do for this level of knowledge," his voice lingered, questioning, requiring to know every corner of the mind locked within the female in front of him.
"Are you trying to compare body counts, Spymaster? If so, I assume I would be disappointed with your lacklustre attempts."
Then you were back on the text, scribbling words down in the notepad to your left without even glancing to it, focused to the point where no letter strayed from the lines. But you still felt his eyes on you, waiting, scouring your face and trying to figure out why exactly he had never crossed paths with you before considering your occupation.
"Don't you have some doe-eyed damsel to go and rescue?"
Even with the fleeting few minutes spent with the Inner Circle, you saw how Elain Archeron looked at him, all love-sick and hopeful. Elain was a perfectly mundane being, content with all things bright and pretty. It was sickening.
Biting back the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, Azriel shuffled into his seat, seemingly getting more comfortable, "No."
"Shame," you mused, impressing Azriel with how you scribed, analysed and spoke all at the same time. A very powerful mind was dwelling within you, and it had his attention.
Azriel was finding your dry words quite amusing, though he was spending his time sat before you in silence, sketching every inch of your face and body to his memory.
A soft tug pulled at your brows, and if Azriel wasn't fixated upon you then he surely would have missed it. He let a minute pass, a minute where the pace of your analysation quickened alongside the rate of your writing. Again, your hair fell over your shoulder, clearly bothering you but you couldn't move it, not when you were so entranced, and it took all of his will to not do it for you.
Questioning you on your findings, your eyes held a certain twinkle to them as you explained your theory. That Koschei had in fact fractured his soul and implanted the pieces of it within other living creatures and objects, and that to hunt those objects down was the only way to be able to banish him from the world.
"Run and tell your master," you told him after you were done explaining how to find the first host of Koschei's soul, "I'm sure he will be thrilled with your input."
Which was very little, Azriel hadn't done anything other than invade your space and make himself far too comfortable, but he didn't argue, he simply stood from his seat and bowed, taking your hand in his marred digits and raising it to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles and thanking you before leaving you to your silence.
The ghost of his touch lingered on you skin, as did the licks at your calves from the shadows he hadn't cared to reign in upon his exit.
It was then that a small yet foreign warmth pooled in your chest, you rubbed the spot gingerly and sighed, returning to reality and shaking your head back to sense. Finding peace in the confined corners of your mind.
The next instance where you found yourself in Azriel's presence had been one warm afternoon in the library.
Velaris had been scorched by the sun, the summer breezes swept across the city, and you had decided to wear a simple grey dress that afternoon, it was lightweight enough to flow in the gentle caress of the wind but still managed to keep to your usual elegant yet sharp style.
Since that insisted couple of hours in your office a couple of weeks ago, you were ashamed to admit just how much your thoughts drifted to the Shadowsinger you had seen lurking in the corners of your consciousness. The darkness was lingering in the farthest reaches, as if it didn't wish to be discovered by you but couldn't steer itself away.
The ladder beneath your feet creaked as you reached across the shelf, tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you strained slightly, your fingers barely brushing against the spine of the book you needed. A familiar cool presence washed over you, trailing up your skirt and arms and extending from your fingers to remove the book from the shelf and place it in your awaiting grasp.
Peering back to the ground, you saw Azriel stood at the foot of the ladder with his hands resting at his sides; balling the skirt up in your fingers, you used the railing the lower yourself back to the earth and paused in front of Azriel who had a brow quirked in curiosity, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," his voice matched your own but he found himself faltering when you went to walk by him. His voice called out to you, "I just wanted to let you know that we found the first host."
You paused your steps and turned, "And?"
"It's destroyed," and clearly the gravity of it weighed on him, he had to have known that Koschei wasn't exactly going to make the objects easy to destroy, but it still didn't mean that it wasn't traumatising.
Understanding what he meant, at the life he had just taken to protect to continent, you took a step toward him, an olive branch of sorts, "Are you alright?"
Itching with confusion, Azriel nodded slowly, "I didn't think you cared."
You shrugged, nonchalant, and scuffed the heel of your sandal against the floor with your gentle kick, "I don't."
Azriel hummed, a serene grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "I think that you do," Azriel took a step forward and noticed how your back straightened and shoulders rolled back.
The book became plastered to your chest, "Whatever you think is of little concern to me."
Two weeks had passed, two weeks of not only searching for the first host of Koschei thanks to your wildly impressive knowledge, but two weeks of Azriel doing all he could to gain your attention. It had been difficult to see you at Rita's, swaying to the music without a care in the world beside Amren, and not be able to touch the skin that seemed as smooth as honey.
His shadows had been following you, reporting back to him of how you spent your days cooped up in your apartment reading or in your office analysing another ancient text. They reported no men, nothing untoward or damning, they simply whispering to him how pretty you were. They had been bewitched by you, utterly obsessed with everything that you were, and he couldn't blame them.
Turning on the balls of your feet again, you entered your office, leaving the door open in silent permission that Azriel basked in as he followed you inside, "I'm trying to talk to you, y/n."
A soft hum vibrated against your lips. Placing the book once glued to your chest on the centre table of the room, you faced Azriel once more. The office was cold, as was every chamber built below the main infrastructure of the house, and Azriel wondered how you could be so at home within it.
It was entrancing how a room so dark and full of evil texts and passages could make you look so ethereal. The glossed black hair he had often dreamt of running his fingers through was tied back in a loose thick braid, whisps of hair fell from the vines of it and settled over your eyes. Ornate jewellery twinkled in the pale sunlight, swirls of gold encased your fingers and wrists, and a coiled necklace that resembled a scaled serpent glided around the base of your neck.
"What would you like me to say? I did tell you how to find the first host so that you could destroy it. I don't require updates, Azriel," the movement of your tongue as you said his name for the first time had his resolve withering.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to warm ourselves by the glow of your I told you so."
Then, as though the sun was blessing the earth after eons of slumber, your lips widened into a grin, one big enough to expose your perfectly white teeth and Azriel felt the dark storm clouds in his soul splinter. A golden threat soared through him, reaching out to you and entwining itself with the thread bristling at your centre.
Sculpted fingers drifted over that spot in your chest that had become increasingly hard to ignore and you inhaled sharply. Azriel's pupils had dilated, they were wide and frenzied, and his hand was outstretched to you.
The smile on your face dropped.
"You're my mate," Azriel nodded at the words you had managed to utter, the same ones that had become lodged in his throat.
Heat prickled at his skin, nerves seeped into his bones. You were so unreadable, and Azriel was scrambling his thoughts to clear so that he may be able to figure out how you felt about it. About being fated to be his.
Azriel had learnt from Amren how unaffectionate you were, how much you hated anyone touching you. It was because of the Illyrian camps you had visited in your younger years where they had thought you a witch, and had punished you for it in a barbaric way; the evidence still lingered on your skin in long angry streaks, and Amren had admitted that night is what spurred on your need to understand the roots of evil.
It was understandable, to spend a lifetime studying the one thing that had ever truly hurt you. For what reason, Azriel didn't know, but he liked to think that it was to cause evil to cower in your presence.
Silence shrouded the room like a disease, infecting and poisoning everything in its path, and Azriel way becoming increasingly worried about how your smile had dropped. Was he truly that repulsive to you? He could only ever dream to be mated with someone like you, someone who welcomed death like an old friend and would entertain it in an eons long waltz, someone who was poised and elegant but so brilliantly lethal that it made even him shudder.
Taking an unsettling step toward you, Azriel loosened a breath when he saw that you hadn't retreated, his eyes were trained on you as he took another step, and then another, until his shadow danced with you own, "I'm your mate."
Rhys and Cassian would be mortified of the news, Azriel was sure that Rhys found you terrifying in the same way that Cassian found Bryaxis. No of that mattered though. Not to him. Not when he now belonged to a female as striking and dangerous as the blood in his veins.
A faint blush crept up your cheeks at the proximity, the tendrils connected to his essence peered over his shoulders seemingly apprehensively thrilled that it was you stood before them, "Yes, you are."
Azriel's gaze drifted down to your lips and left dragged back upward to your eyes, "Can I touch you?"
A part of you froze at the desperate question. You hadn't let anyone touch you in years, you couldn't remember the last time you laid with a male or female, you couldn't remember what a simple even felt like. Amren had never even tried to get too close to you let alone anyone else.
In the first vulnerable emotion you had ever let anyone see, you sheepishly nodded, eyes boring into his own and he didn't break his stare as his fingers twitched toward you, ghosting along your skin and melting at the heat they found there. Mindlessly, you shifted when his palm lingered a whisker away from the slope of your neck and his eyes became stitched with concern but softened when you had won the fight against your fear to stand still once more.
Azriel's hand lowered, resting against your skin that was softer than his imagination could ever fathom. His thumb drifted down the column of your throat and you swallowed, hard.
"You don't have to accept this or me," he told you, his voice tantalisingly cooing to you in a hush above a whisper, "But gods, y/n. I really hope that you do."
Azriel saw through you then, through that façade you wore like a medal. And he found what saw to be quite heart-breaking. Stood before him was a woman, one that possessed a brilliant mind and equally captivating beauty, but beneath it all was the girl who was brutalised so badly that she vowed to never allow another person close again.
"You're my mate," you spoke with a certain conviction that hadn't graced your words the last time, Azriel watched your lashes flutter, and he felt his soul singing when those eyes found him again, "I'm not letting you go."
Gracefully, your fingers curled around his wrist, your index finger sleeping just over the faint beat of his pulse, just where his marred flesh faded to memory, "You accept it?"
"I- yes, I do."
Jasmine and sandalwood drowned his lungs, and he would have died happy just to be able to say that he knew what your shampoo smelt like. Papaya and coconuts. He gingerly ran his fingers through your hair, noting how much you loved the feeling of it as you shivered in his arms. Azriel pressed a dainty but tender kiss to your brow, and it had you realising that maybe you were allowed to give yourself this one thing that the younger version of you had always dreamt of.
Azriel hadn't tried to push you further, he knew that the moment of allowing someone to touch you, to hold you, was far more momentous than finding your mate.
Instead he asked you a simple question, it was more of an offering than anything. To spend time together away from the prying eyes of his family, so that you may become comfortable with one another before allowing anyone else into it. You had agreed. Eagerly.
So the next few weeks drifted by, afternoon walks along the Sidra, morning breakfast drop-offs at your office, after hours visits to the gallery where you would tell him of your adventures and how on some occasions you barely survived. Azriel was in complete awe of you, he sat beside you on your love seat completely captivated by you, his fingers tracing small circles into your thighs and his shadows curling through your hair. And that smile, gods, that smile could make even the most poised male lose all sense. It was bright and gleaming, and your skin glowed with the happiness of it.
Then you had decided to break the news to the Inner Circle, and as you stood before those doors oozing with grandeur, you felt nerves pinch at your skin, "Are you ready?" Azriel's fingers were tangled with yours and he bowed his head to place his lips on your bare shoulder.
"Yes." Azriel gave your hand a gentle tug, willing you to move from your spot located just behind him.
The aura of the house had shifted, now, it was inquisitive, glancing to the mirrors and then back to your hands to see if what it was seeing was real. Laughter echoed at the end of the hall, your scent had usually silenced them by now, but not this time. Now that your scent was mixed with Azrielâs it seemed much less threatening. Pity.
Turning the corner, you became startled by the smash of a glass, shards of it glided along the floor and fell at your feet. Looking up, you found Mor frozen in place, wide eyes and bewildered. The rest of the room craned to attention, collectively moving their eyes from Mor, to you, and then to Azriel, and then to your entwined fingers.
It took a minute, but you could have sworn you heard the bell ding in Cassianâs empty brain, âOh shit,â he rose to his feet, wings flaring slightly as a wide grin gripped his mouth.
Rhys appeared before you both, gaze lowered in surprise, clearly trying to picture a timeline in his mind. The High Lord looked to his Spymaster, âAre you-â
âMates?â Azriel finished incredulously, knowing that your moulded scents had already infected the room, and turned his head to you, orbs gleaming and adoration speckled on his cheeks, âYes.â
Elain Archeron had sank into her seat, doing her best to not pay attention to you in particular whilst her stomach churned with the scent seeping into her bones. Subconsciously, you moved closer to Azriel, a slightly territorial action that made him smirk.
It had been a brief conversation that you had suffered through, the one where Azriel had made it very clear that the situation with Elain was brutally one-sided. Azriel had only sought to be nice to her, to help her to adjust to her new body and life because she was Feyre's sister and Feyre was his High Lady, and she had taken his kindness for something much more than what it truly was.
Leading you to the velvet armchair that you would usually slither into, Azriel sat and motioned for you, turning you in his hands so that his touch never left your thighs, and pulled you to his lap. A bashful smile formed on your face and you could feel the eyes of the room on you, equally as confused as shocked.
"Since when?" Nesta had asked after sipping from the goblet of red wine between her fingers, the liquid staining her plump pale lips, and she used her thumb to wipe a singular droplet before it ran down her chin. Her eyes held an emotion you couldn't quite make out, Azriel had admitted that Nesta was just as unreadable as you at times, but the way his digits dug into your flesh told you that what the eldest sister was feeling was an assortment of jealousy. Not toward you, toward him.
"The bond snapped just over a month ago," Nesta hummed and burrowed herself into the cushions, pouting slightly, like she was an infant who had her favourite toy taken from her grasp. "We wanted to explore it before we properly accepted it or told anyone."
That made Elain's doe-like stare move from the floor to your mate who was sat with you on his thighs rubbing small circles into your shoulders, "So you haven't accepted it?"
Your jaw clenched at the question, the question that was perfumed with the last splatters of hope, "If you're asking if we've fucked yet, Elain, then no, we haven't. Does that answer your question?"
Azriel's fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, knowing that the sensation of slight tugging over your scalp relaxed you infinitely, "I only ask because I know how physical Azriel can be. Surely you've heard the stories?" Elain feigned innocence, Feyre sighed from her seat and glanced to you apologetically, silently begging you to not tear her sister apart.
In fact, you had heard the stories. Trying to ignore the gossip of the city was difficult considering how used you were to eavesdropping into certain conversations in the underworld. So, unfortunately, you had heard about Azriel's many lovers, and you'd be silly to not feel insecure of it, but you wouldn't let her see that. Ever.
Craning your neck to the side, you smiled, your iced gaze slicing into her and making Elain shrink under the weight of it, "With all due respect, which is none," you leaned to the side, accepting the goblet of wine that the house had presented to you in premature thanks for the forthcoming words you were about to utter, "Your existence gives me a headache, so please go and find somewhere else to be."
Rhys' eyes widened but he suppressed the smirk forming on his face, hiding his lips behind his fist and closing his eyes. Not even Feyre or Nesta spoke up over it, they clearly knew better than to challenge you. Cassian however didn't really care if Elain saw his joy at your words, he had been growing more tired each passing day of her pining affection toward his brother, and now he understood why Azriel had withdrawn further from the female over the last few weeks.
It was because of the unique female before their very eyes.
The middle sister went to open her mouth, to retort something that wouldn't even irk you, but Amren shushed her, halted the words in her throat and willed her to die with them, "Don't even try it," Amren served you more than her own court, finding a kindred spirit within you, and she would shame herself if she let Elain speak to you as if you were nothing.
Elain would never understand someone like you. She wasn't worthy of it anyway.
No one had ever tried to understand Amren, not really, they thought her too complicated to be worth it. As long as they brought her pretty jewels and respected her then there was little else to worry of in their eyes. But you, you had understood her instantly and had found a particular solace with her, like you were peering through a mirror and she was your reflection.
Sipping the potent liquid in your goblet, you bowed your head to her, quietly thanking your friend for halting the small spat before it escalated and ruined the evening entirely. Tonight was not about Elain and her fragile feelings, it was about showing the Inner Circle who now owned your heart.
So, the middle sister vacated the room feigning a migraine, and the aura instantly lifted. A soft smile formed on your lips when your eyes landed on your mate, your entire face relaxed; entwining your fingers with his, you blushed when he pressed his lips to your knuckles and dragged your index finger down his cheek.
The Inner Circle watched on, knowing that they had never seen Azriel so taken by anything. They feasted on the sight of his shadows purring through your hair, on your colliding smiles, and how your gentle words to one another were contained in an ornate bubble around your bodies.
As the evening continued, you found yourself quite enjoying their company, you sat bundled into Azriel's embrace, finding comfort in the arms that were wrapped around you whilst Cassian spewed war stories, bragging at his prowess.
"Not to brag," you began with a smirk, "But at least eight men have described me as 'terrifying', and two of them are in this room. Choke on that ego, Cassian."
Nesta's grin turned feline and excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't give to spar with you, to have your legs wound around her and that tense gaze splitting her in half. From the whisperings of Prythian, it was very clear that you had done some rather diabolical things in order to obtain certain artifacts that had been locked away in your most prized and personal collection. So prized that its location was unknown. She could only imagine what trinkets you possessed, and the things you had witnessed.
"What about Azriel?!"
The Shadowsinger shrugged, his hand resting on your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, "I've only ever been entranced by my mate, Cassian," Azriel drawled, sipping the amber liquid swirling in his rocks glass like molten bronze, "It's you and Rhys who are afraid of her."
"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you."
Cassian frowned, turning to Nesta and asking, "Are you scared of her?"
"No," she answered a little too quickly, so quickly that you had quirked your brow at the sound, "I find y/n to be quite exciting."
"Exciting?" Cassian moved to Feyre and asked the same question, his manhood decaying when she too said that you didn't scare her, "Mor?"
The blonde who could not rival your beauty had always watched you from afar, and had always enjoyed how you made males squirm. Mor rose her glass to the stars and stated, "Bring every man you meet to their motherfucking knees, y/n."
"Amen to that," Amren tipped her glass in response, downing the rest of the thick red sap and finally feeling at home in the presence of her family thanks to you, and she eternally thanked the male sat beside you for being able to breathe some light into the storm cloud that was your mind.
"Mother above," Rhys grumbled, the women in his life uniting and itching to wreck havoc. The action of Rhys swiping his hand down his face, dragging the skin slightly toward in frustration, made a deep chuckle float from your lips, so serene that Nesta likened the sound to a siren call and found herself drawn to it. "Did I just make you laugh?" Rolling your eyes, you nodded at the High Lord who turned toward his mate, "This is the best day of my life," then back to you, "Does this mean that we're friends?"
Rhys waited expectantly, childlike orbs pleading to you with their innocence. You had no friends bar Amren and you were content with that. It meant that you only had one thing to lose. But as Azriel laid his hand on the small of your back, gaining your attention and giving you an expression of promise, the resolve of your solitude cracked, "Why not?"
The door to the River House flew open, a sudden shrill chill soaring through the air from the wild winds battering against the city, no doubt spurred on by your fury.
Many months had passed, and in that time you had truly blossomed, sure you still wore the mask of the devil on your features in public, but when you were with the Inner Circle, a group of people you now proudly belonged to, that mask drifted away like ash in the autumn breeze; and when Azriel was beside you, it felt as though warmth and happiness was all that you ever knew.
Much to Elain's upset, you and Azriel had officially accepted the bond and had locked yourselves away for four weeks to make the most out of every single moment together, and Rhys had been understanding enough of the bond between you both to not drag your mate away on another mission. The bond between you and Azriel was something that Rhys had never seen before, not even between him and Feyre.
"She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had."
The ceremony itself had been astonishing.
The women of the Inner Circle had spent the better part of two days dressing your apartment for the occasion and Feyre had made it quite clear that the upcoming ceremony was going to make theirs look ridiculous in comparison. Rhys was split between jealousy and awe when he saw it.
No one had ever stepped into the apartment beside Amren and Azriel, he had decided to move into the apartment after your return from the four-week sabbatical at the cabin, it was as though you were gifting them with the last part of you, allowing them to see what they could never fathom.
Faelights were strewn across the ceiling, curling around the arched windows that displayed the golden valley of the city in a way Rhys had never been able to appreciate before; tucked between the vines of the lights was fresh foliage, an array of green hue ferns caressing fully blossomed white roses and pale blue peonies. Sprigs of cedar and rosemary had been wove between the foliage and flowers alongside splinters of sandalwood, filling the room with the physical aspects of your scents.
Only the Inner Circle had been invited, and as you were dressing in your room with Amren, you could hear Nesta whining of her foolish jealousy of having to watch Azriel marry you. Amren had simply raised a brow and smirked at you through the mirror as she finished securing your veil to the back of your head.
There was no one you would want to share the moment with other than her.
Amren had blindfolded you, leading you through the home so that the gift wouldn't be ruined just so that you could get ready together, for the most important and deserving night of your life.
The dress that you had meticulously chosen was the most incredible garment Amren had ever seen, so much so that the first time you had tried it on in front of her, she had nearly cried at the beauty of it; and there you now stood, twisting in the mirror and running your hands down the hem of your veil and then your hips. The dress was made entirely of white lace that you had imported from the Day Court, an off-the-shoulder neckline and sleeves that kissed your wrists, it was elegant and graceful, and made the freckles of your trauma glow like shooting stars.
A gentle knock had sounded at the door and Rhys stepped in, taking one look at you and finding his breath catching in his throat. "You look amazing," he breathed, approaching you with his hands deep within his pockets.
The High Lord had been honoured when you had sheepishly asked him to walk you down the aisle; Rhys had found himself consumed with the need to protect you, after seeing your guard disappear, he saw who you truly were, a woman who just wanted to be loved and protected, and ready to allow other people to do it for her after spending so long doing it herself.
"Are you ready?" Inhaling deeply, you nodded and turned to him, noting the outstretched hand before you and feeling your usual anxiety bubbling in your gut. Rhys, realising that he shouldn't have done something so bold, went to retreat but halted when you took a small step toward him, reaching your fingers out to his palm and sliding them into his grasp.
Azriel was right, your skin was a smooth as honey.
A gentle smile of triumph later, you spoke, "I'm ready."
It was that moment that Rhys was begging you to remember as you barrelled through his house, no doubt heading straight for him in the confinements of his office.
He could feel your anger slam through the walls, your footsteps sounding up the staircase and stopping at the top of the hall, a pause to remember just how much you liked him before stalking down the hall and bursting into his office. Rhys cringed, knowing what was coming as you strode to his desk and slapped your palms flat against the wood.
"If you ever," you pointed your perfectly manicured finger in his face, "Send my mate back to me in that state again. I. Will. Destroy. You."
The snarl of your words sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and in that moment you were the y/n he had met one-hundred years ago. Cold. Distant. Almost demonic.
In his defence, he hadn't sent Azriel on an overly dangerous mission, it wasn't his fault that his Spymaster was ambushed in The Middle. Azriel's spilled blood was entirely his own fault in Rhys' eyes, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, y/n."
The rushed footsteps of another sounded in the hall, and when Rhys looked past your deeply heaving form, he was relieved beyond compare when he saw a bruised Azriel approaching, "Angel, it wasn't his fault. I was distracted," his voice grew louder as he paced closer to the pair of you, appearing at your side and turning your head in his fingers to face him, "I was thinking about you and I didn't hear them coming."
Watching your shoulders drop, Rhys sighed and wiped away an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, sitting back down and continuing his viewing just as you tilted your head to the side and popped out your bottom lip.
"You were?" Azriel's eyes softened and he dipped his gaze to meet yours, "That's the most romantic thing you've ever done. You were attacked because you were thinking about me, you actually bled because you were thinking about me?"
Rhys could only watch on perplexed at your words, you threw yourself into Azriel's arms, muttering small apologies for brushing against the bruises littering his abdomen, "She's crazy."
The Shadowsinger could only huff, too entrapped by you to really reprimand him, "Yeah," his eyes opened lazily, brimming with exhaustion, "But she's my crazy."
Azriel's shadows curled over your shoulders and shuddered, crying to be as close to you as possible, like they were trying to entwine with your soul so that you one day may carry them with you wherever you walked. In whatever world.
A bond like yours was made to topple temples and shatter worlds, it was made to transcend time and space; and as you wrapped an arm around your mate and led him from the office, not without sending one more warning glare to the male you had come to love as a brother, Rhys knew that no matter where either of you went, there would be no place that you could travel to where the other would not follow.
Authorâs Note
Hope you enjoy đđŒđđŒ
Let me know if youâd like to be added to my PERMANENT TAGLIST đ€âš
Banners by the fabulous @tsunami-of-tears
Permanent Tags
@romantasyreader28
#acotar imagine#acotar#acotar fanfiction#maasverse#fanfiction#imagine#azriel x reader#azriel x you#rhysand#cassian#azriel fanfic#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#acotar series#azriel acotar#azriel x y/n#nesta#nesta archeron#nesta x cassian#feyre cursebreaker#feyre archeron#feyre x rhysand#elain archeron#rhys acotar#mor acotar#amren acotar#amren#pro amren#cassian acotar#azriel fluff
896 notes
·
View notes