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madaqueue · 7 months ago

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WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them.

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

#q writes #oneshot #childe tartaglia ajax #ajax #ajax x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe #childe x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #ajax genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #childe genshin impact #genshin fluff #childe fluff #tartaglia fluff

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fishnapple · 7 months ago

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The purpose of your life, why you're here

This reading is about finding the purpose of your life, why you're here, your current reincarnation (if you believe in reincarnation), or your soul, what you're born into this world to experience. All 6 groups share a similar theme of reaching your highest potential and having the focus on connections.

A similar reading was also done by @claudiafrankie, you can check out their reading here

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

ROSE QUARTZ

Keywords: inspiration, leading, expansion, mastery, mental power, innovation, connection to the psyche

I see the theme of big vs small, how we define our life, give meaning to it. Are we just a tiny entity that exists in the sea of existence, or are we the whole universe, embracing everything?

In your life, you will encounter many instances where you're asked to step forward, step outside, go out of your comfort zone. You will be put into experiences that tell you how knotted your life has been and how much it could unravel into something more spontaneous. There's a fight between wanting to focus on the physical plane, doing daily tasks perfectly, concern yourself with details, with what is happening around you and the need to do something bigger, having more impact and influence, to make a change to the world, to live the life you dream about. Confinement vs freedom.

You have a lot to tell, so much to share, so much to experience. At your core, you're an adventurer, a nomad, life is a journey that you need to keep moving. You want to achieve great things, leave a mark in this world and receive adoration from people. But the first step in your journey will be facing your wounds. They are the door that stands between you and the freedom outside. Are you ready to turn the doorknob and push that door? In the past, in your past lives, you might have experienced confinement, mentally, physically, spiritually. You kept standing there and facing the door but didn't decide what to do. So in this life, you're given a choice to choose again.

You might think the components to your success in life are outward actions, ambitions, and material achievements, showing how capable you are. Your mind is buzzing with ideas, with the future, always looking for a new way to do things better, to perfect what you're focusing on, like a windshield wipers working tirelessly on a stormy day. The next piece of information, the exciting new discoveries, the buzzing trends, they busy your mind until it becomes fatigued and obsessed.

Your purpose of this lifetime is to learn how to rest, when to stop, and how to use the information and resources you have gathered to build yourself up effectively. What defines you is not how much you have, how good you are at certain jobs, but how you master yourself and become the highest aspiration of yourself.

To do that takes patience and understanding of yourself. Turning inward, curbing the restless mind and impulses. You might be someone who is quite impatient or impulsive, wanting to execute right away the idea you have in mind, what you think of should be what you have, expecting results and excellence quickly, if things don't go well from the first try, you want to give up and change direction, change the method without giving the old ones enough time to develop. If you are this person, then life will give you many opportunities or challenges to slow you down, the more you try to act, to fix things, tossing ideas everywhere, going around in many directions at once, the more likely you are to be confined and forced to make a clear choice and commit to it. And you will have to choose wisely. How do you do it? By facing that door, those wounds, see how they are projected into your surroundings, your relationships with people, how you go around, anywhere, just to avoid them.

You're given a good pair of eyes (figuratively, or can be literally) to truly see, amidst all those busy movements, a path for yourself. A wide, unexplored path. Pushing the door, stepping out is scary, but you're brave and you will inspire many others to do the same.

LABRADORITE

Keywords: growth, healing, comfort, peace, helping, courage, accepting changes

I see the image of a sword or a cross. Your energy feels young and soft yet resilient and brave. Life gives you many challenges that would forge a sharp and strong blade inside you. The sword here is not for harming or conquest but for protection and striking the lock, through layers of fears that have been imprisoning you for a long time.

Your life is divided or, rather, balanced by two opposing forces and choices. One is the past, the habit, the way you chose to protect your safety. You might have a tendency to go along with other people's wishes or try to avoid direct confrontation for fear of disrupting the peace. This might be one of your defence mechanisms when dealing with life in general. You want to live in peace, quietly go about your way without obstruction and intrusion from outside. This creates a demure aura, in some way, a little submissive or malleable energy. You don't act this way because you want to gain something from other people. You just don't find it necessary to engage in confrontations that lead to dead-end.

The other side is something you're called to embrace more of in this lifetime. Your energy is soft and flowy, like water, but it needs a little solidifying into something more sturdy. It's the hardening of the core self. Hardening here does not have a negative connotation, it's not about building walls around yourself, closing your heart and spirit, acting cold and tough, it's not like that. It's about being more sure of yourself, giving yourself a sturdy and durable foundation, like how a pliable sprout would grow into a robust tree, standing tall and firm on the ground.

Work and career, material achievements will be the ground where you will see yourself grow the most in this lifetime. There will be opportunities and chances for you to break out of your nest and explore. The work environment will be dynamic and full of pleasant surprises. You will find support through the people you work with. A family member might be a crucial figure in your process of becoming the best version of yourself.

I feel a very giving nature, you have so much in yourself, so much to share, that inner abundance, with people, with life. But only when you release the attachments that keep you rooted in constricted safety. There might be hesitancy when trying to think about bigger aspirations, about your life dreams. You might think that those dreams are unrealistic or too far away. Your mind and your heart are going in the opposite direction. Your heart wants to look forward, to the distant, unexplored horizon, while your mind is occupied by anxiety and uncertainty. It's the root of the great divide between your past and your future.

But I think in this lifetime, things will change. Your life is in a great transition period. Events might happen quickly, surprises come more often. What you've been believing in, what you've been doing habitually might suddenly become strange and feel foreign to you. These changes are necessary, you might feel uncomfortable having to depart from what you've been attached to. But if you can muster enough courage to go against the usual, it will be a personal victory for you. You will successfully break the earth above you and shoot up, out of dormancy, to begin a new adventure.

RED JASPER

Keywords: manifestation, beauty, to connect, freedom, commitment, wish vs reality

It feels like you have a starter kit of manifesting love but you haven't learnt how to use them fully yet. Love and other connections will be the focal point of this lifetime for you.

You have a unique power of manifestation. Have you ever had some thoughts and then a few days or some time later, they came true?. Everything could manifest instantly that you might even be scared of your own thoughts, afraid that any "wrong" thought will result in a bad future. If you haven't realised this about yourself, be more mindful and observe how things work around you. Life will feel a lot more magical for you.

One of the reasons why your thoughts are so powerful is because you're given full reign, full freedom to experience this world. It's not something that you can easily realise and put into practise. There's no particular script nor strict rules for you to follow, you just need to experience as many things as possible. The best gift you have in this lifetime is freedom. I think this gift is something hard-earned from countless trials and hardships. The memories of distant pains might still linger somewhere deep inside you, keeping you from fully being free to dream. But no more rules and burdens. This life is meant to be savoured in its vastness. You're a born rebel. Carving your own path, going your own way, never settling, never being fully at ease with the present, always on the lookout for a different future.

And that's where relationships come in. One of the best ways to do that is through relationships and interacting with others. I see a tendency to be hasty or quick to move on when it comes to bonds with other people. With your manifesting ability, combine with your natural charms, you have no problem with meeting and building the connection with someone. But something about commitment might scare you. You might not want to commit because of the fear that your freedom will be lost, or because you put a heavy importance on a commitment that you don't want to step into one too lightly. You might jump, too quickly, into conclusions about some connections. Maybe you would try to find a plausible reason to stop the connection, in the name of practicality and logic, ready to find flaws in the other person, or, on the opposite end, you decide too quickly that this is it, this person is the one and then try to commit, prematurely. It's like you are given something because you wished for it, but then you don't exactly know what to do with it. This will be one of your biggest lessons in this lifetime. To follow through with what you wish for, to commit to something fully and wisely. It's not just romantic relationships but also other relationships, colleagues, friends, families, etc.

There would be two types of people in your life who can guide or lead you into two different directions. They will appear in the form of mentors, someone older or more experienced than you, someone whom you feel you can learn something significant from. One type will encourage you to find your calling, your path. Who will constantly touch your deepest feelings without even trying. They may trigger you, for good or for bad, you would feel their choices of words and actions are dubious and questionable, but there is something undeniably inspiring about them, they push you to be more bold and get in touch with your needs and wishes. While the other type would be someone wanting to dictate every move in your life under the guise of knowing what's good for you. They are powerful, they can make your wishes come true but only if you come under their wings and stay there. You would feel like a child being well taken care of, but your wings will be clipped. Which direction to take is ultimately your choice, you choose whatever to experience, because that's your freedom in this lifetime.

CITRINE

Keywords: uncharted water, discovery, exploration, crossing, in between, balanced, transition

I see your path in this life is going to the unknown, something that you haven't experienced before. You are standing at a gate, a bridge in between two lands. Or, in the vertical sense, you are standing on the dark ground, looking up at the sun, shining bright from above. There are lots of movements, both mentally and physically. In this lifetime, you will constantly move between the two worlds. The inner, dark and cold sea of your private world and the bright, warm air of the outside world. No world is better than other, they need to be their for your life to be in balance, staying in one world for too long and neglecting other will likely result in some events taking place to pull you back into balance.

These two worlds are parallel to each other. The inner world is led chiefly by your mind, they are well organised, block by block, neatly like a library, while the outer world is more dynamic, led by passion and actions. They affect each other in every way, more than you realise. Chaos in the inner thought will likely result in confusion and, in some extreme cases, destruction of the known path. You will stumble upon many paths that are considered strange and out of the norm, but I think you're geared towards them, even unknowingly, your mind has a knack of seeing the unique structure of things, noticing the pattern and the likely outcomes of situations that not many people can. This will help you see more alternatives in life and choose a path that can bring satisfaction to you, in all senses, materially, spiritually, emotionally. This path will likely be an uncharted water, something that not many people have done, there will be many unexplored areas for you to bring in your unique takes.

Another way the two worlds interact with each other is what your inner world needs, the outer world will provide. If you feel anxious and doubtful, haunted by past memories, then you will likely encounter something or someone new who can give you fresh perspectives and encouragement to be brave. If you feel your life is lacking security, you feel low in your self esteem, there will be moments of transformation that bring you closer to what you desire, you will be given opportunities to venture into new territory, meeting new people, getting the support you need to start something. The universe hears your every call and answers back with opportunities, emphasis on the word "opportunities", you won't be given a whole cooked dish, you will be given ingredients to make the dish.

There's an element of settlement. Instead of jumping from place to place, in this lifetime, you need to hold onto something, to make something uniquely yours, something that will be by your side everywhere you go. It could be a legacy, a creation, a lesson, something that lasts. But it's not about stubbornly holding on to something, it has to be integrated into your core being. Throughout life, you will face with many events that will change your perspective drastically, you're not meant to hold on to old beliefs, withered branches that can no longer hold the weight of the birds standing on them. You will constantly meet new people, those that will open your eyes. Foreign people and cultures might fascinate you, somewhere with lots of sunlight, warm hospitality, beautiful scenery and architecture, lots of mountains and flowers. Especially if you're someone who's from a land near the sea, windy and cold, lots of rain and stormy weather. You are a traveller at heart, don't limit yourself to any particular place.

AMETHYST

Keywords: opinion, communication, conflict, to uphold, straightforward, honesty, truth

I don't know why, but upon seeing your spread, the phrase "human comedy" just sprang up in my mind. This life of yours will go through so many ups and downs in regards to connections and relationships. You will experience the full spectrum of them, every facet, every emotion.

You might encounter many situations where you're misunderstood greatly, those will create a very interesting dynamic between you and the world. Interesting might not be the right word, even my choice of word in this reading is muddled up, you might have the tendency to use words that make your intentions seem questionable or odd to people, and they do the same to you. It's like people from different lands from all around the world gathered for a meeting but there's no common language and no one to translate.

Communication will be the point of focus for you. You might struggle to find the right expression, the right words for the things you want to say. Thoughts seem a lot more clear and articulated in your head, but when they are uttered, there's this fog around you that tends to twist and blur the words, making them shift and fuddle. You will need to find a way to clear this fog, to deliver your words in the most direct and straightforward way as much as possible, even at the risk of being blunt and offensive. This might create an obsession or anxiety when communicating. Maybe you want to find the perfect expression, the details, you do notice the tendency of people misunderstanding you so you try so hard to elaborate, which can create the impression of being long winded, rambling or argumentative.

Ideas jump around in your head, constantly born and spread, demand to get out, to be expressed, this forms a rushing energy, impatient tongue. But even with all these misunderstandings, you don't actually offence people. They may perceive you as nitpicking, blunt, or argumentative, but they don't necessarily hate you for it. On the contrary, some even find it amusing and endearing, these people might even intentionally tease or poke at you, it's not malicious, but then again, you also don't read people's intentions too clearly and might perceive these acts of teasing as personal attack. Your reactions would rile those people up even more. Hence, the endless cycles of poking and reacting. The purpose of all of these is to train your resilience of the mind and heart. You should take all of these with good spirit, laugh them off, keep your truth and speak honestly, there's nothing more attractive than that.

On a more serious note, you're reminded to stand firm in your thoughts. I sense that you have so many wisdom to share with the world. Teaching might be a calling for you. Even without actually be in the education field, people can still learn from you, through your unshakable conviction in yourself and the way you speak your truth. It might be intense, it might be difficult to swallow, it might seem strange and outlandish, but nevertheless, it captivates the world through its sincerity.

AVENTURINE

Keywords: artist, bridge, the call, emotional landscape, go with the flow, sensitivity

"Young poet of the moon", "The poet of the soul", those two just appeared in my head upon seeing your spread, so I wanted to write them down. I think those words portrayed you pretty well. Your inner artist heart is beating every moment, it's a force that you can't hide or be ushered into oblivion by some circumstances.

This world needs a lot of people who have a sensitive heart, like you, someone who has the "eyes" to see the beauty in this world, the "ears" to hear its cry and whisper, the "lips" to court it with sweet sweet words. You're here to make people see the world in its naked beauty, helping them realise the small details of living and in the process, elevate their souls.

You offer this world a cup filled with creativity. The way your mind and heart tremble and come alive with all the senses can create striking new creations. The passion for sensuality is there, for the bursting love of life. Sensuality here encompasses a vast spectrum of things, from the aromas of delicious food, the cool and smooth feeling of water lapping over you, the swirling colours of leaves dancing under the sun, the warm and rough feel of someone's hands, ... they are all the materials for you to marvel at, to create, to give back to the world your interpretation of it.

Why did I say "poet" in the beginning? Because you have the gift of gab, your words resonate with people's hearts, because they are spoken from the realm of the unknown inside all of us, we can only be able to catch a glimpse of it here and there, when we allow ourselves to relax and float. You have the ability to connect to that realm , to catch sights of it more often and crystallise those sights into words or messages conveyed by other means. But I sense written words strongly. Even if you do something that isn't related to creativity or the art (but is there anything that truly be detached from creativity?), this gift will still assist you in every endeavour you're in, negotiating, mediating, persuading, counselling, anything that needs these kinds of skills.

Love will play an important role in your life, you're here to experience love in all of its forms, experience all the feelings it can create within us. It won't be an easy journey, heartaches are there, but so is the deepest devotion. You might face delays in love or intense connections that leave lasting marks on your soul. You're not the same person you once were before a connection. These will transform you, plunging you into greater depth and strange waters. But don't be afraid,if you allow yourself to savour the journey, you will arrive at a treasure that many people have been struggling to find. This inexhaustible treasure will provide richness to your life. Also, don't let yourself drowned either, emerge out of the water and share with the world what you've seen. So many people need their hearts touched by a soul such as yours.

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akanemnon · 29 days ago

Note

So um..................

I know your on a break but uh.. it was bound to happen but I suppose some things don't make sense now in twin runs right like toroiel.?

But also OH MY GOD WHAT A RIDE

What are your thoughts on the new chapters?

I suggest you read this post or the FAQ

Either way Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 talk under the cut

SOOOOOOO that just happened.

I know the two chapters would be very different in tone, but I didn't think it would be THAT stark of a contrast.

I REALLY did not expect the Roaring Knight to make an appearance that early as Chapter 3. I honestly thought they would make their first appearance in Chapter 4, BUT I'M NOT COMPLAINING. Because WHOOOO that was a ride. I'm quite bad at the game, so I didn't get the shadow mantle before the encounter. But I DID see what happens when you actually go ahead and beat them! That puts so much shit into perspective. Especially with everything that's involving Kris.

I'm sure the fandom is busy putting all the puzzle pieces together and stuff. I know I AM! But it does feel nice to see that my interpretation of their dislike for the Player but outright needing them is pretty accurate. I didn't expect to be smacked with hockey stick, but hey... I getchu Kris. And I am really sorry.

ANOTHER thing I called was how dead people can turn into Darkners when tethered to an object. I feel really vindicated in my writing when I saw that.

Also can we talk about Gerson???? CAN WE TALK ABOUT MOTHERFUCKING GERSON BOOM???? Man, I am SO GLAD he got to shine in chapter 4. His presence in Undertale as a veteran of the human and monster war was already super interesting. And now he is IN THE FRIGGIN SPOTLIGHT AS A MENTOR FIGURE. I AM EATING THIS UP. Also his battle theme is a certified banger.

Oh yeah, speaking of the characters in general, I am SO HAPPY how much growth we got from both Susie and Ralsei in these two chapters. It is so insane how well-written these characters are. IT FEELS SO FUCKING REAL. Man, this is why Toby is such a big inspiration in writing for me. AND I DIDN'T EVEN MENTION TENNA YET????? I swear, when I first saw him I was instantly thinking of all the other Tenna interpretations out there and how they could have NEVER predicted this. And the SPAMTON CONNECTIONS??? These two idolized one another and took so much from each other but could never be the other. That is both sad and hilarious at the same time-

ALSO THE FUCKING TITAN AT THE END????? Now I can see why Toby would've never been able to do Deltarune as his first project. This shit was INSANE /verpos

I could go for hours about this btw. Still finding secrets here and there and rewriting bits from The Other Script as we speak...

#ask akane #twin runes #deltarune spoilers #dr spoilers #deltarune chapter 3 #deltarune chapter 4

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whowrotethenote · 2 months ago

Text

𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞

A/N // Short story set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place five months after One of Your Girls.

I wrote the beginning and end at the same time and got a little lazy trying to connect the two. So, if it seems rushed towards the middle, that's why. The inspo for the short came from this anon. I didn't include the moments leading up to the actual appointment just because it will be mentioned and discussed in the next part, Desires. I hope you like it anon💗

Warnings // Angst // Adultery // Profanity // Themes surrounding pregnancy & abortion

Word count // 6k

Disclaimer // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist // Navigation

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

“Never have I ever…kissed a girl,” I announce.

Seven fingers up, standing strong in the lead, I read the room. Demi’s finger goes down, leaving her at four left. And then the unthinkable happens. Anthony puts a finger down taking a sip out of his Naughty Elf mug.

“Excuse me?!” Demi shrieks with her head cocking back.

He removes the mug from his mouth, revealing a smirk. “That’s right.”

“Now, you know we need a story time.”

“No story time.” He shrugs. “It used to happen all the time. How do y’all think I discovered I was gay? I had to experiment first.”

“Wait—so you’ve like dated girls?” I dip my head like it’s some grand secret.

“Yup. Kissed ‘em. Had sex with ‘em—” His uncovering of truths is cut short by us gasping in unison. He cracks up. “Don’t get me wrong—pussy is great. It’s just something about men I can’t shake. They’re terrible people but I can’t shake those bastards. What about you, missy?”

“Senior year in high school. Captain of the girl’s basketball team. Think Kehlani but a little thicker,” Demi explains.

“Mmm.” Anthony and I both hum in agreement.

“Understandable. And don’t forget that shot, miss thing,” he reminds her.

She throws one back before shooting her four fingers back up. On the floor of our newly rented Manhattan condo, we were getting lit off left over Coquito I brought from home—the crumbs of Christmas dinner—with our second round of Never Have I Ever.

The best ice breaker to ease Anthony into our world—who, if I’m being honest, needs no easing whatsoever. He fits right into us. The missing piece to our puzzle. So much so, I offered to let him move in when he shared that his lease was almost up. It was a no brainer. Within the last two months of his hire at the hospital, we became ridiculously close. Anthony is fun, wild, and he doesn’t give a fuck about what anybody thinks. Anyone who embodies those three characteristics is okay with me and mine.

There’s too much extra space in here. Every which way I turn, there’s an extra room that needs to be furnished and filled with personality. Demi and I are barely home as is. So, we let him take the lead on decorating the rest of the condo. All I can say is, that boy has taste. He made this place look like it belongs in a Home & Gardens spread.

In the living area that he garnished with cream and black accents—we all sit comfortably in front of the floor to ceiling window. The news talked of the snow sticking and to expect at least six inches by tomorrow morning. Flurries of white hauled down on the other side of the window, blanketing the city, prompting us to take full advantage of the fireplace for the first time.

“Okay, my turn! Never have I ever…” Demi’s eyes float up until the light bulb goes off. “Got my ass ate.” At the same time they put a finger down and reach for their drinks. Seven fingers still up, I wait for them to be done before Anthony’s eyes go wide.

“Wait—why are you still over there with seven fingers up?”

“Never happened,” I confess.

“Never?” His head dips.

“Never,” I confirm.

“Well, what about that Alpha from last summer?” Demi squints. “What was his name? Travis? Trey?”

“Terrell.”

“Yeah! Him. He gives me that.”

I shake my head. “Never did it to me. We didn’t do anything really.”

“And nothing from whoever you’re seeing now?”

I grin when all I really want to do is scream. “Who said I’m seeing somebody now?”

“Oh, come on.” He searches for Demi who gives him nothing. Picking up one of those cheap Christmas themed sugar cookies we baked earlier and plopping it into her mouth. “I see you getting texts and disappearing,” he continues. “Gifts and whatnot. You were gone a whole weekend a few weeks back.” His squints with the lower half of his face twisting in amusement. The wider his smirk, the deeper that pit in my stomach.

“It’s nobody, really.” I laugh, countering the heat capturing my face. Did I forget to mention that he’s very observant?

He shows his hands. “Fine. I’ll get out your business. Whoever he is, that boy’s got taste. That Chanel bag for Christmas?” He puckers his lips while shaking his head side to side.

“Ouu! We should make gingerbread houses. Let’s see what we got.” Demi shoots up from the floor. Our eyes snagging before she fully rises as I try to convey a thank you through my eyes. An angel, she is.

“Only thing in that fridge is eggnog and to-go plates. Good luck.” Anthony shouts while going through his phone.

Anthony is sharp and we’ve only just met some months ago. I don’t like this. Keeping secrets and hiding an entire portion of my life from the people that mean something to me. Not saying anything is too close to lying outright and that’s not who I am. That’s not who I want to see when I look in the mirror. Too many things surrounding him are not just unconventional, but immoral. Never mind that it's a secret hidden from the world, but what does his wife think when he takes extra days away and doesn’t rush home to her and their kids?

I try not to think about her too much. A stabbing—no burning courses through me whenever I imagine him with her and their flock of children. I picture a home full of love and comfort. Nothing like the one mine turned into after my dad got sick. I can see them cuddling on the couch. One of their youngest sprawled across their laps with the iPad. The oldest yapping on the phone in the kitchen to her friends.

She’s pristine and so well put together. She looks it. Always dressed nice in designer. That rock of a ring beaming in every photo. Only the strongest and most resilient woman could raise five kids while her husband came and went unexpectedly like a full moon. She’s nothing like me. I know it. I’m Lana—always late and tripping through life. Never knowing or even prepared for what comes next.

“You okay, friend?”

My eyes flutter and I snap out of the maladaptive dream at the sound of Anthony’s voice.

“Yeah,” I lie to him again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

“Mm,” I groan flipping the duvet over my head.

The sun bullying me awake. My head—a constant pounding at my frontal lobe. My reward for another round of Never Have I Ever, Caresha Please and Drunk Uno. Since the week of Christmas, all I've done is fill my body with alcohol and it's starting to take a toll on me.

The laughs and muffled chatter that must be my roommates, travel through my room walls. I snatch the cover back down, one eye peaking at the digital clock on the nightstand.

3:12 PM

The fuck?

I know we wrapped it up pretty late last night, but I haven’t slept in like this since being a teenager. A blessing and a curse—my body’s natural alarm clock from years of morning shifts and morning classes, would usually wake me up against my own will.

The smell of sweet syrup and hopefully pancakes is what boosts me to swing my legs on the edge of the bed and finally stretch. Limbs sore and head still pounding, my slippers scrape against the floor in pursuit to the kitchen.

“Sleeping beauty!” Anthony beams. I eye their empty plates and a kitchen so clean it looks untouched.

“Don’t worry. Your food is in the microwave,” Demi informs.

“Why did y’all let me sleep so long?” I rub my eyes opening the microwave to be met with a full plate as promised. I slam it back shut and the buzz fills the room after I press the one.

“Girl, you’re on break and you have no work. What’s wrong with sleeping in?”

“Don’t want my body to get used to it.”

The plate is full and steaming as I carry it to the open stool next to Demi at the white marble top island. I’m halfway engaging in conversation, with Gossip Girl playing on the TV in the family room over. The metal of the fork hitting my plate as I scoop potatoes while biting into the beef bacon in rotation. Everything’s fine. It’s not until I take my first bite of the scrambled eggs that shit gets…funny. The smooth texture against my tongue at first and then the mini spasm of my throat as I attempt to get it down. My stomach turns once the smell of the eggs becomes too potent while it’s all I can focus on. The biggest thing in the room it becomes. I chew and chew—breath growing heavier and spit getting warmer with every rotation of my jaw.

The clink of the fork hitting the plate rings dramatically, halting Demi and Anthony’s conversation. It’s all a blur. One second I’m sitting there with them and the next I’m inches away from a toilet bowl. Gasping for air after letting out everything from last night and just a few second ago. The smell—sour and overwhelming, has my back hunching as another round ejects from me.

“Lana, oh my god.” Demi’s soft voice is over me as her small hand finds my hair. My chest expands rapidly as I cough and spit what’s left into the rest of it. Slamming the toilet, not being able to bear the smell a second longer. I blink hard to allow the sitting liquid in my eyes to fall.

A stack of tissue jolts into my line of sight and I take it. “Thank you,” I croak and cough again. I shake my head, registering in cloudy consciousness, that look she gives me. “Probably all the alcohol catching up to me.”

“Alcohol, huh?” Her voice fades out. I follow her line of sight to the decorative basket sitting on my sink. A case of L Organic tampons standing tall amongst the other junk inside. Just one left in the clear cylinder. Making it more than obvious that they’ve gone untouched for some time—otherwise, they’d be replenished.

Our eyes, like magnets, find each other.

Boxes and boxes tumble inside the mini cart hanging in the crease of Demi’s elbow. It looks like she’s doing inventory. She uses a forearm to swipe what’s left on the shelf into the cart. Two don’t make the landing and I bend to pick them up.

“Demi—you don’t think that’s a bit much, friend?”

“My ass.” Her eyebrows hike up. Boxes still rippling into the overflowing cart and still falling. The more I pick up, two more come down to the floor nearly hitting me on the head. “Some of these damn tests be lying. This is not the time to guess or play roulette.”

She stomps away from me on a mission. I place the handful of tests back on the shelf instead of adding fuel to her fire. Stomach empty and head full of the worst possible outcomes, I follow right behind her through the aisle.

No words needed to be exchanged as we stormed out the bathroom together, bundling up and ordering a unnecessarily expense Uber. After disarming and convincing Anthony that I had started my period and didn’t have any tampons left, of course. More lies.

What the fuck is even happening today? It all feels like the longest nightmare and it hasn’t even been an hour since I opened my eyes.

My luck isn’t just falling short—it's nonexistent. The self-checkout is under maintenance. So we stand in wait, suppressing angst, as the younger cashier swipes the dozens of boxes with a constant beep. All different sizes, different brands adorned with different fonts. All with that same word somewhere on them that makes me want to throw up again.

I want to jump out my skin watching the young boy swipe and swipe, eyeing every single test like he’s shopping himself. Eyes hesitantly looking up at us across from him. Our eyes like daggers, pierced on his every move, as if he’s handling thousands of our hard earned money in his very hands. God, I wish he’d hurry the fuck up. Just as I open my mouth to say something, Demi is quicker.

“Your business—mind it,” she spits. Crossing her arms, pulling her black Chanel shades over her eyes as he nods frantically speeding his task up a couple notches. We came busting in this CVS, calling ourselves in disguise. Already bundled in puffer coats, scarves and beanies to protect from the inclement weather—we added shades that defeated their purpose, seeing as we’ve had them sitting atop our heads this whole time.

Resting my hands in the pockets of my sweats, I case the store. Some middle-aged folks in the aisles. A group of what looks to be college kids come walking up to the register. And the frail older man behind us in line, with a prescription bag and jug of water in his hands. I pull my glasses down immediately when he and I lock eyes.

After the ring up from hell, it took the persuasion of seven car salesmen for Demi to talk me out of taking all of the tests, right in the bathroom of that CVS.

“A drug store is not a place to crash out,” she tells me.

I opt to crash out in the back of this Uber’s truck instead. Bags full of tests like groceries stocked for the inclement weather the news promised us.

“I can’t be—” The shake of my head finishes my sentence like a period. I can’t even allow that word to flow past my lips.

“Yeah, no shit.” What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t be. I just can’t. School. His family. My family. My god—his wife. My breathing picks up and suddenly it feels like the middle of July in the back of this man’s Ford truck. “Lana—Lana just relax. We don’t even know if it’s that yet.”

“What else can it be?” My face screws up. Tears hot and threatening to spill. “Sir, can you please turn the heat down?!”

“Sorry—sorry ma’am.” He eyes us through the rearview hastily. I didn’t mean to yell, but damn. The hot air from the vent was doing the opposite of calming me down like Demi suggests. Everything around me feels like too much. I snatch the LV scarf straight from my neck on the verge of suffocating.

“You two have been careful?” Demi’s eyes pierce mine. Careful. He’s careful with just about everything else, except that. He’s grown careless. Yeah, no phone around me but it feels too good to pull out. Call only from a payphone, but snatching the condom off in the heat of a wild night. “Lana?” She calls my name. I know she’s expecting an answer but I can’t say it out loud. NDA and shame both having a hand to my mouth.

In defeat, my head hangs until it’s buried in my hands. I can’t be.

A vivid and erotic reel of all the most recent times, secluded with him, flashes through my mind as I come to the painstaking truth that I actually can be. Before Christmas in Greenbay? Around Thanksgiving? When we went back to the Hamptons house—fire burning and crackling, laying on the living room rug, sweating all the extra left over energy out?

Every time I think I’ve pinned the exact moment it must’ve happened, I come up with a different more likely occurrence, until it seems every time might’ve been the time. It happens so often now—there’s no way for me to sensibly dig out when this catastrophe was born from the chemicals of careless lust and passion.

My stomach gets queasy. Tight and twisting like I’m preparing for the steepest drop on a rollercoaster. A foreign sound—something between a whimper and a groan leaves me.

“I think I’m gonna throw up again,” I strain.

“Please not in this man’s truck.”

“Yes, please,” the driver pleads. Eyes shifting from the road to the rearview mirror. His futile outburst earning him a glare from hell from Demi.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

My Dior bag vibrates between us. We exchange looks before I dig my phone out and sure enough, a text from an unknown number is the latest notification.

Vegas this weekend. He’s asking for you. 9543402985

Staring at the text on the screen, I fight the urge to throw up again. The timing is cataclysmic. My heart usually races for a different reason when I see those words.

Muscle memory has me googling the nearest payphone or Link kiosk. “Sir, I’m sorry but can you stop at Penn station really quick.”

“You gotta do that right now?”

“If not now, then when?” I turn to be met with her head shaking. “I’ll add the stop on the app,” I tell the driver.

Quads aching from stammering down three flights of steel steps—maneuvering through chunks of civilians like the most skilled quarterback—face burning from trying to regulate its normal temperature—I snatch the receiver off the hook.

It dawns on me hearing the gnawing dial tone, that I don’t have any quarters. No way in hell am I going back up all those steps to the coin machine. My head rotates to gauge my surroundings. Only a few feet away from me, a young boy—curly fro, no older than fourteen dressed in a Denim Tears sweatsuit—leans on the wall with a guitar in his hands. A more nineteen thirties, blues reminiscent rendition of Snooze emitting from it.

“Kid.” I step away as far as I can, inching in his direction without dropping the phone. “I know you got some quarters in there.” My eyes drop to his hat sitting at his feet. “I need five dollars in change. “

He looks between his NY Yankees hat and me with my hand out. “I want twenty.”

“What?!”

“Twenty or nothing.”

“How you want twenty and all I need is twenty quarters?” It's not like I’m short on money. In fact, I could make the kid’s day, Cashapp him five hundred dollars, and go on about my business. But something about him trying to hustle me, threw me left. Especially considering the day’s already unfortunate events. I’m already abundant in Ls. Two seconds from wilding out on the nearest person.

He shrugs. “And all I need is a twenty.” I sigh deeply. Patience dropping like the sand in a hourglass. “What I gain from giving you these quarters?”

“You won’t lose anything if you give me the quarters for a five. It's an even exchange,” I bargain. I can see the internal battle, watching his eyes shift between me and his hat. “Look—how about I give you ten.” I show him another five dollar bill. “And you still just give me the five in quarters. You gain five, little man.”

He squints and then counts the twenty quarters off before dropping them in my hand. “Bet.” He snatches the two fives from me and resumes his ballad.

“Punk,” I mumble slipping his quarters into the slot. I am well versed in the art of negotiation. Years of making a sucker out of my brother whenever he needed to just “borrow” money from my stash. Charged that ass interest too.

The line rings only twice before that silence signals connection. “Paul?”

“Alana, how are you?” Never been better. I just got cheated out of five dollars. I’m using a dirty ass payphone in underground NYC to call my famous fuckbuddy’s companion. I’m almost a month late on my period. And the dad is public married with five kids already, and old enough to be my father.

“I’m fine,” I tell the same lie two days in a row. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing down this way. Is it snowing over there?”

“Yeah—bad. I haven’t seen it like this in years.”

“Well, you’ll be relieved to know you’ll be on the west coast, where there’s no snow by this time on Friday.”

“I thought the show was in Canada?”

“It is,” he confirms. “He doesn’t plan on staying though. He has business in Vegas the next day so it makes sense to just leave.”

“I’ll be staying until Sunday?”

“Monday, actually. I’ll be sending over the flight and hotel details soon.” I nod as if he can see me. “You ever been to Vegas?”

“No.” Before him, I hadn’t really been anywhere.

“I don’t think it’s anything special unless you’re into gambling.”

“Good to know.” The conversation is static—robotic almost. Or maybe that’s in my head. Every pause feeling like a confession of some sort. Every word I push out feels like I should be saying something else.

“Anything else going on?” He pokes.

My mouth opens then shuts. My catastrophic possibility—likely to affect everyone around me, including the man on the phone—hanging tight on prison bars, begging to be set free. This doesn’t feel right. All the secrets. All the suppression. There’s no way I’d be able to do this in front of him after knowing whether I am or am not. So I decide right here that I won’t know.

Snow flurries land and melt on my face all at once as I jog back to the truck. “Thank you,” I tell the man for the unpredicted stop, right before he pulls off. Demi’s eyes burning on me like the brightest light in a room.

“I guess you’re leaving this weekend.”

I nod. A pause hangs between us. It’s louder than All I Want For Christmas playing on the radio. “I’m not taking those.” My confession breaks free.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I finally meet her gaze. Her eyes wide and brows lifting to her hairline damn near. “I’m not taking those,” I repeat. “The tests.”

“I’m confused. Did you just come on or something?” She looks me over as if the evidence of my period would be on the clothes I’m wearing.

“Demi—I can’t take those before I go. Imagine the two lines come up. I’m supposed to just go around him acting normal?”

“Or—hear me out—tell him the truth?”

My face screws up hearing such a simple anecdote that’s the furthest thing from simple. “You’re talking crazy.”

“What is so crazy about telling the truth? Unless you’ve already decided what you’re doing if the two lines do show up, and you just don’t want him to have any say?” Another lingering silence. It’s smoldering hot like the air coming from the car’s vents, yet again. “Wow.”

“We already know his verdict.”

“Oh, you’ve asked him already?” She laughs, but it’s vacant of any joy. “Great—just do whatever you want.” She turns her head to the window after throwing a hand up.

“Oh—you’re one of those?”

“I didn’t say all that.” Her eyes turn to slits from my accusation. An accusation I knew bore no weight. Demi is as liberal as they come.

Our eyes sharp and daring don’t leave one another. I’m the first to break. Internal strife too great already. I don’t need two battles. I won’t survive either.

“This is nothing to argue about.” I face forward. Catching the eyes of the driver who snatches his away in a flash. Nosy bitch.

“Not arguing. Whatever the results…I don’t think the decision should fall all on you.” Her voice, way softer than that condescending one from just seconds ago that made me feel smaller than a crumb. “And I think you shouldn’t be so quick to choose, either. Believe me—I get it. This is probably the worst thing that could happen. But the quick decisions are usually the ones we end up regretting.”

My nose flares. Chin quivering as I focus on the snow flurries sticking and melting to rain on the window. I hate when she makes sense. This whole thing feels like the end of the world. One of those situations that’s going to stick to me for the rest of my fucking life. Regardless, of the outcome.

What I imagined yesterday—their picture perfect family, doing what loving families do—I’d put a crack right down the middle. Our secret—our bubble fed in the dark of expensive hotel rooms and hours after midnight—would have no choice but to come to light. And I don’t think I am strong enough for that. Let alone motherhood.

Friday, January 5, 2024

I laugh to myself, watching in real time as he smugly grins down at Nick Aldis from the ring. Capturing his belt from Paul after just laying out Randy, AJ Styles and LA Knight like they were mere target practice to him. Just pawns on a board.

I shake my head. A fucking menace.

“Shitting me?” An outburst that nobody can hear after Nick informs Paul of the fatal four-way match to take place. I know Demi’s going ballistic back home. I stare at the phone on the nightstand provided by the hotel. I could call, but I know that’s probably going against something in the NDA.

Suddenly, a wave of dreariness hits me. Most likely an effect of traveling and all the stress. Although Google told me it was an early symptom of my unwanted event.

When I wake up it’s almost one in the morning. Still no Joe.

I shower again, wincing at the water hitting my chest. Usually a tell sign that my period is not far behind, but she’s almost a month late. Life has been moving way too fast, flashing by me. Holidays, traveling to meet him, semester ending—and I never stopped to register that I hadn’t touched a tampon in a month. My head has been gone.

On the plane ride, I decided to heed Demi’s advice. Slow the process of decision-making down by weighing everything first. Pros and cons. So far, the only pro I came up with, is that he’s well off and not afraid to splurge or share. My, you-know-what, would never have to grow content with financial struggles.

So far that cons list is longer than Santa’s naughty list when he ventures into O’block.

Child number six (I.e. the baby of the family usually forgotten)

Born out of wedlock

Most likely a secret for most of their lives. Not being able to tell the kids at school who their daddy is

Judgment

Balancing school and … you know what

Gaining weight from the cravings

Giving birth and all the things that can go wrong with that

More nausea

Going from an escape to an obligation to him

The cons just kept hitting me like all the dodge balls from the other team when you’re the last man standing on your side—until I was buried in cons.

I make my way downstairs to this hotel that sits in the heart of Vegas. Seas and lakes of lively people, all dressed up and most likely intoxicated. Loud and flashy. That’s all I’ll remember about Vegas. The people, the buildings, the scenery. In your face and in your pockets.

I eat for the sixth time since this morning. Sitting by my lonesome now at a slot machine. Pressing away and feeding the machine more money to keep losing—a too familiar tango, sort of a reflection for the relationship between him and I.

Vegas nights…this would be a decent theme for a prom. The committee at the hospital had been searching for ideas already, to start planning their annual charity prom for the kids who can’t make their own.

I reach into my purse, ready to text Demi and throw her the idea to get her opinion. I stop myself. I don’t have my phone. Right…

My shoulders slump with the release of a breath. I keep tapping. And tapping. And tapping. Until I’m damn near one with the machine, tapping like second nature while I get lost in my insecurities.

Is this what I want for my life? For my…

It’s lonely. It’s tedious. Searching for things to occupy my time until he shows up. Always wondering and worrying about what or who he’s doing when he’s not in my line of sight. It won’t magically change just because something or someone else enters the picture. Being a mother to his kid won’t suddenly usher in a new routine in place of him trying to get me in where I can fit in. It’ll be the same scenario. I mean, look how he treats the first mother of his children.

This is not what I’d want for me and mine. Even when my father was sick, he uprooted being a father as a priority. He was always present. Always doing what his body would allow. He never had to fit us in. Never had to juggle two households and a career. My kids don’t deserve chaos. A chaotic childhood will only make them susceptible to a chaotic life. Kind of like the one I’m living now.

All I’ve done is generate cons. There are no pros.

The glow of the TV is the only source of light in this massive penthouse suite when the soft click of the master bedroom door prompts my eyes to pop open from sudden slumber.

His large frame, a shadow so quiet, as he makes his way toward the bed where I sit up.

“I woke you up?” He whispers.

“Yeah, but it’s cool.”

He drops the duffel bag by the foot of the king bed where I stand to meet him. Spreading his hands out to invite me into his arms.

“Mm,” he groans into the hug. Simultaneously releasing a breath together, like he’s transferring all the tension in his body to me. But there’s no need. I’m already overflown with it. Wrapped in his big arms, it hides cowardly. Afraid to come out and show itself in front of him. That’s not the purpose I serve here. “Squeeze,” he instructs. “Tight, tight, tight,” he mumbles with his mouth right on top of my head. The grin sneaks on my face, not for show, as I grip his hard body as much as I can. Burying my face into his hoodie and sniffing in that familiar cleanliness that’s stained on him. The events of the week forgotten for no longer than the twenty seconds we embrace. SWV was right. The cause and cure.

“Everything alright?” He leans back a few inches. Eyebrows wrinkling and something of a smile dancing on his handsome face.

“Yeah.” I nod. Voice soft and unconvincing. “I’m fine.” Another lie. Three for three now. The slot machines downstairs would be blinging and flashing obnoxiously. His stillness lets me know he’s not buying the act. “—Just work things.”

“Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.” I don’t say anything, already knowing the announcement is an invitation. I let him do his thing before he enrages out the steam filled ensuite bathroom. Body dripping wet still—arms big and daring. I almost regret my decision to not join him.

We don’t have sex. The subtle bags sitting under his captivating eyes tell a story of restlessness. He did a lot tonight just on camera, so I can only imagine. My reading proven correct when he sinks his large frame beside me, welcoming me into his space with a hand to the back of my head until it’s comfortable on his peck.

“What did you do today?”

“Nothing really. Ordered room service. I watched Smackdown.” He elicits another smile from me despite the internal dread, reminiscing on his performance.

“Yeah? How’d you like it?” His large hand slides down to palm my stomach. A gesture that I usually ignore, thinking it was just comfortable for him. No different than the circles he draws on my hip at times. But this time I freeze up like a possum playing dead. Previous thoughts vacuumed right from me.

“Um…wait—what—what were we talking about again?”

His chest tightens under me from laughing. “Don’t tell me your memory is going before mine?”

“I’m not the one pushing forty.” I force a laugh. Grateful he can’t see that it didn’t reach my face.

“The show?”

“Oh, right. Big bully Roman. It was really good. They should have you teaching classes on heel turns.”

“Mm,” he hums sleepily. “Didn’t do anything else while I was gone?”

“I went downstairs for a little bit. Played the slots. And some roulette…”

“Didn’t know you liked to gamble,” he speaks ignorantly and somehow still knowingly. I’ve been gambling since I’ve met him. Gambling my time and the discovery of this whole ordeal. And now, a new stake has entered the bet. The roulette of whether I am or am not still spinning with no landing.

“No…I don’t actually…”

He fights the dreariness in his deep voice for a while longer. Talking to me about his first time in Vegas with the twins amongst other things. It’s not long before I hear the soft snores.

All I’ve wanted to do, for days now, is call my mom and tell her everything. Let the confessions roll from me like a ball down a hill nonstop. Release the angst from me to her, the way I’ve always done. Selfish tendencies of a child, I know.

But sadly, I can hear her now. Lana, what business do you have with a married man? A man whose plate is already full when there are men that will come to you with an empty one?

Tina Maxwell—previously Tina Floyd—is a proud woman. Philly born and bred—her, bullshit, and low maintenance, just don’t coincide. Her heart is the size of Alaska, but her pride and self worth can fit two more of that colossal state. Hence, why immediately after my father recovered and just couldn’t seem to raise his spirits back up, with no will to bring back the spark in his marriage after it laid stagnant so long—she filed for divorce.

I know people judge her for it. I was one of them. How could she leave a man that had just recovered from a battle of fighting cancer?

The older I get, the more the curtain protecting that answer on the board lowers itself. Life is too short to waste on anything or anybody. She loved and still loves my father. But love is fickle. It burns out too quickly. She gave him a chance and he didn’t want it. She did her duty as a wife and a mother to his two kids. Stayed bedside, overextended herself when he was too sick to work let alone get out of bed, showed up to every appointment and waited in angst through every procedure.

After choosing him for years, she chose herself. And she always does. The only things that take precedence over that, are her kids.

If she knew how I lay in this bed up under a man that belongs to someone else, while the strong possibility of carrying his child looms over us—she’d drop to her knees. And me along with her, too weak to stomach the look of disappointment on her face.

Whatever we have—or whatever I think we have—it’s dead. The sun shines on all living things and we’ve never even touched the light of day. So, I might as well lay to rest whatever is left or whatever is expected to come. I already know what he’d want. I don’t need to ask or consider.

He’s married. Happily or not is irrelevant because he’s not unhappy enough to leave. He made a promise in front of God and his family. She’s who he goes home to. He still comes in whatever luxury hotel room, whatever time of the night, relieving himself of that black band that he displays to everyone except me.

So, it doesn’t really matter what results come from those tests when I get back home. Just like us, it’s already done.

A/N // as always, if you read it or even a portion of it, i am forever grateful💗 feedback is welcomed.

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antoncore · 5 months ago

Text

a thousand poems | l.at

word count: 1k

contains: (almost) tooth-rotting fluff, reader is a bit of a valentines hater, university au, literature student!anton

synopsis: you never saw the point in valentines, dreading it every year. that was until anton, a sweet literature student came along and changed your perspective…

anton lee was genuinely one of the sweetest boys you’d ever met if not the sweetest. he was a literature student that you started talking to on one of your regular library trips. the two of you had gotten so close that he’d shown you his “secret spot” — an empty hallway hidden in the corner of the top floor of the building. he offered a sense of calm between all your stressful deadlines and overwhelming classes. whenever you’d have your hangouts, he’d either have a snack that you mentioned you liked, a song to recommend you, a book that reminded him of things you’d talked about or a new poem he’d scribbled down before leaving for classes that morning.

it was now a few days before valentines and it was all that consumed your campus life — heart decorations in the student union, posters for speed dating events plastered on every noticeboard you laid your eyes upon and an overwhelming amount of emails from various societies advertising themed events. you hadn’t given much thought to the day, being too preoccupied with upcoming deadlines. you walked up the stairs, your bag heavy with the books you needed for one of your upcoming assignments.

as you turned the corner, you saw anton already waiting, cross-legged on the floor with an open book on his lap. his glasses had slid slightly down his nose, and he tapped his pen against the page, deep in thought about what to annotate it with next. “you’re here,” he teased, looking up to smile at you. his smile was soft and warm, making your heart race and settle all at once — something that nobody else had been able to do. “of course,” you replied, dropping your bag beside him with a sigh. “although i had to battle my way through a sea of valentines decorations to get here.” he laughed at your dramatic tone, shaking his head as he put his pen down.

“looks like i’ll be your escape,” he said with a grin, making space for you to sit. “i can tell you need a break.” you flopped down beside him, your exhaustion from the day’s classes suddenly feeling a bit lighter. anton’s smile softened as he spoke gently, “come on, let me read something to distract you.” “you always know exactly how to comfort me,” you said, your voice quieter than usual. he started to read from the book in his lap, his voice gentler than ever. you recognised the words from one of his favourite books, a romance novel he’d spoken about often. you rested your head on his broad shoulder as you continued to listen to him read.

the way he read every word felt intentional, like they held a deeper meaning that only he could understand. anton paused to look at you and smiled softly, only for your eyes to unintentionally meet his for a brief moment. if either of you were unsure of your feelings before, that brief moment made everything clear. there was a tenderness in the way he acted now and it spoke volumes, unspoken yet understood.

“i-i umm… actually wanted to read something else to you. i know you’re tired of everything to do with valentine’s but… i’ve been working on a poem for a while now, and… i wanted your opinion,” anton admitted, trying his best to avoid eye contact. “a poem?” you repeated, your head tilting to look at him. he nodded, fiddling with the corner of the page. “yeah, it’s… nothing special, honestly,” he whispered, but the way his fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the piece of paper told you otherwise. you waited patiently, just like he always had for you.

finally, he cleared his throat and began reading the poem, his voice a little shaky at first. as his voice grew steadier at each line, the words sank deeper into your heart, realising every word resonated with the connection you’d come to share. you could feel the warmheartedness behind them, the vulnerability in how he expressed what was so often left unsaid. before you knew it, he had finished the poem and looked up, his cheeks flushed, unsure as to how you’d respond. you stayed silent, reflecting on what he’d said, unsure whether you could find the words to express how you felt. you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“anton… that was so… beautiful,” you breathed out, the weight of the words still sinking in, your cheeks just as flushed as his. “it was perfect.” his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something but instead he gently traced the edge of the paper with his fingers, his eyes searching yours. “you really think so?” he questioned, his confidence lacking in the moment. “i was so nervous to read that to you.” you smiled reassuringly as you studied his face fondly. “why? you know i love everything that you share with me.” “because this was different, y/n,” he admitted, lifting his head up fully. “this was… for you.”

the air between you shifted as you swallowed, your fingers slightly shaky. “anton…” he hesitated for a second before reaching for your hand, his touch warm and grounding. “i meant every word,” he confessed, his thumb softly brushing your knuckles. “every single one.” your breath caught in your throat. the touch of his gentle hands, his sound of his calm voice along with the way he was looking at you — like you were something precious, irreplaceable — was almost overwhelming.

you were speechless and it was impossible to deny that everything inside you pulled you towards him, as if you were connected. slowly, you leaned in, closing the space between the two of you. anton’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before they fluttered shut. your lips met in a soft kiss, one filled with all the words you couldn’t say right now. his hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch featherlight, as if he were afraid this moment would end too soon. the way you melted into each other felt natural, as if this was always meant to happen. his fingers held you for just a second longer before you both pulled away breathless, his glasses slightly askew and his cheeks even more flushed than before, matching your own.

“so y/n… can i—” he paused, his eyes asking for your reassurance. “can i be your valentine?” his question hung in the air, soft yet filled with so much meaning. you smiled, heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes. you cupped his face gently, bringing him closer as you whispered, “of course.” anton’s eyes brightened and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more tenderly than before.

“i’d write a thousand poems just to show you how much you mean to me.”

cee’s taglist ☾⋆⁺ : @sshwaa @seokiebin @gacktsa @nlovesbjh @atzhrts @yuzuksi

#riize x reader #riize fluff #riize soft hours #riize soft thoughts #anton x reader #anton fluff #anton soft hours #anton soft thoughts #cee writes ✎ᝰ #cee l.at #divider creds: cafekitsune

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bbydoll18xx · 10 months ago

Text

I’ve Got a Wand and a Rabbit (Part 2)

You give Paige some guidance when it comes to self-pleasure.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Part 1

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Themes: mentions of sex, sex toys, and some ~self-pleasure~

A/N: hiii guys!!! I honestly cannot get over the love for part 1. That was probably one of my favorite things I’ve written since I’ve been here on tumblr, and I’m so glad you guys shared the love 💜😚

I hope part 2 doesn’t disappoint!!

Here we go!!

“You shoulda seen the way she was blushing! I’ve never seen her act that way!” KK roars to the rest of UConn’s women’s basketball team, the girls leaning forward in extreme interest as KK recounts how Paige had turned into a bumbling mess in your presence the day prior.

“God, KK, shut up. I did not,” Paige whines, her face growing warm with humiliation.

“There she goes again,” Jana teases, and the girls erupt into another round of laughter.

“Y’all suck,” Paige pouts, walking off the basketball court and heading towards the locker room for a much needed reprieve.

The taunting had yet to stop since she had stepped foot in the sex shop a week prior. KK and Ice had hunted down valuable information that a certain someone had worked there, and they had forced Paige to come inside, knowing you were standing behind the counter.

Paiges’ thoughts drift back to that day, as they had nearly a million times the past week, and she muses over the way your hair had flowed over your shoulders and your lips glistened pink.

Her crush on you was unwavering, the same way the ocean waves continuously kissed the shoreline.

And despite what nearly everyone had perceived about Paige Bueckers, she was absolutely terrified when it came to expressing her feelings. Especially about you. So she bottled them up, settling for watching you from afar with a hope that maybe she’d muster up the courage to talk to you.

That was until her teammates had made the decision to do so for her.

She really couldn't be all that mad at them.

Her crush on you had started three years ago. The two of you had shared a fondness for studying in the same area of the library, where it was quiet and away from the loudness of your respective roommates. Paige’s grades had always been good, but the daily motivation of seeing you, tongue occasionally peaking out in concentration and your body nestled in large, comfy-looking sweatshirts had Paige securing her place on the Dean’s List semester after semester.

And with everything Paige did, she completely lacked subtlety when it came to you, and it only took a few longing glances in your direction for Ice and KK to connect the dots.

“Oh, c’mon you can’t be mad at me,” KK whines, running into the locker room after Paige.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Well, you ain’t gotta put me on blast.” She sits on the bench, putting her head in her hands.

“You’re being way too dramatic. She offered to show you how to use the damn toy,” KK stresses, and Paige’s face goes pink again.

“Soo,” she drags out the word with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Just take her up on the offer and boom you can have sex and then live happily ever after!”

Paige’s eyes widen as KK, in the midst of her rambling, doesn’t see Coach Geno walk in behind her.

Based on the look on his face, he had definitely heard KK, and he clears his throat, causing KK to whip around, her hand flying over her mouth as she pieces the situation together.

“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath, sending a weak smile over to Geno, who just waves her away, a disgusted grimace on his face.

But as Geno rambles on about how the practice went, Paige’s thoughts drift back to the way you suggested to help her.

Would you really want to? Paige was navigating something completely new, and it was stressing her the fuck out.

If only there was a way to get rid of the pent up anxiety.

On the other side of campus, you were having a similar dilemma. You had been trying to work out what had come over you yesterday when you had boldly and uncharacteristically offered to teach Paige Bueckers how to use a vibrator.

The interaction plays in your mind for the millionth time, and you slap a palm across your forehead in frustration.

“I am so fucking stupid,” you groan, catching the attention of your roommate who was working on a paper at the seat across from you at your most favorite spot in the library.

“What’d you do now?” She asks, and you divulge her in yesterday's interaction with Paige, and her eyes widen.

“Dude, you have been drooling over her for the past three years, and you’re telling me you’re not going to wife her up?” She asks in a hushed whisper.

“I think she was just being polite,” you sigh. “We exchanged numbers, but I’ve been too scared to do anything.”

Charlotte shakes her head in mock derision, “I raised you better than that.”

You sit there a moment, contemplating.

“Fuck. Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

Pulling out your phone, you pull up Paige’s contact information, your fingers shaking slightly as they ghost over the keypad.

“Hi, still need some help? If not, no big deal. Just thought I couldn’t leave a pretty girl stranded,” you read out to Charlotte as you compose the text, and she claps loudly in approval.

“God I hope she doesn't think I'm some sort of sex addict,” you moan, looking at the delivered sign under the text.

Back in the locker room, Paige nearly chokes on a swig of water as your text appears on her screen. Aubrey, who is sitting next to her, slaps her on the back a few times, before leaning over to take a good look at what was causing the reaction.

Aubrey hoots loudly as she reads the text and promptly snatches Paige’s phone out of her hands to show it to KK, who had proudly deemed herself the captain of yours and Paige’s ship.

“FINALLY!” KK yells, fist pumping the air with great enthusiasm, and the whole locker room erupts into laughter again.

Paige rereads the text. And then again. Your words were flirty and sure, just as they had been yesterday, and Paige is once again reduced to a blushing, simpering mess.

She looks around the room, eyes wide and a shy grin on her face. “What do I say?” And the girls erupt again.

“Tell her you wanna fu—” KK starts eagerly before Azzi, who was sitting next to the younger girl, covers her mouth with a sharp look on her face. KK moves Azzi’s hand away, pouting and muttering to herself about how she’s “just tryna help Paige get some pussy.”

With pink cheeks and a pounding heart, Paige composes a reply, hiding her phone from the curious eyes of her teammates, hoping it seemed way more confident than she felt. You had a strange effect on her, reducing her assured ways into a bumbling mess, teetering on the edge of falling into madness.

And it was just the beginning.

After all, you had yet to even touch her.

That night you stand in front of Paige’s door with a pounding heart, determined to keep up the facade you had attached to your being, and as she appears on the other side, it is cemented.

There was just something about seeing a bashful Paige Bueckers that makes your confidence soar, and you send her a cheeky smile, reveling in her mannerisms.

Paige leads you into her bedroom, and you immediately spot the purple vibrator laying atop of the comforter.

You break the ice. “So what’s stopping you from finishing?” You ask, looking her in the eyes.

An embarrassed chuckle leaves those pink lips, and she rubs a hand over the back of her neck. “I guess I just keep gettin’ distracted,” she mumbles, and you nod in understanding.

“I like to think about someone,” you say boldly and pointedly. “If you close your eyes and immerse yourself into a fantasy, it’s almost like they’re there with you.”

You watch as she takes a deep breath, like she’s mentally preparing for what she says next.

“Can I try again? And you can walk me through it?”

The air leaves your lungs, surprised by her suggestion, and you agree before any other thought could cross your mind.

The situation was something out of a filthy romance book, and as Paige undresses down to her boxers and her sports bra, you thank every star you had wished on the last three years for letting this happen.

Paige settles onto her pillows, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, and with shaky hands, grabs the vibrator.

“P,” you say softly, and her eyes fly back open, meeting yours. “Use your hands first. Tease yourself, and let the arousal build up,” you suggest kindly, and she nods, putting the toy back down.

She runs her hands across her toned stomach, causing your own to lurch with want. Her hair was sprawled out on the pillows, and her bottom lip was red and plump from biting it, and despite just getting started, she looked completely fucked out.

You secretly hope the image never leaves your memory.

Paige continues to tease herself, her fingers delicately dancing across the fabric of her boxers, and a quiet moan leaves her mouth. Her eyes are still closed in concentration, and you wished you could peer into her thoughts, hoping you were the object of her most intimate fantasies.

And as if she could read your thoughts, your name leaves her mouth in a broken whimper that has you wanting to jump her bones and connect that sinful mouth with yours.

She’s panting now. Her eyes open, those crystal clear baby blues pleading for more. The unspoken words spoken between the two of you bridged a formidable bond, and you know at that point that this would lead to a whole lot more than offering friendly tips on masterbation.

“Need more,” she whispers, her lithe body squirming on the bed hinting at her growing arousal.

“Okay, baby, now take the vibrator and start at your tits and run it down your stomach,” you instruct, your voice nearly trembling.

The quiet buzz fills the room before it’s cut with Paige’s whimpers as she runs the toy over her now exposed breasts. The pointed, pink peaks of her nipples make your own strain against the lace of your bra, and you shift uncomfortably in the gaming chair you are sitting in.

The toy gets dragged over her belly, going lower and lower until it grazes the waistband of her underwear, and with a frustrated sigh, she lifts her butt to rip off the offending fabric.

And now she was laid out bare in front of you, occasionally peeking at you, making sure you were still watching.

You could not look away, and your body subconsciously leans forward toward the blonde girl.

She places the buzzing toy on her clit, her back arching off the bed in response, moaning in pleasure. Her hips jump, grinding against the vibrator, desperately seeking an orgasm that had been denied from her several times over the past week.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” you whisper, enthralled with the display in front of you, and Paige opens her eyes once more at your praise, sending you a needy look and a pout.

“Keep going,” you encourage, and she adjusts the vibration, a higher pitched buzz ringing through the small room.

Paige’s skin glows with a subtle sheen of sweat and arousal that you want to meticulously lick, and her whimpers grow louder as she squirms, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” she groans, and you bite your lip, her noises effecting every fiber of your being.

And with a loud moan, your name leaves her mouth, along with a long string of expletives, as her back arches off the comforter again. Her chest heaves as the orgasm rips through her, and her eyes roll back in overwhelming pleasure.

Your gaze rakes over her, taking in the gorgeous woman laid out before you, watching as she slowly comes down from the high.

“Oh my god,” Paige breathes heavily, suddenly feeling exposed and shy again.

“That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, your own cheeks flushed with arousal, and Paige’s eyes trail to your peaked nipples straining against the fabric of your shirt.

“I was thinkin’ of you the whole time. And that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I have ever had,” she responds, putting her underwear back on, much to your displeasure.

“Thank you,” she adds shyly.

You shrug, moving to sit next to her on the bed, you run your hand across the flesh of her thigh, goosebumps erupting in its wake.

And before you can even make your own move, Paige connects your lips in an impassioned kiss that adds fuel to the fire that was raging in your core. The kiss was messy with unrestrained want and need, swapping unsaid words that had been brewing in both of your heads over the last three years.

The two of you had unknowingly fallen in love with the thought of each other, and now, here you were, falling right into each other.

And it wasn’t going to stop there.

The next afternoon, you are back at work, your mind continuously going back to the delicious display of Paige’s naked body. You had been on the edge all day, dying to get home to rub one out. Or four, if you were being completely honest with yourself.

Sitting in the back room in front of the fan, desperately needing a cool off, you hear the familiar jingle of the bell on the front door, alerting you that someone had entered the shop. You take a few deep breaths, trying to compose yourself.

It was hard to be cordial when you were surrounded by sex toys.

You walk out of the back room, your eyes immediately trained on Paige who was now standing at the front counter with a huge smirk on her face.

Blushing you walk up to her, pressing your lips to hers, the taste of her mouth sending your body up in flames once more.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask breathily.

Paige gestures towards the package she had set on the counter with a wide smile. “Figured I’d add to the collection. Wanted to buy something for your pleasure,” she adds casually.

Your belly lurches as your eyes land on the strap on, a deep purple and six inches of thick rubber.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, feeling yourself drip with excitement at the thought.

“Oh, I plan to,” Paige grins, and she pulls you in for another kiss.

Things were just getting started.

This was a blast to write!! Also I am obsessed with shy, blushy Paige

xoxo katy

You can now read part 3 here

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers smut #ive got a wand and a rabbit

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psychhound · 3 months ago

Text

im musing on bleed & the types of character-player relationships between my pcs and npcs

for a quick primer, bleed is the exchange of thoughts and emotions between player and character (great article about bleed here). for a lot of people, bleed leads to more immersion in the character, which can mean a more emotionally resonant and rewarding experience. some people try to play for bleed and some try to avoid it, but a lot of the time its not controllable. and some people tend to experience high bleed generally while others rarely have bleed with their characters

i was pondering why i, broadly speaking, tend to have higher bleed with my npcs than i do with my pcs, because i assume that is the opposite of a lot of people. especially coming off of a changeling the lost arc with @theresattrpgforthat that was intended to be high bleed (& succeeded!!) which is not an experience i get with pcs a ton, especially so quickly

and i think what i landed on is that i almost always create pcs and npcs with different relationships to myself according to bowman's 9 types of character-player relationships

for my npcs, i have to put pieces of myself into them intentionally from the get go because im inhabiting a lot of different people and have to have some sort of connection point to jump into these different minds in unpredictable situations as quickly and smoothly as i can. sometimes an augmented self, sometimes a regressed self, sometimes an idealized self. i take all the Me and then i hit it with a pickaxe and put the fragmented pieces into all these guys so i have tethers to the whole cast

and then of course i have to take all these fragments of myself and figure out their role in an overall story and figure out what their personas are going to be ... then they get a character sheet, if they get one at all, if the game calls for them to have one

whereas almost all of my pcs start as experimental selves. depending on the game, theyre either mechanics-forward because i want to try a funky build, or i have one Concept i want to play with that i build a whole character around. a recently divorced wolf dad guardian in wanderhome. an former-hivemind-member insectoid cult leader in starfinder. a bard/paladin who works at medieval knights orlando in 5e. sometimes i end up finding a new relationship with these characters that invites some bleed and sometimes i dont. sometimes they just stay me doing mad science with the game mechanics

which is really interesting to me as someone who really enjoys bleed and immersion, when it goes well. i didnt realize this pattern at all until i was like okay. mint asked me to make a high bleed character, why did it actually work

i definitely think there are ttrpgs that invite bleed more than others. when done intentionally, these are called 'bleed designs'. im aiming for a bleed design with spiritkeep since thats kind of the whole point. of the ttrpgs ive played (i need to count, but maybe around 17 now? multiplayer games at least), i think the two that come to mind are apocalypse keys and changeling the lost, especially in character creation. maybe thats too telling about me, though! theyre both games that very intentionally play with themes of trauma and thats a big bleed factor for me

idk ... curious to hear what yall think!! adding a poll cause why not :)

#indie ttrpgs #ttrpg community #dnd #dnd 5e

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hamilton-here · 2 months ago

Note

Hey! Do you do headcanons? If so, can you do a first time with Lewis Hamilton!

Thank you!

💫 𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝐿𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓈 𝐻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓉𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃

Authors Note: Hey lovelies. Here’s a headcanon with Lewis Hamilton (I also added some extra themes). I apologise if it’s bad, it is my first time doing a headcanon. Lots of love xx

Warnings: mentions of sexual content

Taglist: @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

🌃 Emotional Build Up: The Slow Burn Spark

• You’ve been dancing around it for weeks, the tension lingering in soft smiles, accidental brushes of hands and conversations that stay in your mind long after they’re over.

• He never pressures you. Every touch is gentle, every lingering look comes with a pause, as if waiting for your permission to move closer.

• He listens carefully when you speak, really listens. When you tell him about your past, your fears or your dreams he holds it all like it’s sacred.

• He shares, too. Late at night, over herbal tea or a quiet drink. He tells you about the loneliness that sometimes comes with fame, about how hard it is to know who’s real.

• There’s already intimacy, the kind that comes from trust, inside jokes and glances that say “I get you” without a word.

• The physical tension builds gradually. A knee brushing against yours under the table. Playfully nudging your foot when sitting. Fingertips brushing yours. His hand on the small of your back when no one’s looking. The way he always finds an excuse to sit close.

• The emotional connection lays the foundation. You don’t just want him, you want him to feel safe with you just as much as you feel safe with him.

💋 The Moment It Begins: Permission, Connection, Desire

• It starts with a look. A moment where everything else fades and his eyes say everything he’s been holding back.

• You’re sitting close on a plush hotel couch. Sharing a bottle of wine, legs touching and soft music playing in the background.

• He looks at your lips, then your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

• The kiss is slow, exploratory. A soft press of lips that deepens with each breath, until you’re leaning into him like gravity itself is pulling you closer.

• His hands cradle your face, brushing his thumbs along your jawline. Every move is full of intention and patience.

• When you move into his lap, his breath hitches but his hands stay respectful, resting at your waist with his mouth still moving carefully against yours.

• You both pull away breathless. His forehead rests against yours, and he murmurs, “Are you sure?” One last check. One last moment to say no.

🛏️ Undressing: Reverence, Tension, Control

• He carries you to the bed, arms strong, but his touch delicate like he’s afraid to rush what you’re giving him.

• Before anything else, he asks again. “Do you want this?” His voice is low, but steady. He needs to hear you say yes.

• He undresses you one piece at a time, his fingers brushing your skin with quiet awe, like he’s discovering a secret.

• Each layer reveals something new to him and he doesn’t hide how mesmerised he is. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, like it’s a thought slipping out before he can catch it.

• He kisses your skin as he goes, slow trails from your collarbone down to your stomach, always checking your reaction, pausing when your breath catches.

• You do the same for him. His shirt comes off, and you trace the tattoos you’ve only ever admired from a distance. He smiles when you linger over certain ones.

• When your hands fumble slightly at his belt, he lets out a quiet laugh and kisses your temple, “We’ve got time.”

• There’s no rush. Just the softness of skin on skin, your bodies learning one another with reverence and trust.

💌 The First Time: Sensual, Emotional, Safe

• He lays you back carefully and before anything else, he takes his time touching you. Exploring what makes your body react.

• Foreplay is not a step to him, it’s the experience. His fingers, his mouth, his voice all work together to build you up slowly.

• He’s between your thighs for a long while. Murmuring how good you taste and how beautiful you look like this. He doesn't stop until you’re shaking.

• Every time your breath hitches or your fingers grip the sheets, he pulls back just enough to ask, “You okay?” “Do you want more?”

• When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow its and deliberate. He kisses you through it, his lips trembling slightly against yours.

• He’s vocal in soft ways. A low groan in your ear. “God, you feel like heaven.” Your name, over and over, like he can’t stop saying it.

• His rhythm is steady and deep. Not rough, not rushed. Just this intimate dance of skin and sound and breath.

• He watches your face the entire time. When your body tenses around him and you break apart beneath him, he holds you like you might float away.

• His orgasm comes with your name on his lips, his head buried in your neck, his body trembling against yours.

✨Aftercare: Warmth, Reassurance, Connection

• He doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stays close, catching his breath, holding your face in his hands like he can’t believe you’re real.

•He kisses you everywhere - your shoulder, your cheek, your forehead, your hand. Small, loving gestures that say thank you without words.

• He gets up to take care of you. Warm towel, water bottle, one of his oversized shirts. He’s gentle, quiet and still a little dazed.

• He pulls you against his chest, wrapping a blanket over you both, skin warm and soft as your heartbeat slows together.

•“That wasn’t just sex,” he murmurs into your hair. “I hope you know that. I don’t just do this.”

• You talk for a while after. Whispers about how it felt, how long you’ve both wanted it, how afraid you were to lose this closeness.

• You fall asleep on his chest, your fingers tracing circles over his tattooed skin, his arms curled around you like he doesn’t ever want you to go.

• And before you drift off, he kisses your temple and says it so softly, you almost miss it “You’ve changed everything for me.”

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 imagine #lh44 x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #headcanon #f1 headcanons #f1 #x reader #f1 drivers #lewis hamilton one shot

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callsigns-haze · 10 months ago

Text

You knew? Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader! Callsign Ace

Chapter Summary: In a clever setup orchestrated by Hangman and Phoenix, Rooster and Ace, two colleagues with a tense relationship, unknowingly begin exchanging flirtatious emails under anonymous identities. As they bond over shared work frustrations, they eventually realize they’ve been emailing each other all along. The discovery leads to frustration and anger, particularly from Ace, who feels betrayed by Hangman’s manipulation. The revelation complicates their already strained relationship.

Warning: This story includes themes of manipulation and workplace tension, leading to conflicts and personal revelations.

The sun beat down on NAS North Island as jets roared across the sky, the rhythmic hum of engines echoing throughout the base. Inside the hangar, pilots and crew members moved with practiced ease, their chatter blending with the distant sound of drills.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw sat on a bench in the locker room, his flight suit unzipped to his waist. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his tousled hair, his thoughts far from the noise around him. Lately, a gnawing sense of loneliness had settled in, one he couldn't quite shake.

Just as he was lost in thought, the door swung open with a bang. Natasha "Phoenix" Trace rushed in, her boots skidding slightly on the polished floor. There was a determined look in her eyes, one Rooster knew all too well—she was on a mission.

"Rooster, got a minute?" she asked, barely giving him time to respond before thrusting a crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

He frowned, unfolding the note to reveal an email address scrawled in neat handwriting. Confusion crossed his face as he looked up at Phoenix. "What's this?"

"An email address," Phoenix replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I know you can be slow sometimes, but I didn’t think I’d have to explain that part."

Rooster rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. "I can see that. But whose?"

Phoenix crossed her arms, her expression turning serious. "Listen, I’ve seen you moping around here, and frankly, it’s pathetic. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you like this. So, I talked to a friend of mine—a good one—and got her email for you. The only rule is, you can’t ask her name. And she won’t ask for yours either."

Rooster blinked, taken aback. "You’re setting me up? Since when did you become a matchmaker?"

"Since you started acting like a lovesick puppy," Phoenix shot back, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere. "Look, just email her. No expectations, no pressure. Just talk. See where it goes."

Rooster glanced down at the email again, something about the mystery of it intriguing him. He’d never done anything like this before, and maybe that was exactly why he should give it a try.

"Alright," he finally said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I’ll do it. But if this turns out to be some weird prank, I’m coming after you."

Phoenix laughed, the tension easing between them. "Trust me, Rooster. You might actually thank me for this one. Just don’t try to figure out who she is. Let it happen."

As Rooster watched her leave, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity. Maybe this was what he needed after all—a chance to connect with someone new, without the weight of the past hanging over him.

Across the base, in another part of the hangar, Y/N Y/L/N, known by her call sign "Ace," was finishing up a maintenance check on her jet. She wiped the sweat from her brow, satisfied with the day's work, when Jake "Hangman" Seresin approached her, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Ace," he called out, waving a folded piece of paper in the air as he jogged over.

She raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. "What’s with the look, Seresin?"

He handed her the paper with a flourish, like he was presenting her with a winning lottery ticket. "Just a little something I thought you might appreciate. It’s an email address."

Ace unfolded the paper, eyeing the email address written there. "Whose is it?"

"That’s the fun part," Hangman replied, leaning against the jet with a smirk. "I know you’ve been keeping to yourself lately, and I figured you could use a distraction. So, I talked to a buddy of mine and got you this. The only rule is, you can’t ask him who he is, and he can’t ask about you. Just email him. See what happens."

Ace looked at the email address again, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Hangman said, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. "No games, no strings. Just an honest chance to connect with someone. What do you say?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket. "Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But if this is your idea of a joke, Seresin, I’m not going to be happy."

Hangman laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honour, Ace. I think you’ll like this one."

As he walked away, Ace couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. The anonymity of it, the chance to talk to someone without the usual baggage—it was intriguing. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of surprise she needed.

---

The day was winding down as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the base. The roar of jet engines had softened, leaving a quieter hum in the air.

Ace, tired but satisfied with the day’s work, was making her way out of the hangar. She was eager to get home, her mind already turning over what she might say in that first email to the mysterious address Hangman had given her.

As she rounded a corner, focused more on her thoughts than on where she was going, she collided hard with someone coming the other way. The impact jolted her back to reality, and she instinctively gripped her helmet tighter to avoid dropping it.

"Watch where you’re going!" she snapped, the words flying out before she even registered who she’d bumped into.

Rooster, equally caught off guard, scowled as he steadied himself. "Maybe you should try not walking around with your head in the clouds," he shot back, his tone sharp.

Ace narrowed her eyes at him, irritation bubbling up immediately. Rooster was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Their relationship had always been rocky—too much ego and too many unresolved tensions.

"You’re one to talk," she muttered, brushing past him. "I’m surprised you didn’t trip over your own ego on the way here."

Rooster rolled his eyes, not willing to let it slide. "Yeah, well, at least I don’t need to be constantly reminded which way is up."

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Ace turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Rooster behind with a bitter taste in his mouth. As she walked away, she could feel the tension still crackling in the air, but she refused to let it ruin her evening.

From across the hangar, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin watched the interaction unfold, exchanging worried glances. They had been casually chatting when they noticed their two targets—Ace and Rooster—heading straight for each other. Now, as they observed the icy exchange, Phoenix let out a sigh.

"Well, that went about as well as a mid-air collision," she murmured, shaking her head.

Hangman chuckled nervously, though his usual confidence was tinged with doubt. "Yeah, I’m starting to think this might have been a bad idea. They can barely be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off."

Phoenix crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe… or maybe this is exactly what they need. You know how it is—sometimes the people who push each other’s buttons the most are the ones who end up surprising you."

Hangman shrugged, though he still looked uncertain. "I hope you’re right, because if this backfires, we’re both going to hear about it for the rest of our lives."

Phoenix smirked, her confidence returning. "Trust me, Hangman. We’ve seen stranger things happen around here."

Ace slid into the driver’s seat of her car, tossing her helmet onto the passenger seat with a frustrated huff. The encounter with Rooster still lingered in her mind, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her. Not tonight.

She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with the email address, staring at it for a moment before finally unlocking her phone. With a deep breath, she opened a new message and began typing, her fingers moving more quickly as she decided what to say.

Hey there, she started, keeping it simple. I’m not sure how this whole thing is supposed to work, but I guess we’re both in the same boat. So, here’s to whatever comes next.

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send before she could second-guess herself. Leaning back in her seat, she let out a slow breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves.

Back at his apartment, Rooster had just kicked off his boots and was settling in when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw a new email notification.

Curious, he opened it and read the message, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The casual tone, the uncertainty—it was refreshing. Whoever this person was, they weren’t overthinking it, and he liked that.

Hey yourself, he typed back, his mood lightening as he responded. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

He hit send, feeling a flicker of excitement. There was something fun about the anonymity of it all—no names, no faces, just two people connecting through words.

As he leaned back, waiting to see if they’d reply, he had no idea that the person on the other end was the very same pilot he’d just butted heads with. And for now, maybe that was for the best.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace sat on her couch, feet tucked underneath her as she scrolled through her emails. The mystery contact had quickly become the highlight of her evening, a welcome distraction from the routine of her day. She opened his latest email with a sense of anticipation.

Hey yourself, it began. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

She couldn’t help but smile. There was something refreshing about this—no expectations, no judgments, just a conversation. She quickly typed a response.

Well, I guess we’re both in uncharted territory here. So, let’s start simple—how was your day?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster kicked back on his couch, his phone in hand. The quiet of his apartment felt more bearable with the company of his mystery emailer. When her reply came through, he read it with a growing interest.

Pretty standard—flew a few maneuvers, avoided crashing into anyone, and had a less-than-pleasant encounter with someone who seems to think they own the sky. You?

He chuckled to himself before typing back.

Sounds like a typical day in our line of work. As for me, I spent most of my day fixing things up and trying not to lose my patience with a certain someone who seems to thrive on pushing my buttons.

ACE’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Ace read his email and felt a spark of curiosity. The way he talked about his day sounded oddly familiar, like they might have more in common than she’d initially thought. She responded with a hint of playfulness.

Fixing things up? Sounds like we might work in the same field. My day involved some pretty similar frustrations—mostly with equipment, though a few people came close. What’s the most interesting part of your job?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Rooster raised an eyebrow as he read her reply. Was it possible they worked in the same industry? The thought intrigued him, but he decided to keep it vague.

The most interesting part? Probably the high-stakes situations. There’s nothing quite like the rush you get when everything’s on the line. What about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Ace’s curiosity deepened. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they might be closer in their professional lives than either of them realized. She replied with a smile.

I’d have to agree with that. There’s something addictive about the adrenaline, the way you have to think on your feet. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely keeps things interesting. Ever have a moment where you thought, ‘This is it, this is why I do this’?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Rooster felt a connection growing with this mystery person. The way she described the job, the adrenaline—it all resonated with him.

Definitely. There’ve been a few moments where it all comes together, and you remember why you signed up in the first place. It’s those moments that make the tough days worth it. Sounds like you know exactly what I mean.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace smiled at the screen. There was an undeniable connection between them, something that went beyond the surface.

I do. It’s the reason we keep coming back, isn’t it? The rush, the challenge. So, what’s your favorite part of the day—when you’re up there, or when you’re down here figuring it all out?

She hit send, the thrill of the conversation growing with each exchange.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her email, feeling that same thrill. It was like they were dancing around the details, both aware they were probably in the same line of work, but neither willing to say too much.

Honestly? It’s a bit of both. I love the freedom and the rush of being up there, but there’s something satisfying about the process of figuring things out down here too. You?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s heart raced as she typed her response, the anonymity of their conversation adding to the excitement.

Same here. There’s a balance to it that I love. The thrill of being in the thick of it, and the quiet satisfaction of making sure everything runs smoothly when it’s all over. I guess you could say it’s a perfect mix of chaos and control.

She sent the message, feeling more connected to this stranger than she had to anyone in a long time.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her reply, a grin spreading across his face. There was no denying it now—they were definitely in the same field. He wondered if they’d ever crossed paths without even knowing it.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. There’s something about that mix that’s just right. Maybe one day we’ll get the chance to compare notes in person—who knows?

He sent the email, his curiosity about her growing with every word.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Ace’s pulse quickened as she read his last message. The thought of meeting him, of finding out who he was, sent a thrill through her.

Maybe we will. It’s a small world, after all. In the meantime, I’m enjoying getting to know you through these little windows into each other’s lives. Who knew this would turn out to be so fun?

She sent the message, already eager to see what he’d say next.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Rooster leaned back, thinking about how surreal this all was. There was something almost magical about connecting with someone this way, without even knowing their name.

I have to admit, I’m enjoying it too. There’s something about the mystery that makes it all the more interesting. Who knows where this might lead?

He sent the message, his mind racing with possibilities. The night had turned out far better than he could have imagined.

---

The sun had barely risen over the base, casting a soft, golden light across the tarmac. Jets stood in neat rows, their sleek forms gleaming under the morning sun. The day was just beginning, but already there was a sense of energy in the air—a mix of anticipation and routine that every pilot knew well.

Ace arrived at the hangar, her steps quick and determined. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially not after the strange, unexpected thrill of the email exchange last night. She had stayed up far too late, caught up in the banter with her mystery contact, and now she was paying for it. Her mind was still partially back in that conversation, trying to piece together who the person on the other end might be.

But her focus snapped back to the present the moment she saw him.

Bradshaw was already there, leaning casually against one of the jets with that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. He was chatting with a couple of other pilots, his easy laughter carrying across the hangar. As soon as he noticed her, the smirk widened.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Rooster called out, his voice dripping with mock surprise.

Ace rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring instantly. "Some of us don’t need to parade around like peacocks just to get attention, Rooster."

He pushed off from the jet and strolled toward her, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I don’t know, Ace. A little flair never hurt anyone. But I guess subtlety isn’t really your style, is it?"

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "You wouldn’t know subtlety if it flew up and hit you in the face."

Rooster chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe not, but at least I don’t go around with a permanent chip on my shoulder. Lighten up, Ace. Not everything has to be a competition."

She stepped closer, refusing to back down. "When you’re around, everything is a competition. Or maybe you just don’t like losing."

Rooster’s eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You think I’m losing? That’s cute. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night."

Ace’s jaw clenched, her irritation now fully transformed into a burning anger. "You know what, Rooster? One of these days, that ego of yours is going to get you in trouble."

He shrugged, unbothered by her words. "Maybe. But at least I won’t be the one who’s bitter and alone because I’m too stubborn to let anything slide."

Before Ace could fire back, the sound of a nearby jet engine roared to life, signalling that it was time to get to work. She shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and heading toward her plane. Rooster watched her go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

The pilots gathered in the briefing room, a large, sterile space lined with chairs facing a wall of screens. The air was thick with the usual blend of tension and focus that accompanied every pre-flight briefing. Ace took a seat near the front, determined to focus on the mission and ignore Rooster, who had taken a seat a few rows behind her.

Phoenix stood at the front, leading the briefing with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She outlined the day’s manoeuvres and objectives, her voice calm and authoritative. But even as she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice the occasional, heated glances exchanged between Ace and Rooster.

It didn’t take long for the tension to bubble over.

Phoenix was in the middle of explaining a particularly complex manoeuverer when Rooster leaned back in his chair and spoke up, his tone casual but clearly intended to provoke.

"Some of us might need a refresher on this one. Don’t want anyone getting lost up there."

Ace stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "If you’re worried about keeping up, Rooster, maybe you should take notes."

A few of the other pilots exchanged glances, sensing the tension and doing their best to stay out of it. Phoenix sighed internally, knowing that once Ace and Rooster started, it was almost impossible to get them to stop.

"Alright, knock it off, you two," Phoenix said, her tone firm. "We’re here to work as a team, not to see who can throw the best insults. Save it for after the mission."

Ace bit back a retort, forcing herself to focus on the briefing instead of the urge to wipe that smug look off Rooster’s face. Rooster, for his part, simply leaned back and smirked, satisfied that he had gotten under her skin once again.

The day’s exercises were intense, a series of high-speed manoeuvres designed to push the pilots to their limits. Ace was in her element, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she focused on every turn, every dive. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t completely block out the presence of Rooster’s jet nearby.

Every time she checked her radar or adjusted her position, there he was—always close, always just a little too close. It felt like he was deliberately shadowing her, testing her, trying to outmanoeuvre her at every opportunity.

"Stay in your lane, Rooster," Ace muttered under her breath, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

But it was clear from his manoeuvres that he was trying to show her up. Every roll, every dive was executed with precision, as if he was daring her to do better.

Ace grit her teeth and pushed her jet harder, determined not to let him get the upper hand. She mirrored his moves, staying right on his tail as they looped and rolled through the sky. The rivalry between them burned hotter with each passing moment, the tension building until it was almost unbearable.

But no matter how hard she pushed, Rooster was right there, matching her move for move. The frustration built up inside her until she could hardly see straight, her focus narrowing to just one thing: beating him.

When the exercises finally ended and the jets returned to base, Ace felt a wave of both relief and exhaustion. She landed her jet with a bit more force than necessary, her frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

Back on the ground, the pilots gathered in the hangar to debrief and cool down. Ace was in the middle of checking her jet when Rooster walked by, a smug grin on his face.

"Looks like you were struggling a bit up there," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Ace straightened up, fixing him with a cold stare. "I wasn’t struggling. But it’s cute that you think so."

Rooster shrugged, clearly unfazed. "If you say so. Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Ace stepped closer, her frustration boiling over. "I don’t need to keep up with you, Rooster. If anything, you’re the one who’s slowing me down."

His grin widened, as if her anger was just what he’d been hoping for. "Slowing you down? Maybe you’re just not as fast as you think."

The two stood toe to toe, the tension between them crackling in the air. It was always like this—one little comment, one tiny spark, and they were at each other’s throats. Neither was willing to back down, and it was only a matter of time before one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

But before it could escalate any further, Phoenix walked over, her expression exasperated.

"Will you two knock it off already?" she said, stepping between them. "We’ve got enough to deal with today without you two bickering like school kids."

Ace took a deep breath, forcing herself to step back. Rooster, too, backed off, though the smug look never left his face.

"Fine," Ace muttered, turning her attention back to her jet. "Just stay out of my way."

Rooster gave a mock salute, his smirk still in place. "Whatever you say, Ace."

As he walked away, Ace’s frustration simmered, but she forced herself to focus on her work. She didn’t have time to let Rooster get under her skin—not when there was so much at stake.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, the tension between them was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice.

The day had been long, and by the time Ace returned to her quarters, she was exhausted. Her body was sore, her mind was racing, and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed. But as she sat on the edge of her bed, her phone buzzed with a new email notification.

She picked it up, her mood lightening slightly as she saw it was from her mystery contact. The memory of their flirtatious exchange the night before brought a small smile to her lips, a welcome distraction from the frustrations of the day.

Hey there, the email read. How was your day?

She sighed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she considered how to respond. Part of her wanted to vent about Rooster, about how infuriating he was, but she held back. She didn’t want to taint this connection with the negativity that seemed to follow her

---

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster was sprawled out on his couch, his guitar resting on his lap as he strummed absentmindedly. The buzz of his phone drew him out of his musings. He saw the email from his mystery contact and smiled, eager for a distraction from his day.

Hey there! My day was pretty intense. Spent most of it dealing with some annoying issues at work and got into a few heated exchanges. How about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his response and couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed like they were both having a tough day. She typed back, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

Intense is definitely the word for it. I had a rough day with some tricky equipment and a certain pilot who seems to think he’s invincible. But enough about me—what’s your idea of a perfect way to unwind after a day like that?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s smile widened as he read her email. Her mention of a troublesome pilot made him wonder if they might be talking about the same person, but he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he focused on her question.

Ah, a perfect way to unwind? I’d say a good jam session or maybe just kicking back with a favourite movie. Something that takes my mind off the chaos of the day. What about you? Any special routines to shake off the stress?

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace considered his response while taking a sip from her cup of tea. His laid-back approach to winding down was something she could relate to. She quickly typed her reply.

Sounds pretty good. For me, it’s usually a mix of hitting the gym or getting lost in a good book. Sometimes, a good meal with friends can do wonders too. It’s nice to have a little routine to fall back on after a hectic day.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster liked the idea of winding down with friends—it was a nice contrast to the solitary nature of his typical evenings. He began typing his response with a relaxed grin.

Sounds like you’ve got a pretty solid routine. I’ve got to say, a good meal with friends sounds like something I could use more of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, what kind of books are you into? I’m always looking for recommendations.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace’s interest was piqued by his question. She enjoyed talking about books and was happy to share her favorites.

I’m a bit of a mix—I love thrillers and mysteries, but I also have a soft spot for classic literature. Recently, I’ve been diving into some historical fiction. How about you? What’s your go-to genre?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster read her email with interest. Her love for thrillers and classic literature was something he could relate to, though his tastes leaned a little differently.

I’m a fan of thrillers myself, though I’ve been known to get into sci-fi and fantasy from time to time. It’s always nice to escape into a different world for a while. Historical fiction sounds intriguing, though. I might need to check that out.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace felt a genuine connection through their exchange. She was enjoying this conversation more than she’d expected. She responded with a hint of her playful side.

Sci-fi and fantasy, huh? That’s a pretty interesting mix. You might have to convince me that they’re worth diving into. And if you ever need a book recommendation, just let me know. I might have a few hidden gems up my sleeve.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he read her playful offer. He liked the idea of her recommending books—it felt like a little inside joke between them.

I’ll definitely take you up on that. And I’m always up for a good book challenge. Just don’t be too surprised if I end up recommending a few sci-fi classics in return. It’s all part of the fun, right?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s smile grew as she read his response. The playful banter was exactly what she needed after a long day. She decided to keep the momentum going.

Challenge accepted. I’m ready for your recommendations anytime. And who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a shared list of must-reads by the end of this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s grin widened. He liked the idea of a book exchange and was intrigued by the way their conversation was flowing. He typed his last message of the night.

Looking forward to it. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, especially after a day like today. Here’s to new books and unexpected connections. Talk soon?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace finished her tea and read his message with satisfaction. She felt a genuine connection growing and was looking forward to continuing the conversation.

Definitely. Here’s to more chats and less stress. I’ll be here.

She sent the email and closed her laptop, feeling a sense of calm settle over her. The mystery contact was turning out to be a much-needed bright spot in her hectic life.

---

The hangar was alive with the usual pre-flight activity. Rooster was inspecting his jet, but his attention kept drifting towards Ace, who was absorbed in her tablet. Her brows were furrowed, and she seemed completely engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Rooster, never one to miss an opportunity, strolled over with a casual swagger, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, Ace,” he called out, his tone light but laced with teasing. “Looks like you’re pretty absorbed over there. Texting someone special, are we?”

Ace glanced up, her expression a mix of irritation and surprise. “What’s it to you, Rooster?”

Rooster leaned in a little closer, clearly enjoying the moment. “Just curious. I saw you typing away like your life depends on it. You’ve got to be talking to someone pretty important, right? A special someone, maybe?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed as she tried to hide the screen of her tablet. “It’s none of your business. Can’t you just focus on your own stuff?”

Rooster’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so secretive. I’m just wondering if you’re setting up a hot date or maybe just chatting with a certain someone who’s been on your mind.”

Ace’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Seriously, Rooster? Not everything’s a joke. I’m just dealing with some work stuff.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying riling her up. “Work stuff, huh? If it’s work, why’re you so secretive? You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge. Or is it that you’re afraid I might find out it’s someone...well, let’s say, more interesting?”

Ace’s frustration peaked. She shoved her tablet into her bag and took a step toward Rooster, her voice low but fierce. “You’ve been on my case all morning. If you don’t back off, I swear—”

Rooster chuckled, stepping back slightly. “Whoa, calm down there. I’m just making conversation. Didn’t realize you’d be so touchy about it. Guess it’s a sensitive topic.”

Before Ace could respond, Phoenix and the other squad members noticed the growing tension. Phoenix stepped in, her expression serious. “Alright, enough. If you two can’t handle a little teasing without it escalating, I’m going to have to step in.”

Hangman and Coyote, catching the edge in Phoenix’s tone, moved closer. Coyote placed a hand on Ace’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Hey, Ace, take a breath. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Hangman approached Rooster, his expression one of mixed amusement and exasperation. “Rooster, you’re really pushing it today. Maybe give it a rest, huh?”

Ace, still seething, shook her head. “I’m done with this. I just want to get through the day without dealing with his nonsense.”

Rooster, now more subdued but still smirking, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Fanboy and Bob, who had been watching from a distance, approached to help defuse the situation. Fanboy clapped Rooster on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Bob nodded in agreement, glancing at Ace with concern. “Everyone needs to stay cool. We’ve got enough on our plates without adding personal drama to the mix.”

As the squad began to gather for the briefing, the tension between Ace and Rooster lingered, but they both knew they had to refocus. Phoenix took a deep breath, addressing the group. “Let’s all get it together. We’ve got a briefing coming up, and we need to be professional.”

Ace and Rooster, now separated by the intervention of their teammates, walked toward the briefing room, the earlier animosity still simmering but temporarily set aside. The squad’s intervention had helped to de-escalate the situation, but the morning’s drama left a mark on everyone’s mood as they prepared for the day’s mission.

---

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace slumped onto her couch, exhausted from the day’s events. Her laptop was open, and she continued her email conversation with her anonymous contact, hoping to unwind a bit. She began typing with a mix of curiosity and irritation about the ongoing mystery.

Hey,

Today was a disaster. Had a big argument with a colleague who really knows how to get under my skin. Not the best day for me. But this email exchange has been a good distraction, I guess.

How about you? How’s your day going? Anything to share?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster read her email with a smirk. He was enjoying the light-hearted banter but was curious to see if he could draw out more information. He typed back, subtly hinting at the similarities in their work environments.

Hey,

Sounds like we’ve both had our share of drama. My day wasn’t any better—had some heated exchanges with colleagues. It’s like we’re living in the same soap opera.

I’m starting to think our work situations might be more similar than we realized. Anyway, got any funny or surprising stories from your day?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his email with increasing suspicion. His description of his day seemed all too familiar. Deciding to push further, she typed her response, trying to get more clues about who he might be.

Hey,

It’s funny—your day sounds almost too familiar. I’m starting to wonder if we might be talking about the same environment. If you’re in a high-pressure job with lots of drama, I might have a pretty good guess about who you are.

Any hints?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster saw her email and felt a spark of recognition. He decided to give a direct clue to see if it would lead to an answer.

Hey,

Alright, here’s a hint: I work in a place where tensions are high and everyone’s on edge. Sounds like you might be in a similar boat. Does that help?

I’m curious—any idea who I might be?

INT. ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his clue and felt a sharp pang of realization. Her frustration from the day mixed with the sudden clarity about her correspondent’s identity. She quickly typed her response, her irritation clear in her words.

You’ve got to be kidding me. With your “high-pressure” job description, it’s pretty obvious that you’re Rooster. I should have known, I can’t believe I’ve been having these conversations with you, of all people.

This is ridiculous. And to think I was actually enjoying this exchange. I’m so done with this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s eyes widened in shock as he read Ace’s email. The realization hit him hard, and his amusement turned into frustration. He quickly typed a reply, his tone reflecting his annoyance.

Seriously? I had a feeling, but this is just perfect. So it turns out I’ve been emailing with Ace. I should have known you’d be the one on the other end. What a surprise.

I can’t believe you were getting so worked up over these emails. Great, just great. I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about now. Or maybe not.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace’s frustration flared as she read Rooster’s reply. She cursed under her breath, the realization that Rooster was behind the emails making her even more upset. She slammed her laptop shut, her annoyance with both Rooster and Hangman boiling over.

“Damn it, Rooster. And damn Hangman for setting this up!” she fumed. “This whole thing was a setup from the start.”

She paced the room, trying to calm herself. The surprise and anger of discovering her mystery contact was Rooster left her seething. The day had been a mess, and the email revelation only added fuel to the fire.

Please comment, like and reblog!

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chilling-seavey · 5 months ago

Text

Confessional (gr63) —MASTERLIST

Status: Ongoing

Dark!Pastor's Son!George Russell x Innocent!Fem!Reader ↳ Summary: George is the golden boy of the congregation and can do no wrong as the pastor’s son and purest of heart, body, and soul. After an unexpected fess up in the confessional booth, you soon come to realize that he is not as innocent as meets the eye. Yet, he is gracious enough to help be your guide to truly connect with the Word of the Lord and, of course, to help you to uphold your penance.

Thanks to all of your interest in the original fic, Confessional, I have decided to open this universe up into becoming an ongoing 'series'! You are more than welcome to send asks, questions, ideas, concepts, and anything of the sort to help bring depth to this universe and explore more of its characters. Here is a cup of Holy Water for you as you peruse this masterlist:🥤you're going to need it.

Track everything to do with this universe on my blog under the tag #⛪

Series Warnings: This universe is 18+, is very sacrilegious (although branch of religion is unspecified), and deals with very dark themes including corruption, manipulation, and using God/religious threats as a manipulation tactic. George is not a nice guy in this. PLEASE read the warnings on each piece of writing for specific warnings. This fic universe is not for everyone. Do not read if you are not comfortable with dark sexual themes.

Fics ♡ - includes smut

Confessional ♡ ↳ George is the golden boy of the congregation and can do no wrong as the pastor’s son and purest of heart, body, and soul. You find yourself fantasizing about ruining each other's purity more than anything, although little do you know, after an unexpected fess up in the confessional booth, he’s not as innocent as meets the eye

In the Eyes of God ♡ ↳ After your salacious rendezvous with George that led to you praying away your sins for a week, you find yourself unintentionally avoiding him at the church’s pancake breakfast. But the truth always comes out one way or another when God is in the picture, and you just so happen to be so lucky as to have a generous guide into the world of sin and forgiveness.

Blurbs etc. ♡ - includes smut

Proverbs 27:4

The Highest

Their Future (ramble of thoughts)

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

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vortexbloom · 5 months ago

Note

need a yandere phainon so much

Of course !

I already made some Yandere Headcanons for him, so I decided to write a OneShot :3

Unbound Obsession (OneShot)

Pairing: Yandere Phainon x Reader

Fandom: HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessiveness, Stalking

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Marvel

Boycott List

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters !

Have fun reading this :D

Art by: @illix233 on X (Twitter)

Phainon had always admired you from afar, your beauty, your kindness, your very essence drawing him in like a moth to a flame. But admiration soon turned into something darker, something obsessive.

It all started on one fateful day when your eyes met across the room. It was innocent at first, a passing glance, a momentary connection, but to Phainon, it was a spark. It ignited a fire in his chest, a fire that could never be extinguished. He began to watch you more closely, studying your every movement, your every word. He knew where you would be, what you would do, who you would speak to.

At first, he tried to be subtle. He would show up at places you frequented, pretending it was mere coincidence. A smile here, a soft greeting there. But as time passed, his actions became more bold, more possessive. He was always there, lurking in the shadows, just a step behind you, waiting for the perfect moment to claim you as his own.

He started sending gifts, flowers, trinkets, tokens of his affection, but none of them were ever enough. You never seemed to notice, never seemed to appreciate the lengths he would go to. That only fueled his obsession. He began to track your every move, learning your routines, discovering your likes and dislikes. Each new piece of information brought him closer to the conclusion that you two were meant to be together—forever.

And then came the day when he finally confessed.

It was a quiet evening, the world outside shrouded in darkness, the air thick with tension. He had orchestrated the perfect moment, knowing they would be alone. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing as Phainon stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity.

"I’ve been watching you," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I’ve been waiting for you to realize that we belong together. No one else matters. Just you and me."

Your heart raced, a chill creeping up you spine as you took a step back. But Phainon was quick, grabbing your wrist, his grip tight, unyielding.

"You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his lips curling into a smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I’ll make sure no one can take you from me. You’ll never leave my side."

His words were both a promise and a threat, a chilling combination that sent a cold sweat down your neck. But Phainon didn’t care. In his mind, this was fate. This was the way things were meant to be. And nothing, nothing would stand in his way.

From that day forward, you would never be free again. Phainon’s obsession consumed him entirely. His love was suffocating, possessive, and there was no escaping it. He was always watching, always waiting, and no matter how much you tried to run, Phainon would always find a way to bring you back into his twisted, unrelenting embrace.

Because, to him, there was no other choice. You were his. Forever

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

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seungrem · 1 year ago

Text

lee felix x m!reader

‘Work Husband’ ~*+

summary: Transitioning into a new department can be tough. Luckily, male!reader’s new boss pairs him and Felix together- the two almost immediately having great chemistry. Work-relationships almost always develop into something more, right?

( overview: office AU, soft-top!felix since u guys want it so bad, bottom!reader, smut obviously, protection and all of that, bj + anal, discreet/hidden but in office )

emoji theme:

🪐 ( office AU )

+❄️ ( +18, mdni )

🌱 ( short fic, oneshot - barely 1k words )

☁️ ( = y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you join us here.. and I’m sorry about your former office.”

A large wooden desk with a few tan files sat inbetween ☁️ and his new boss. Shedding beams into the room, the sun’s golden rays illuminated the frosted glass surrounding the two. ☁️ shook his head lightly, him then smiling at the older woman.

“It’s no problem. As long as this department isn’t anything like the other, this’ll feel like a promotion.” ☁️ brushed his hand against his navy blue sweater and sighed. “Thank you for having me.”

“Like you said, this is kind of like a promotion. I expect great things from you.” The boss stood up as a soft knock erupted from outside of the office. A man with long-ish blonde hair walked in and smiled- first at the boss, and then to ☁️.

“This is who you’ll be assisting. Felix will give you written pieces and ask for revisions until he sees that it’s fit to be published. Unfortunately, we are short staffed by choice, so the work load will be a lot. Please keep up with the given tasks and their deadlines. Felix?”

☁️ turned his head back to the man.

“Hello, nice to meet you. My name is Lee Felix and I’ll be taking care of you. I look forward to working with you.”

☁️ simply smiled and spoke a shy “hello,” as he stood up. “I’m ☁️, it’s nice to meet you as well.” He then thanked the boss for her time and followed Felix out of the room.

“Behave, Felix!” The boss shouted as ☁️ stepped out of the room behind the man. He followed Felix down the left side of the large room, stopping at a set of cubicles that sat against a wall of windows. Started from the floor and touching the ceiling, the view displayed a bustling city. The cubicle was light gray and quite large, with a grey laptop located on the desk inside. Felix walked in and pulled out the large cushioned chair, and looked around awkwardly.

“So.. this is where you’ll be spending a majority of your day. Since it’s so spacious there’s only two cubicles located against the wall on this side of the room. My area is directly in front of yours.” He pointed over the cubicle wall. “If you ever need anything, please just walk over or.. just look over it. Sound good?” Felix explained, his voice soft yet sonorous.

☁️ nodded and smiled bashfully. Felix was remarkably good-looking, which was unusual for an office setting such as this one. The man was pretty much ☁️’s type, too, making him even more nervous than he already was.

“Yes. Thank you, Felix.”

Felix smiled and nodded to the man before leaning against the cubicle’s entrance. He dug his hands beside his white button-up and down into his black pant’s pockets, waiting for ☁️ to sit down before responding.

“Of course. I’ll let you get used to the office before I ask you to do work.”

☁️ acknowledged what he said by nodding and smiling.

After Felix left, ☁️ opened the new computer and typed in his passcode information. For some reason, the office wifi wouldn’t connect, though. After trying for another minute, he stood up and peered over the wall to see a sitting felix.

“Felix?” ☁️ asked, his nose just barely peaking over the wall. Felix smiled and stood up to look over the wall as well.

“What’s up, love?” He asked, placing a hand on the edge to support his weight. ☁️ was initially taken aback by the pet name, but ultimately didn’t mind.

“I can’t get onto the wifi for some reason. Is there a different one that you use?”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I guess our tech guy forgot to set that up for you. Jisung always forgets.”

☁️ watched a Felix closed his computer and then made his way back over to his cubicle. As a result, the man sat back down and perked his back up to fixed his posture. Felix strolled in after a few seconds and leaned into ☁️’s computer, his body softly brushing against the man’s shoulder. ☁️ couldn’t take his eyes off of Felix’s side profile as he typed into the computer.

“All right, you’re all set.” He cooed, brushing against ☁️ once again. As Felix was about to leave the cubicle, ☁️ shot up and grabbed his hand. Surprised, he stopped and turned around, still holding ☁️’s hand.

“Sorry if this is weird to ask, but..” ☁️ paused and tilted his head. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Oh, no.. not really my type if you know what I mean..”

“Oh okay.. then do you have a significant other- or something?” ☁️ asked.

“No,” Felix smiled and tightened his grip on ☁️’s hand. “but I think I kinda have a crush.”

☁️ knew exactly what he meant and mentally blushed. “Same here. Maybe we could go out sometime?”

“For sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“Would you wanna.. come to my place?”

Felix looked to the side, and then back to ☁️. “We don’t have to wait. Here, follow me.” He said, leading ☁️ into a storage room a few feet away from their work areas. Though the lights were extremely dim as the two hurried in, ☁️ could see the many drawers, bulletin boards, and spare furniture. Felix lightly closed the frosted door and somehow locked it from the inside, him then turning his attention to ☁️. He grabbed ☁️’s hands and held them in his own.

“Do you mind?” Felix asked as he raised one of the man’s hands to his mouth, kissing it. ☁️ shook his head and wrapped his arms around Felix’s neck, Felix reacting by guiding ☁️’s back into the wall behind him. ☁️ pushed Felix’s head forward, allowing the man’s lips to meet his own. Felix’s hands ran down ☁️’s torso, then settling on his hips as ☁️ began french kissing. Felix’s grip on the man’s waist tightened the deeper they kissed, with Felix’s bulge now rubbing against ☁️’s. A few seconds later, Felix pulled away from ☁️- strands of his blonde hair having fallen over his eyes.

“Come over here.” Felix instructed, using a hand to drag ☁️’s wrist over to a small table sitting against the wall. Felix gently pushed ☁️’s shoulder down as he leaned back on the table, leaving ☁️ to fall onto his knees. With a growing bulge right in front of his face, it was only natural for ☁️ to begin unbuttoning the man’s pants.

“Ah.. you’re excited, aren’t you?” Felix teased, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He ran a finger through ☁️’s hair as the man exposed his dick print, ☁️ then pulling the pants down to Felix’s ankles. Felix began unbuttoning his white top as ☁️ stroked the man’s boner through his gray underwear.

“Can I take it out?” ☁️ asked, continuing to caress it. Felix finished unbuttoning his top, displaying sculpted abs much to ☁️’s liking.

“Go ahead.”

☁️ slowly pulled the man’s underwear down, not anticipating getting smacked by his length.

“Oh, sorry.” Felix laughed. ☁️ rolled his eyes and smiled, him then beginning to stroke Felix’s cock, the man softly whimpering as he did so. ☁️ grinned at the reaction, placing Felix’s dick inside of his mouth and slowly throating it. He leisurely bobbed his head up and down as Felix threw his head back, practically moaning out now.

After a few seconds of steady swallowing, Felix quickly grabbed ☁️’s head and yanked it back. His dick fell out of the man’s mouth dripping in saliva.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to finish yet.” Felix said, kneeling down to match ☁️’s eye level. “Can I get some of this too?” He whispered as he got closer to ☁️, him then reaching behind the man and squeezing his ass.

“Oh, do you have a condom?”

Felix reached behind him and magically pulled out a wrapped condom and a tiny bottle.

“Of course.”

☁️ furrowed his eyebrows and muttered an “alright.” as he followed Felix’s action of standing up. Felix’s skinny dick was still hard and poking out in front of him. Pulling his own pants and underwear off with quickness, ☁️ placed a hand on Felix’s chest.

“You can sit or lay on the table if you’d like, or you can-”

“You should let me do the work.” ☁️ murmured, softly pushing Felix back. Felix smiled and nodded, sliding back to sit on the table. He rolled the condom over his dick as ☁️ climbed on top of him, the man placing his knees beside each of Felix’s thighs. Waiting for him to pour the liquid onto his dick, ☁️ wrapped an arm around Felix’s neck- the man’s chest inches from Felix’s face.

“Alright, go ahead.” Felix muttered, placing his hands on ☁️’s waist and guiding the man down onto his cock. As his pink tip slipped in, ☁️ moaned out and tightened his grip around Felix’s neck.

☁️ now sat entirely on Felix’s dick, moaning softly as he took his time to undulate on it. The two huffed and whimpered as ☁️ began moving steadily on Felix’s dick, with ☁️’s chest still inches from the man’s mouth.

“That’s good.” Felix whispered, his eyebrows furrowed and his ajar lips producing silent moans. ☁️ felt Felix’s lips on his nipple a second later, him sucking and licking as the man bounced. ☁️ sped his undulating form up as Felix moved his hands down to ☁️‘s ass. Guiding him up and down even faster, ☁️ quickly became overstimulated. His knees buckled and he fell into Felix, who pulled away from the man’s nipple and placed his chin into ☁️’s neck.

“Can you keep going?” Felix hummed into ☁️’s ear, rubbing up and down his waist as he waited for an answer. After another few seconds, ☁️ pulled away from Felix and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah, you can keep going.”

Felix nodded, pulling ☁️ into him and wrapping both of his arms around ☁️’s waist. As Felix began thrusting softly into him, the man wrapped both arms around Felix’s neck. Felix grunted as his thrusts picked up in speed, filling the room with the sounds of clapping and ☁️’s whimpers. Both of their moans hummed in each other’s ears, pushing the two to the brink of finishing.

Felix continued shoving the man onto his dick despite feeling ☁️’s knees buckle for a second time. As ☁️ felt his leaking dick brush against Felix’s rough abs, he threw his head back and gasped. He ejaculated, painting Felix’s abs in a glistening white liquid. The man thrusting into him noticed, and became even more turned on, using all of his force to drill into ☁️.

“I-I’m cumming.” Felix gasped. After a few more seconds of harsh and sloppy thrusting, Felix forced ☁️ onto the entirety of his length, filling the boy up with his semen.

The two breathed heavily in front of each other before Felix fell back onto the table, pulling ☁️’s arm as he did so. ☁️ fell on top of him, his energy drained. The man pulled Felix’s dick out of him and slid the condom off, bringing it in front of him so that he could tie it and throw it aside.

“I would’ve lasted longer if you weren’t so cute.” Felix muttered, stroking ☁️’s arm as the two laid still.

“It’s okay, there’s always next time.”

“Yeah.. and I’ll be sure to take you out to dinner beforehand.”

☁️ chuckled at the comment, planting a kiss on Felix’s puckered lips. “I’d like that.”

“I would too, love.”

a/n: writing smut is saurrr boring but i hope u guys like this lil top felix moment. i still think he’s cuter as a bottom lolll :,)) alsoo lowkey im desperately waiting for someone to request an indie movie plot so i can write smth cute, request awayyy!

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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midnight1nk · 2 months ago

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So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

Man I tell you, another heavy day in my production job. And on top of that, pollen season. There goes my allergies smh. Well, at least I get bit of a break, have some food with me, and I can finally watch today's episode. Let's see what we got! *sees thumbnail* 😶 .....I haven't even pressed on the video and my theorist senses are tingling already

"wait what?"

Alright, so I'm going to need you to follow along with me here, cool? Now, doesn't 4's pose seem familiar to you? Well, it should because that's exactly the same pose as the ringmaster 4 render from the early version of the WOTFI website. We all know it was really Mr Puzzles behind it all.

And now look at the ads! It certainly feels very similar to what happened in the "Mario PC Virus" episode, and y'know how I already pointed out how it could connect to the goop!4 theory. BUT y'know what other video had ads?

That's suspicious. That's sus. 💅 /ref

"Don't you think it's Ben trolling again? Or just taking creative liberties?"

No bc the thing is, it's the thumbnail and it's the Team who gave him the prompt in the first place. Ofc Ben can take creative liberties, but essentially it has to follow the prompt. How have I not started the episode yet?! *turns to the Team* I'm watching you.... /silly

(the following is my live reaction:)

and there's our beloved intro *claps like an excited lil kid*

A convention? oooooh

LOOK AT THEM AAAAA

ofc 3 talking about his villain self 😌↕️

Clench being a VTuber was not on my bingo card but honestly, good for him (and I do love Tari sticking out from the table hehe)

and MELONY! you got what Axol's been working on, Two Piece. Gotta love the continuity, dude. The cover looks great!

Melony: "At least, I hope so..." 🥺 Oh honey, Axol would've been so proud of you and what you've done. I can already imagine him singing praises to it and say "look at what my girlfriend and I have done! :D"

YES, let's spread the word!! ofc Mario and 4 would help, they care so much about their friends

ngl Mario's got a good tactic.

and there goes 3's eye lol (don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4)

*wii sports theme plays*

YES YES YES oh I'm so here for it

look at them go :D

nahnahnah, Team. You think you can do a speed-up moment and for me not to pause it frame by frame? smh /silly

luckily for the rest of yall, I got you:

and yes, it did have some repeats that I think they're very interesting: "turns you muscular SUPER chad", "makes you rich", "become SWAG", "get your a bunch of friends", "become a member of society", "become a SIGMA", get a romantic partner ("girlfriend" (the one with Mario) or "boyfriend", "you WON'T NEED SLEEP", "become AWESOME"/"RESPECTED"

Ofc it could just be how much 4 wants to emphasize the benefits of getting the manga. But it certainly feels strange, doesn't it? *writing notes down like a madman*

also a win for the skittle squad

and ay, it's got 4's stamp of approval!! (curious that the Team used the old model instead of current one 🤔)

hehe look at 4 pouting while he sits 💙

SMG4: "This is how it works!" 4, bud, are you ok?

ok first off, WE GOT THE OG 4 MODEL BACK?! WHAT? and two, Mario has a point. 4 is taking things too far and really needs a wake-up call. I have a feeling as to why 4 may be acting this way....

oh. oh okay.

So they decided to bring parallels to show how much 4 and Mario's fighting is affecting her/reminding her of her family separating. Hmm. Alright, Team, which one of you decided to strike that dagger into my heart? 😭 /lh

And Mario walked away just like Melony's mom did *head in hands*

and that's 4 alright. He would say that "everything's fine" when it's clearly not smh

4, buddy no :(

SMG3: "The real villain is society..." Well you ain't wrong, 3

Wait a second. Enhance..... enhance.....

I see what you did there, Shadow 😌↕️

love that Toad's like right here too

OMG was that 4's "date" from the "Find Luigi" episode? IT IS.

I'm tell yall, 4 has a secret art account and is selling his work as merch/prints. I mean, c'mon

NO 4, people were waiting for Silksong for decades naurrrr

oh Melony, my girl :(

*pauses episode* ........they did not just do that. I'm rewinding that moment 2/3 times now, what do you mean I was right about my suspicions? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY JUST BROUGHT BACK IGBP?!

I need to walk away. I need to leave the room, do a cartwheel and dive into a lake, bc HUH?!

okok, let's breathe. goop!4 is gonna happen, and this is not just a "haha Ink is a crazy lil theorist wishing for this to happen". The fact that he said "nowadays" means that the situation is affecting him too. Ofc it would, that's his livelihood, his WHOLE PURPOSE as a meme guardian. But, other than that, it makes sense why he's doing this (I'll talk about it soon)

Mario: "SMG4, you're better than this! You've done enough damage." 😨 holy shit. it's like I got shot through the heart WTF. I might just cry in this episode

who keeps punching me in the FEELSSSSS 😭 poor Melony, those guys were absolute jerks smh (desperate times do call for desperate measures *ready to make swiss cheese*)

*head in hands* :(

at least they can apologise

*points at screen* hehe that's me :) I'm just a reporter

did I hear the peanut gallery audio from ace attorney? 👀 (<- ace attorney fan, don't mind Ink)

The Crew came? 🥹

EVEN SHROOMY?

OUGH that got to me, dude. They all came to support her and enjoyed the manga. I'm tearing up, dude.....

what did I say? Melony may have not had both parents as they were separating, lost Axol to the events of the Genesis/Revelations arc, was betrayed by who she thought was a friend who understood her, and despite it all, she's been so strong. Having friends, her found family...

man, this hit me hard and it's not even from the allergies, I tell you that

the truest supporters are the ones who care

this episode wants me dead /very pos

what's the lesson, Mario?

SMG4: "Is that we shouldn't care so much about fame and profit and instead be proud of our friend's work? No matter how successful it is?" yeah pretty much... "No"? wdym "no"?

....nahnahnah, you can't end the episode there, what the hell do you mean by that?

You can't close it off like that! What about my suspicions!? You can't just move on like that in front of my theorist self, c'mon!!

sitcom laugh track and everything, smh /silly

Congrats to SteveAlexAri12 for your art being featured in the end credits for this episode 🎉 cool art of WPNZ

um. Team, any particular why? just asking /j

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Wow, this. This was absolutely fantastic omg. The writing in this was so good and I loved the tidbits of animation we got, like when Mario and 4 were picking up the pages to clean! This was somehow brilliant, and this is coming from a long-time viewer.

It' crazy's awesome that they brought Wolfychu back to do some lines this episode, and I was right about the Waggy cameo from Shadow (YES!). Also, EVAN! You make the cover of the manga? It looks SO GOOD, dude!! As always, great work with the writing on your end 👏

I've already mentioned Melony but we have to talk about the boys. Both Mario and 4 had good intentions to help their friend out. "I would do anything to not lose my friends" and that's exactly what 4 did. The algorithm has been affecting him so much that he didn't want Melony to go through it either. So, he went overboard with the crazy advertising and such, but he still cared for his friend. And a touch of self-doubt and insecurity from IGBP is back because he thought he wasn't doing enough. What good of a friend is he if he can't help out? The savior complex in him would say that he isn't good enough to help Melony, to "save" her from the low viewer retention. That he isn't enough, so he went desperate to have anyone take a copy of the manga. This isn't just about selling a book, it's that he's worth the friendships he has and they can always come to him if they need anything.

He doesn't want to lose them.

Ofc Mario cares so much about 4, they've known each other for years. Best of friends. If anything, Mario would know everything's not fine with 4's actions and thoughts in general. It's why the line, "SMG4, you're better than this! You've done enough damage" from Mario to 4 hits so hard. 4 was back to the "None of you understand the work I do" moment from Mar10, relapsing, and Mario needed to remind 4 of his true self, the one that cared for his friends without perfections. That instead of helping as 4 sees it, 4 was hurting Melony unintentionally, and he has to open his eyes to see that. Two sides, indeed.

Curious that the episode ended with the not "go cuckoo crazy" lesson instead of what 4 said. Goop!4 would eventually happen, bc at this point, yes. But what Mario said is exactly what 4's mindset is rn. 4 is bottling up his emotions and trauma and as long as he doesn't think about it for too long, everything's fine. As long as he doesn't reach that breakpoint, he's fine. In some way, he learned his lesson after IGBP but not quite. For one, he still doubts himself with the guilt of IGBP on top of it. And two, nothing is letting him move on from his trauma. His in-universe audience isn't letting him, Puzzles during WOTFI wasn't letting him, the memories he's been suppressing wasn't enough.

Why does he go through the extreme? Bc he thinks that it would solve everything for him. Like how he locked Puzzles in prison, thinking that Puzzles would remain there when we all know a prison escape is bound to happen. Like the Meme Factory itself was an elaborate trap. Whatever it takes to protect himself emotionally, as he's under the line from having a meltdown, he's fine. But what is that line? What is his breaking point? The thing is he wouldn't known, as shown in this episode, thinking he would still fix it. Everything's fine, he's fine.

And y'know what the cherry on top is? That, other than 4 and Mario enjoying the manga, Boopkins and Luigi were the first to be interested in Melony's creation, regardless of popularity. Very representative of Kevin irl and the deeper significance of IGBP.

....whoops sorry, I went on rambling for too long. I mean, c'mon, you should know the drill by now *points at bio*. If anything, this episode is the biggest piece of evidence for the goop!4 theory, I'm sure our local co-CEO of the theory Funkii (hey moot!) and other goop!4 enthusiasts would agree, YESSIR. Overall, this was such a sweet episode and I can't wait for more. That's all from me, and remember: numbers always go first!

*taps mic* ...well chat, how do we feel knowing that the star trio all canonically wore maid outfits? (well technically Madoka outfits from 4 & Mario but still)

#smg4 #smg4 spoilers #smg4 mario #smg4 melony #ink reviews #WE ARE SO BACKKKK #oh I'm having a FIELD DAY with this one :)#also ben. I gotta ask: what was the prompt for the thumbnail? y'know just asking and totally not bc of theory reasons :3

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sweetimpurity · 8 months ago

Text

💓 day 23!! I have been waiting for this one and the next three days!! this is a continuation of THIS sweet thought that everyone was asking for a part 2 of!

So the next three days are gonna be a mini series off of that!! I recommend reading that before you read this so it makes sense!

cw: yandere themes, obsession

PART 1

Earth-731

Mig’s been watching you for months. Managed to tap into the feed of multiple Miguel’s across the multiverse. Connections to his dimension are tricky since a rogue anomaly came a while back and threw off the timeline only slightly. So things are glitchy. He feels glitchy all the time. Like there’s a flicker in his head and in his bones. Searching for the thing that would make everything right again, make him feel okay, and he can only look to you. Perfect you. You don’t exist in his timeline. Yet in almost every other dimension, you’re there with a version of him that’s much luckier than he’s ever been.

It’s obsessive at this point. He watches you all day long. Watching you with your Miguel. Or rather watching you get left behind. He watches Miguel-928 miss out on important events, forget anniversaries and birthdays, watches you going to bed alone for nights at a time. But he also watches the good times, the nights in, date nights you two share together, the laughs, the love. Forcing himself to turn the feed off when it seems your version of him will get even luckier.

It’s torture. To have fallen for you when he’s never even spoken to you before. But you love him in another timeline right? So why couldn’t you love him in this one?

“Hah…” He sighs, running fingers through his hair and getting up from his seat. Pacing around his office in Alchemax. In this dimension, he’s not the leader of the Spider Society. He’s a geneticist working for a tyrant CEO in a bright sterile lab in Nueva York. And not a single person knows of his genetic predisposition.

He wakes up, goes to work, overworks, goes home, checks the police feed he’s hacked into and listens to where he’s needed. Going out in the night to catch crooks and criminals because that’s all he can do. He hasn’t been able to figure out how to jump dimensions since the anomaly left his timeline glitching and cut off. But religiously he watches back a video feed he captured of another Miguel on Earth-378, constructing a portal generator.

Since he doesn’t have the instructions himself, he’s dissected and analyzed this video over and over for months. Trying to copy it to the letter and make a portal generator of his own so he can finally get out of this place. He’s collected parts and worked countless hours in his apartment trying to make this work.

Originally his destination in mind was anywhere but here. But ever since he found you while combing through multiversal feeds, he knows you’re his first stop. He’s taking you with him no matter where he goes. Your Miguel doesn’t treat you right anyway.

Heading home, he stumbles through the door carrying a new discarded piece of machinery from work. There’s a circuit board with a specific wiring he thinks will be the right piece for the generator. Lugging it down the hallway to the spare bedroom which is now his makeshift lab. His half constructed generator on a bench there. Putting the piece down and flicking a few switches to bring the lab to life. Lights flickering on and some machines humming. Multiple screens on his computer awaken and he walks right over to one, scanning his fingerprint. Pushing up his glasses and typing on the screen to bring up the feed labeled with your name. Pressing on it and tuning in to see what you’re doing.

He sits down, focusing on the screen and zooming out to see you’re still at work in your dimension. Looking so pretty and perfect. His heart flutters just seeing you after the long day he’s had. He wishes he could talk to you.

He sits at his desk, fiddling with the machine to remove the parts and watching the feed like TV. Listening to your voice through the screen and seeing you leave work, street cameras picking up your route home. His eyes lock on any suspicious characters on the street and making sure you get there safely. Even though he’s dimensions away, he always watches to make sure you get home safe.

And almost like it’s his favorite part of the movie, he leans forward, waiting for the surveillance in your apartment to pick up your expression as you enter the door. A smile on his face, admiring you adoringly at that relief in your expression. That gladness he knows you feel being home after a long day. It’s a good thing your Miguel installed all that surveillance in the apartment. Because now he can watch you worlds away. He’d probably do the same thing if he knew if could keep you protected.

The night goes on and clearly your Miguel isn’t coming home until late again. Most likely on patrol all day or at the Society Headquarters like he always is. Hardly seeing you at all in a day. Mig watches you make dinner for yourself. He watches you watch a show for a while, listens to you singing to yourself as you do the dishes, watches the bathroom door when you’re taking a shower and then switches the feed to the empty kitchen while you’re getting changed in the bedroom. All the while he’s working on removing the pieces from this machine, finally getting it undone by the time you’re calling your Miguel to ask when or if he’ll be home tonight. You’re already in your pajamas ready for bed and he’s not even back yet.

“Shit… damn it..” Mig huffs when the circuit board doesn’t fit where he needs it. All that work and now he’ll have to find a different piece in scrap somewhere. He sighs, forcing himself not to chuck the piece across the room, instead discarding it calmly in the junk metal bin. He huffs, sitting down at his desk and running his hands through his hair again. He stays that way for a few minutes. He’s tired.

Sitting with his head in his hands and hearing the sounds of you getting ready for bed. His eyes closed and listening to you brush your teeth, wash your face, do all the things he watches you do every night. And then the sheets when you’re getting in bed. Feeling heavy himself.

Your moans fill his ears, infiltrating his mind. Your body which could only be soft and warm and plush. Under him and accepting him over and over. His cock hugged and loved through your tight walls, his tip kissing your sweet spot every single time. Making you tremble, making you moan for him. Moaning his name. “Mmmmiguel!” You gasp and it makes him shiver. His face dipping into your neck and inhaling your scent which he can only imagine is so sweet and pleasant.

Finding your hands with his and lacing his fingers with yours. Hands entwined above your head, as close as he’s always yearned to be. Pumping you full with everything he’s been keeping for you. Your cunt he’s longed to taste, to fill. Your sweet soft skin he’s needed to kiss and bite. Kissing down your jaw, your neck, your sternum and finding your perked mound, sucking the hardened nip into his mouth and sucking. Drawing the sweetest, most erotic sounds from your lips he can even imagine. Your shaking legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper, is that’s even possible. Like he could never be separated from you. Even though he’s never not been separated from you before.

“Oh please Mig!” You sigh, and he looks up at your face, your features quirked in pleasure. He keeps with the rhythm, knowing it’s bringing you pleasure, bringing you closer to orgasm. And he wants to feel you come apart on him. He’s wanted it for so so long.

“Come on sweet girl…” He whispers, but the sound doesn’t leave his chest. It rumbles but it stays. Like the words won’t reach the air.

He shakes awake when his elbow knocks a tool off his desk. The metal clanking and ringing through the room. “hah!” He flinches, lifting his head from where it was resting in his hands. Having fallen asleep watching you sleep. It was a dream. No it was a tease. His mind taunting him with what he will never have.

Except your moans don’t cease. They don’t stop. That’s not in his head. He looks up at the screen. Seeing the time, trying to decipher what’s going on. Your desperate cries coming in through the monitor. And there you are in bed. Your Miguel finally returned home from wherever he was all day ignoring you. The two of you having loud sex under the blankets. He’s confused. Caught off guard. Slamming a few buttons and shutting the feed off. That’s enough taunting for one night.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

plus those who requested a part 2:

@d3stin7 @laysmt @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @marshhbs

@twwcs @resident-clown @haveclayeveryday

@fullmetal-spiderling @grumpyahjumma

@lxverrings @lazyjellyfish300

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blainesebastian · 12 days ago

Text

yours

word count: 13,918 ship: guy thwarte x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut, suggestive language and expletives) summary: You know that some of society thinks the same things about Guy that your father does--that he's easy, likeable, charming…but not 'good enough' to be called someone's. Yours. You can't think of anything that feels less true. notes: the romantic in me needed this to happen haha there's something about period piece romances that do something to me 🥹 it'll probably be just this one fic, but i really enjoyed writing it! thanks to anyone who gives it a shot! appreciate you 🥰 notes2: gifs from here, nick leister masterlist here!

April.

Drawing in a deep breath, you look out over the property that’s been in your family’s name for generations. This is one of your favorite spots, under a large, looming tree, spreading out behind a small lake, the sounds of bug song trilling in your ears. Leaning back against the trunk of that tree, you fiddle with the bodice of your dress, your thoughts spinning through your mind like unstitched yarn.

The realization has finally settled in today that your big sister is taking over the family name. Or rather, the family responsibility—because nothing truly belongs to a woman. Not when they’re married.

Especially if the man is a brute.

You lost your mother at a young age, barely remember her other than the smell of flowers and the mustiness of books. Duty has weighed heavily on you and your sister’s shoulders ever since because, after all, finding a suitable and wealthy husband is no easy feat. Since you’re younger, Cassandra has shouldered most of that task, showing herself off at countless luncheons, parties, events and balls like a butterfly spreading beautiful wings. You’ve always hated things like that, have overheard far too many men who’d be more than happy to pin those wings into place and never let her fly free again.

Despite knowing this, your sister has never minded—would smooth your hair away from your face during early hours of the morning and speak of marriage as if it was a contract. As if it didn’t matter whether she loved someone or not.

You’re not sure how to live that way.

And yes, you might be the younger sibling, but you’re still expected to marry one day, your father will still have the final say. You love him, unsure what you and your sister would do without him, but it’s times like this that you miss your mother.

You miss what could have been, what might be, you miss the assuredness of comforting words and sage advice.

Maybe then you might be able to tell Cassandra that there has to be a better way than to end up with Louis. Lord or not, must she be expected to sacrifice everything? Even her wellbeing?

Running a hand along your forehead, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a branch break in the distance, shattering your concentration. Your gaze whips over your shoulder, heartbeat thundering in your ears, and then draw in a breath when you realize it’s Guy.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” The hand that was resting on your chest slides down your dress.

A small smile teases the corners of his mouth as he comes to stand beside you, “My apologies. Never my intention,” He angles his body a little towards your own, “After all, if you perished, who would I speak to about the dreaded theme Lady Brightlingsea will no doubt put together for her next ball?”

You hum lightly, a warmth returning to your chest that felt dwindled before, “I’m sure you’d manage.”

“Unlikely.”

You turn a little, your eyes drinking in the profile of your neighbor. Your family and the Thwartes have lived on the same land for a long time, this tree and small lake a connecting feature for both the households. As long as you can remember, Guy has always been there. Someone who you dearly call a best friend, a confidant…a secret feeling. You can’t recall when something shifted between the two of you, only that it did, seeing him somehow as you always have and brand new all at the same time.

He’s always had a solid frame—though you’re certain that has less to do with physicality and more with how dependable Guy is. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved button shirt rolled up to his elbows, a navy blue waistcoat buttoned overtop. It’s simple, plain, paired with black slacks, and yet it just highlights the trim lines of his body. You linger on his face for what feels like far too long, eyes different shades of brown thanks to the daylight surrounding them, scruff along his chin, trimmed and orderly, tight curls kissing his forehead.

A sight to behold, for sure.

There’s warm amusement as he catches you looking, motioning to the lake in front of you both. “Hiding out?”

Chewing on your lower lip, you shrug, pushing yourself up from leaning on the tree, “No. What gave you that impression?”

He smiles a little, as if you can’t hide anything from him. Maybe you can’t. “Because you’re here. You usually only end up at the lake when something is wrong. Or you need space.” He takes a step closer to you, the fabric of his shirt brushing your arm, “And given that you haven’t told me to leave—”

You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes. Through yours. And you visibly swallow, straightening your shoulders,

“This is your spot too.” You’re not about to ask him to leave.

Guy is quiet for a few moments, his hands interlocking behind his back. “Your father came to the house looking for you. Obviously I have no idea where you are.”

Your lips twitch, “Obviously.”

“Clearly.” He agrees and then smiles again, more earnestly. He leans into you, gently bumping his shoulder into your arm. “Is it about your sister?”

“Isn’t it always?” You ask wryly, though that comment feels unfair, especially since you know Cassandra is relatively fine in the situation she has found herself in.

She bears that responsibility with grace, far better than you ever could. Not to mention, you think she likes it, the show and dance of it all, the attention, the future laid out before her in even and expected stepping stones. Maybe it’s easy for her because she’s known all along where her destiny would take her, she’s been preparing for it her entire life.

It’s not as simple for you to swallow. Especially since marriage has always seemed like such a far-off concept.

“I’m just…” You draw in a deep breath, focusing on the way the water ripples underneath the light breeze, “I’m sad for her, I think.”

Guy is quiet, contemplative, but when you look at him, his eyes are bright and empathetic. He’s always been a listener, someone you could talk to, share secrets with, trust. He’s not exactly the stellar example of a society member either—you know that he’s been struggling with money, with keeping his mother’s house, with debating whether it’d be better to stay alone or find a wealthy woman to make his wife.

“It’s not enough that she has to carry the influence of our household but the fact that she’s had to marry someone so…” A breath leaves your lungs and you struggle for composure, your hands wringing in front of you.

Guy steps closer, a quiet comfort, his hand finding your back. His touch is calming, up and down your spine, never lingering too long in one place. It’s not proper for him to be touching you, as a single woman of marrying age, society might consider you as somehow indecent, damaged…unworthy. And yet none of that has ever bothered you, regardless of what people think. Here, tucked away underneath an old tree, the breeze off the lake brushing cooly over your skin, you feel hidden, like something well-cherished. You lean into him, your shoulder pressing into his chest.

“Have you spoken to your father about your concerns?”

You shake your head, sniffling, Guy’s hand coming up to rest behind your neck. His thumb brushes the muscle there, back and forth.

“Cassandra won’t allow me to. Louis is well-to-do, handsome, influential and wealthy.” You tuck a strand of hair that’s slipped free from your updo behind your ear, “And that’s all anyone cares about.”

And maybe that’s unfair to say, given that you know your father would care if he knew. But it’s also about propriety, about a scandal, about your family ending up better than when you started. Things like that matter to your sister and father. The happiness of a wife and how she’s treated…are irrelevant.

“I’m sorry,” Guy finally voices, the timber of his voice vibrating against you. “I know it has to be difficult for you, wanting to help and not being able to.”

A tiny smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, “Think your mother used to call me a meddler.”

That garners a true laugh from him, “A menace.” He corrects, “And you are one. But she meant that affectionately.”

You’re glad that he’s smiling when mentioning his mother—you know how difficult it’s been for him since he’s lost her, that not much time has passed. Though you know that time is often irrelevant, you miss your mother too, as if it was yesterday even though you were young when she passed away. Being able to speak with warmth when it comes to loss, to grief, lends to how much love that person has left behind.

You hum lightly, turning a little, your hand finding one of the buttons on his waistcoat that’s loose. You know playing with it will likely make it fall off, but you can’t stop yourself, wanting to feel connected to him in some way. Wanting to touch him but unsure how to without it feeling like more.

You tip your chin up to look at him, warmth spreading like a bloom in your chest as his eyes find yours. His other hand brushes that stubborn strand of hair away from your face again, tucking it behind your ear.

Thinking about what he said, about how his mother meant that term affectionately, you raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you mean it too?”

Guy’s eyes slip down to your lips, a brief gaze and yet it feels like eternity. “I do.”

Before you can say anything else, or live within this single heartbeat, thunder booms nearby. It is all the warning you receive before it begins pouring. There’s a moment of brief disbelief as rain filters in through the branches of the tree, some covering you before the onslaught becomes too much. A squeak leaves your lips, the rumble of a laugh leaving Guy’s chest before he wraps an arm around you.

He hoists you in the direction of his home, the complete opposite of where you should probably be headed but you can’t find it within yourself to care. You don’t want to go home, as awful as that sounds. When he moves forward in two large steps, his hand reaches back to grab your own, rushing with you through the sheets of water. Despite the quick movement, you’re soaked when you enter through his front door.

As it closes behind you, another sound of amusement leaves Guy’s mouth and he shakes himself out almost as a dog does when caught outside in inclement weather. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take a brief look around, the corners of your mouth pulling down just slightly every time you notice something else is missing. A portrait, an extravagant rug or elegant piece of furniture. Another item of Guy’s past sold to make his future a possibility.

He misreads your expression, reaching out to touch your arms with his hands, “I’ll get a fire going.”

So much he has to do on his own, the wait staff no longer employed. You would never comment on that, you know he can handle it but…it doesn’t mean he should have to. You still worry. “It’s really not n-necessary.”

He smiles a little, amused, “Tell your chattering teeth that.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth, an action that is not missed by him, his hands lingering along your arms as his gaze flickers to your mouth. “I don’t want you to fuss.”

Guy draws in what seems to be a calming breath, dropping his hands and taking a step back as if he needs that distance. “You’re shaking. It’s no trouble.” He motions with his hand towards his sitting room, as if you don’t know the layout of this house like it were your own.

Heading into the large sitting room, you make your way around the couch and bypass it completely to stand in front of the fireplace. There’s plenty of wood and within a few moments, a fire roars to life. A soft sigh leaves your lips and you lift your trembling fingers near the flames before rolling your shoulders back.

“Did you know my grandfather thought he could tell when it was about to rain?”

Guy shifts besides you, undoing his waistcoat with deft fingers.

“He always said his right knee ached—” Your voice immediately falters when you turn and see him tugging the waistcoat away, met with the material of his white shirt sticking to his skin, sheer, almost. Your mouth opens slightly and despite knowing you should look away…you can’t.

Even when he lifts his chin to look back at you. “You didn’t inherit that from him, I imagine.”

You blink. What? “Oh,” You laugh softly, shaking your head, “No. Obviously not.”

A twinge of a smile on his lips, “Unless you like getting caught up in it and just never told me.”

“Not like this,” You admit, glancing down at your dress. It’s beyond damp, the bottom dripping into the carpet, the fabric plastered against your chest and arms and creating a chill to seep down your spine. “This dress is rather heavy when wet.”

“We could always take it off.” Then his eyes widen as he seems to realize what he’s said, “I mean—that’s.” He opens and closes his mouth like a fish caught in a net. You can’t help but smile at his flustering, how sweet it is. “Obviously I would find you something dry to put on.”

You hum lightly, “Obviously.”

“Right,” He mumbles, clearing his throat before taking a step back, “Well…I’ll just…”

And then he turns, abruptly, to head out of the room—your guess would be to head upstairs to find you something to slip on. Amusement pulls sharply on your mouth, making you laugh, a warmth beginning from the inside out that has nothing to do with the fire.

—

There are moments in your life that you would say define you, moments that feel ingrained, living in your lungs and blood, in the crevices of your heart.

Somehow all of those moments involve Guy.

—

7 months ago—September.

As much as you love dancing, you would rather never attend a party framed as a ball. Every interaction becomes a transaction, every stolen glance becomes a game, every dance a spectacle. But one would be a fool to ignore an invitation from the dowager duchess of Tintagel—and at this point, you know Theo as well as you know Guy.

Moving through the beautifully decorated ballroom, you take another glass of wine off a tray, bringing the crystal to your lips for a long sip. Since you’ve arrived, you’ve lost sight of your father and sister, Cassandra making the rounds to find a husband or at least dance with as many eligible men as she can tonight.

You’re just trying to slip under the waves of attention, quietly disappear, maybe involve too many glasses of wine and dance to a few songs. Alone.

You should be so lucky.

Unfortunately, you’ve garnered attention from several men, those that need no introduction, Lords that, at this point, know who you and your family are. And that you are of marrying age. By the eighth attempt by six different men (Lord Brandt really cannot take a hint), you excuse yourself towards the hallway to use the lavatory.

In reality, you just don’t want to be followed.

A headache blooms under your eyebrow and while you lean against the banister of a set of stairs, you close your eyes for a moment to rub your fingers along your forehead. A soft groan leaves your throat, your heels also beginning to throb from moving around the ballroom all night. It almost makes an ironic smile pull at your lips because…your feet hurt from outrunning men, not from dancing. A shame.

Tugging off one shoe at a time, you hold them in your hand and tip your head back to look at the ceiling, the buzz of chatter and music floating in from the other room. You consider finding a balcony or something to get some fresh air.

“Is that... Y/N L/N in a dress the color of violets?"

You can't help but smile, transferring your shoes from one hand to the other. Turning slowly so that your dress swishes, you peer up to see Guy leaning against the banister of the second floor of the same staircase, smiling down at you.

"Or is that lavender?" He asks, "Either way, both incredibly out of season. You're not trying to cause a scandal, are you?"

Your smile grows, "God no, how will I ever find a husband that way?" You both know that’s not really a question, crinkling your nose the whole time, and it makes Guy laugh.

When he makes his way down to you, he reaches for your hand, giving you a playful twirl in a tight circle as his eyes appraise. "He'd just need eyes, I imagine."

Heat crawls underneath the collar of your dress, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Maybe that can be blamed on the full-circle spin after too many glasses of expensive alcohol. "I don't think it's that simple."

Guy hums softly, pursing his lips. He hasn't let go of your hand, some of your fingers intertwining. "Fools then, the lot of them."

Your heart feels like it might burst from the sentiment and if you were alone, you might kiss his cheek. But here, in public, you can do no such thing. Instead, you squeeze his fingers, shifting the conversation before you do something regrettable.

"Speaking of fools, that's why I'm already tucked away. My feet ache," Your nose wrinkles again, "And Lord Brunt's hairline is nearly as bad as his breath."

Guy's sudden guffaw makes an unrestrained giggle slide from your lips and you place your other hand over your mouth as he sneaks a look into the ballroom, "That's who you've managed to charm tonight? Out of everyone?" He glances towards the right at another familiar face, "Your sister seems to be doing well with a Lord herself."

You watch Cassandra dance with Lord Louis before looking back at Guy. His hand is still in yours, his thumb absently tracing circles along your knuckles. He's astoundingly handsome in a three piece suit, black silken fabric pressed into the long, lean lines of his body. He smells of the woods, something clean, fresh. And your eyes trace a few tight curls resting on his forehead, begging you to reach up and toy your fingers through them.

You're about to say something, anything as a distraction, when Lord Brunt appears out of nowhere in front of you. Your back goes rigid, faltering a step back so that the much older man does not step into your space. "Ah, there you are Lady Y/N, I've been searching for you." He grins, "Might I have the next few dances?"

Guy bristles beside you, his hand reaching behind your back to pluck your shoes free. He shifts them to hide behind his body while his other free hand grips yours. He then encourages you to hold onto the inside of his folded elbow, demure and nonchalant.

"I'm afraid she's been spoken for," Guy replies, his voice smooth as cool water. He holds Brunt's gaze, unwavering, something predatory in the depths of his brown eyes that's gone almost as soon as it appears. He licks his lips, "Of course, that's after we find her shoes. They seemed to have run off."

Brunt blinks, looking down at your feet. "I see."

"Yes," You speak up, clearing the small squeak in your voice. You can feel more than see Guy's lips twitch in an almost smile, "I think maybe around the lavatory somewhere."

"We can check there first," Guy nods his head, "Good evening, Mr. Lundt."

An unladylike sound surges forth at Guy purposely calling Brundt the wrong name but you fail to keep it clamped down. You try to cover it with a laugh as Guy steers you in the opposite direction, towards another set of stairs. Once you’re free and clear of Lord Brundt, you linger, standing on one of the steps so that you're an even height with the man in front of you.

"I believe a 'thank you' is in order." He teases.

You scoff out a laugh, reaching to fix his bowtie which isn't at all skewed, but it gives you an excuse to remain close. "Is that so?"

Guy hums in agreement, his eyes brushing over your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time at this angle. "Actually, it's two-fold."

"Is it?" You ask, "And why is that?"

He lifts his hand, "Because I found your shoes."

A bright smile spreads across your face, an unbridled laugh making your cheeks feel warm. This...might be one of the best balls you've been to in a while. You reach for your shoes, holding onto his shoulder with your hands, one at a time, to put them back on.

"Why, thank you," You smooth your hands down your dress, playing along, "How can I ever repay you?"

And because he knows you, he takes a step back and outstretches his hand for you to take, "How about a dance?"

A zing of heat travels up your arm when your palm connects with his, allowing him to tug you off that step and guide you back into the ballroom for the next song. This is not the first, nor the last time, you and Guy will dance together. And yet when he pauses in the middle of the floor, facing you, his hand guiding along your back, pulling you close—it’s never felt like this.

An entire room filled with people, yet he’s the only one that you see.

—

November.

Drawing in a deep breath, you center yourself as you walk through the tall grass, heading to a familiar destination. The same one you end up at every year at this time, on this day, no matter the weather. A chill courses down your spine and you tilt your head up to look at the gray sky, the clouds like puffs of smoke. You wonder if it’ll snow.

You pull your thick cloak closer around your shoulders, passing the lake on your family’s property to a small area with headstones. When you were younger, you always used to make spooky comments to your sister that this area of the estate was haunted, that you could hear ghosts moaning in the middle of the night. Turned out to be wind passing through crevices in the windows and doors in the late hours, but still.

Sometimes there’s a comfort in thinking someone is still here. That your mother…

You put a hand on your chest, swallowing over a thick emotion that feels like it’s capable of taking you out at the knees. Your bodice feels far too tight suddenly.

Spreading a blanket out on the ground, you gather your skirts to adjust and sit in front of your mother’s headstone. You drag your fingers along the moss covered stone, tracing letters carved there that have faded from weather and time. Somehow, coming every year gets harder and easier all at the same time.

You sense him before you see him, Guy’s presence something you know like the back of your hand at this point. He lingers behind you for a moment before joining you on the blanket, close enough that you can smell soap and citrus, can feel the heat of his body pressing along your own. You turn your head a little, almost smiling, your eyes falling to what’s in his hands.

A bouquet of flowers.

Tears instantly well in your eyes and you have to hold a breath in your lungs so it doesn’t shudder out of your mouth.

“Hey,” Guy says gently, mostly in reaction to your emotions. His free hand reaches for one of yours, squeezing your fingers.

“Hi,” You reply, sniffling. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

He sets the bouquet on top of the stone, the chilled breeze brushing through the field and rustling the petals. Something blue and purple, soft greens. It’s lovely. Thoughtful. The sentiment reaches directly into your chest and squeezes. It means everything that he’s here, that he’s always there when you need something. Someone.

A thought flutters in the back of your mind, something that’s dangerous to consider. Something that you can’t keep. He’s not yours to keep. You shake your head, sniffling as a tear slips off your eyelashes and down your cheek.

Guy reaches a hand out, thumbing it away. “I wanted to.”

He wanted to bring flowers. He wants to be here. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, probably hurting him, yet he doesn’t move.

It’s quiet for a few moments, another shiver that you’re not sure has to do with the cold making your body tremble. Guy inches closer, presses his shoulder into yours, both of his hands covering your right hand, warming it. You stare at the stone, almost feeling your chest wanting to cave in—if it weren’t for Guy showing up, you’d be alone. And while you were ready to weather that, it doesn’t mean you wanted to. Or should have to.

“My father and sister don’t find any use in visiting, you know. Because it’s…” You trail off for a moment, trying to find the right words, even though those don’t feel like they exist. You settle with, “Because it’s the past.” And even that feels wrong. You remember your mother even less than your sister does, being some years apart, and yet you’re here.

“I don’t know, I think there’s something comforting about being here, next to her, with her.” You turn your head to look at Guy, whose eyes are already on you. Gaze gentle, open, compassionate. “Do you think that’s foolish?”

He quickly shakes his head, “No. No, of course not.”

You draw in a sharp breath, suddenly realizing— “I’m sorry, this…this must be so difficult for you.”

Death. Mothers. Grief.

He nods gently because yes, it is. And yet, “You have nothing to apologize for.” His thumb traces the back of your hand. Back and forth, a comforting rhythm, “I’m here because you’d do the same for me. Because I care about you.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, those tears feeling like they’re overwhelming you again. This day is difficult as it is and then there’s Guy, here, being there for you in a way that is not altogether new. And yet it feels like something you’re clinging to, pulling you through the storm, a lifeline. Guy, who doesn’t need to be here, who is struggling with something similar and possibly more painful. He’s just lost his mother—you barely knew yours.

You close your eyes for a few moments, attempting to center yourself before speaking again, “I know I was really young when she passed but it’s…”

Of course he gets it. “Like you’re mourning for something that never was. Or…what could have been.”

A shuddered breath claws out of your throat, “I hope she’d be proud of me. I don’t—”

“Shh,” Guy murmurs, “Hey, of course she’d be proud.” He catches your chin between his fingers, angling your face towards him. “Of course she’d be proud.” He repeats, making sure he holds your gaze so that the words sink in.

Your lower lip wobbles but you nod. You know you’re not exactly living up to society standards but…you take care of your family best that you can. You’re happy. You’re honest with yourself about what you want and what you need. About who you love.

You hope she’d be proud.

“Come here,” He says gently, encouraging you to lean into him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You instantly fold into his chest, burying your face in his shoulder, breathing him in. The crisp smell of snow mixes with his comforting scent, his hand sneaking up and under the cloak you’re wearing and pressing into the knobs of your spine.

You squeeze your eyes closed, tears seeping into the fabric of his coat, arms winding around his waist. You linger there, holding one another, until snow begins to gather on the blanket.

—

December.

There’s something about Christmas that makes you feel relaxed down to your bones. With the snow flurries outside making the inside feel cozy and intimate, there’s the constant glow of fires and candles along with the smell of chestnuts, pine and mulled wine. You’ve also always been a big fan of gift giving, even outside of the season, just a small way in showing someone you care for them. All your presents are carefully wrapped and tucked under the tree…except the one you’ve gotten for Guy.

That one is sitting on your bed, tissue paper gently tucked around it. You’re still…unsure if you want to give it to him, worried that it’s too much. If he’ll like it. You suppose it’s the thought that counts but. Still. It’s been something you’ve been thinking about for a while. Christmas is the perfect time to hand it over under the guise of nonchalance.

Usually you enjoy the festivities that your family puts together—an intimate party for extended family and friends, but this year it’s a little different. Your sister is set to marry Louis and…while you’re excited for her, this gathering has become more of a pre-wedding get-together than a holiday celebration. It’s all anyone can talk about, any time you spin towards someone new with a glass of warm, mulled wine in your hand, cinnamon stick swirling in the glass—how excited you must be for Cassandra, how lucky she is.

And while these things are true, it’s taking pieces of Christmas from you, of the intimacy and memories you associate with this party at your estate. Selfish? Maybe. But is there something so wrong with that?

Before you can run into Louis’s mother, who’s eyeing you up across the foyer—because of course Louis has a brother your age, you make a quick turn out of the room. A sharp noise leaves your lips as you collide with—

“Guy!”

He manages to hold onto his small plate, a glass of mulled wine in his other hand. His eyes are a tiny bit glassy, telling you he’s been enjoying himself. You knew he was here but you hadn’t managed to find him yet. How fortuitous.

“I’m sorry,” You laugh softly, helping him stabilize everything he’s got.

“Menace.” He teases, using that tone of endearment that his mother gave you when she’d call you that.

A breath of relief leaves your lungs to see him, but also that you didn’t manage to ruin the maroon knit sweater he’s wearing. The color does wonders for his complexion, for the soft brown of his eyes. Swallowing down a wave of butterflies trapped in your chest, you straighten your shoulders.

“I was looking for you.”

He raises his eyebrows, motioning to the room you’ve come from with his plate, “Couldn’t help but notice the scowl you’ve been wearing half the night, so I figured I’d bring you something.”

“Cheese?” You ask, a bubble of a laugh in your voice.

Guy crinkles his nose at the sound but there’s amusement in his gaze, “Who doesn’t love cheese?”

“No, I do,” You touch his hand with a grin, “Very thoughtful, thank you.”

Reaching for a small block of white cheese, you pop it into your mouth, chewing with enthusiasm. Guy’s lips twitch,

“Spirit lifted?”

“Tenfold.” You agree, glancing past him towards the steps. “But I can also think of something even better…”

You begin to walk past him, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. As if you’d need to encourage him to follow…he’s always right behind you. That warm weight of awareness sits low in your chest, licking downward in a way that makes you feel dizzy. You blame the wine as you snag a bottle right off the table that’s supposed to be used for the mulled bowl right next to it. You then lift up your skirt so you don’t trip going up the steps.

You can hear Guy’s footstep behind you, all the way up, towards your destination—

“The roof?” He asks, “It’s freezing.”

You stop in your bedroom first, picking up the small gift that’s for him, using a side entrance of steps to the attic and finally, the roof. You wave the bottle over your shoulder,

“That’s what the wine is for, drink up Thwarte.”

He smiles, shaking his head as if you exhaust him and yet he can’t get enough.

There’s no protest from him as he takes the bottle from you, having a long sip as you both maneuver your way outside. It’s stopped snowing, just cold, yet not the wet kind that tends to sit too long in your lungs. It’s crisp, not windy, so it’s…it’s almost enjoyable. The heat of your skin certainly thinks so as you wander along the edges of the roof, tipping your head back to look at the spackling of stars.

It’s perfect.

Turning to look towards Guy, you grab the bottle from him when he offers, pulling a short sip into your mouth. It’s not as sweet without the spices and the coolness on your tongue is a slight jolt to your system. But it feels good to be up here with him, drinking, escaping a bit. You carefully set down the gift you got him in a spot that doesn’t have snow or dampness and sit down too.

He raises his eyebrows. “We’re really doing this?”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport.” You tease, “It feels good up here.”

Guy hums, sinking down next to you, his body warm and solid and…there’s this ridiculous urge to bury your face in the fabric of his sweater. One that you outright ignore by looking at the stars again.

“Feel like I’m always running into you when you’re trying to hide.”

A small smile tugs at your mouth, looking over at him. The moon is big and bright, casting a cool glow along his curls, the handsome panes of his face. He appears almost iridescent, more beautiful than you feel like you could commit to memory. It makes your chest ache for some reason.

“Not from you,” You assure quietly, as if a secret, as if it’s important for him to know. “Never from you.”

He smiles too, gently bumping his shoulder into your own, “I know.” His fingers linger along yours when he takes the bottle back, “You’re a safe space for me too.”

You breathe in, deeply, the cold air lighting your lungs up like a Christmas tree. But you feel more alive that way, in a sense, a small dizziness beginning behind your eyes from the wine. It’s a warm sensation, rose-colored. Safe. You think that describes how you feel when you’re around him perfectly.

And because something else lingers on the tip of your tongue, Guy tilts his head a bit when he looks at you, reading words unspoken as easy as breathing,

“You don’t like him, do you?” He asks, “Louis?”

You’re not sure that you do. You’ve heard unseemly conversations about Louis, about him having a heavy hand, but it’s all just gossip. Nothing well-founded. And even if it was? Telling Cassandra, you already know, most likely wouldn’t change anything.

You shake your head, “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

Guy licks his lips, the bottle set down between your bodies. “It matters to me.”

His words, paired with your attention drawn to his mouth, has you searching for another distraction. You clear your throat, remembering the gift for him that you brought up.

“Speaking of mattering to one another,” You smile a bit, picking up the small square canvas, wrapped in tissue paper, that’s slightly larger than the palm of your hand. “I’ve got something for you.”

Guy’s shoulders go a little rigid, staring down at the gift for one heartbeat, “You weren’t supposed to be getting me anything.”

You shrug your one shoulder because…you certainly never agreed to that. When Guy mentioned maybe skipping an exchange this year, you merely let him believe whatever he needed to. You know why he offhandedly mentioned it, because he doesn’t have money to spend. And that’s fine? You don’t need anything.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to get something for him.

He doesn’t take it from you. “I don’t have one for you.”

“Guy,” You say, voice stern but tone warm, “You know I don’t care about that.” You lift your hand with the gift, pushing it gently towards him. “Please.”

He lets out a long sigh from his nose before taking it, unwrapping the tissue paper with a gentleness you know him for. Sometimes you picture his hands undressing you like that—careful, deft, almost reverent.

His sharp intake of breath snaps those thoughts loose, your gaze lifting to his face as emotions swim immediately to the forefront. He tugs the tissue paper further away from the small portrait of his mother that you had done, nature around her, in all the ways that you remember her. Beautiful and vibrant.

“I know it’s not much, I just…” His silence makes you nervous, wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. “I know you’ve had to sell a lot of the portraits of her and I—”

“Y/N,” His voice is thick with emotion, a sheen to his brown eyes. It’s like he doesn’t have the words, just shakes his head, brushing his thumb over the face of his mother. He sniffles, composing himself before speaking again, “I wasn’t sure what Christmas was going to be like this year. You’ve made it…bearable,” He whispers. “Worth celebrating.”

You smile, lifting your hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over the bone. Leaning against his side, he wraps an arm around you, keeping you close as he looks down at the portrait again. You feel Guy shift, tipping his chin down, pressing a kiss to your temple. It’s something that he’s done before…and yet it feels brand new.

It’s the best gift he could have given you.

—

February.

Smoothing your hands along your dress, you try not to fidget with nonexistent issues in the fabric. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, and yet it feels like it’s suffocating you. This God-forsaken bodice. You had the corset laced too tight or something because it’s almost like it’s crushing your ribs, making it difficult to breathe. The wine you drank a little earlier is sitting heavily in your stomach, a sickening feeling swirling forward like you’re on a ship.

Your father insisted on hosting another party, this one with the sole purpose of finding you a husband. And while he hasn’t set a date for you to marry, given that his oldest has been, it’s highly encouraged that you begin courting someone.

Or rather that someone begins to court you.

The concept makes you absolutely nauseous. Half the night has been spent dancing (which you usually love), paired with shallow conversations, unwanted hands brushing against your lower back, shoulders, arms, and a man actually trying to touch your face. You feel like your skin is crawling.

Thinking some cold, fresh air will do you some good, you move through the dining room towards the balcony, turning a corner and bumping right into Louis’s younger brother. Xavier. He reaches out a hand to steady you but you pull yourself back, making amusement tug the corners of his mouth.

He’s handsome, it’s a shame his reputation is just as loathsome as his brother’s is.

“Sorry,” You clear your throat, “Just need a little bit of air.”

He hums, lifting his drink to his lips. “Escaping?” You don’t like the tone of his voice, like you’re somehow ungrateful for your father putting this together. And while you never asked for something like this to be done…you still appreciate where he’s coming from. Regardless that he’s doing all of this for the wrong reasons.

You don’t need a husband. Not until you’re ready.

You’re about to offer an invitation for Xavier to step outside with you, just so he’ll step out of your way, but then he opens his mouth, “A bit inconsiderate, don’t you think? Given that this whole event is for you?”

You feel yourself bristle, straightening your shoulders. “Needing to take a breath is inconsiderate?”

He’s got some nerve. Yes, your father put this together for the sole purpose of having you consider your options, but not everyone in attendance is here for that. A party is a perfect excuse to drink a little bit too much, dance, and most importantly: gossip. That’s what the majority in attendance is doing tonight.

He reaches for you, his open palm resting against your upper waist, “Maybe your dress needs to be loosened.”

You jerk back from him a bit, but your hip bumps into a nearby table positioned against the wall. “Don’t touch me.” You snap, bringing your hand down onto his wrist.

He maneuvers you far too easily, using his weight to create an imbalance, pushing you against the table so you’re trapped against it. He locks your arm down by your side, pressing himself into you, bringing his head down to speak against your cheek.

“This entire party is a ruse anyways,” He whispers, gripping your chin between his fingers, “You’ve practically been promised to me.”

You feel ice slither down your spine, blind panic bubbling in your stomach at his words. That…that can’t be true. Your father would never—

“You’re lying.” You wish your voice sounded stronger. You hate giving him the satisfaction that the notion scares you, that the loss of your freedom, of your ability to choose, crushes something inside of you.

His smirk is cruel, “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being my wife. Your sister certainly enjoys being Louis’s.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek so you don’t do something as shameful as crying, emotions building up in your chest and clogging your throat. It’s almost completely overwhelming and you try to channel it in a way that matters, that restores a semblance of self-control. You bring your knee up and step, hard, heel first on his foot.

Xavier hollars, jumping away, but before you can rush down the hall, he grabs your elbow and yanks you towards him so violently that your head nearly snaps back.

“Take your hand off of her.”

A breath of relief instantly skitters from your lips as you turn to see Guy coming down the hall, his eyes boring into Xavier. And while his expression is calm, cool, stoic even, the brown of his eyes are the embers of a roaring fire. He’s pissed—barely controlled as he comes to stand in front of you both. He’s only a half a head taller than Xavier but the tension in his body makes him appear as if he’s towering over him.

Xavier scoffs, unaffected, “Excuse me?”

A muscle in his jaw clenches, “You heard me.”

God, this is bad. Not only are you caught up on the awful reality of Xavier’s previous words, you don’t want this to turn into some sort of scandal. You know Guy—he’s sweet, thoughtful, gentle, but he’s also protective of who he cares about. He’s not about to back down from this, from seeing you in this position. There’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he doesn’t care about what happens to him, but you care. You don’t want him to get hurt. You don’t want whispers and scandals to involve him.

You step forward to place your hand on your friend’s chest, “Guy, it’s alright—”

Xavier grips your arm, making you wince, “See? She's perfectly fine. Besides, she could use a little help in finding her place.”

The flash of pain on your face, combined with Xavier’s words, is all it takes for Guy to snap forward. His fist flies through the air, cracking him in the nose and causing him to stumble backwards. Your arm dislodges from his grip and before things can further escalate, you press on Guy’s chest.

“Stop,” The tremble in your voice breaks his attention, his gaze finding yours. The harsh edges around him soften and he nods once before his hand snakes down to carefully squeeze yours.

Xavier is still sputtering behind you, but luckily Guy is leading you both down the hallway, towards the kitchen. You don’t even spare the other man a backwards glance, have no idea whether his nose is broken or he’s bleeding or whether he’s perfectly fine. You don’t care. You’re shaking from leftover adrenaline and the cruel words that Xavier spouted before Guy’s arrival—you have to talk to your father. They can’t be true.

He tugs you into your kitchen, a few staff handling food and refilling beverage trays.

“I need a few minutes.” You manage to tell them and wait until they all file out before squeezing your eyes shut. Your breathing is a little unsteady as you attempt to get your bearings, a soft noise leaving your lips when you feel Guy wrap his arms around you.

He gently encourages you to lean against his chest, his one hand smoothing down your back while the other massages the muscles of your neck under your hairline. It takes several minutes, but you eventually calm down, your hand wrapping around one of his biceps.

“What were you thinking?” Your voice is muffled along the fabric of his suit jacket at his shoulder.

He lets out a slow sigh, “To be fair, I wasn’t. Just saw red at the look on your face.”

You swallow, pulling back a little to look up at him. You’re not sure how all of this is going to unwind, what Xavier is going to mention to his family, to your father, but at least…at least your sister’s marriage is secured. It feels silly to be thinking of concerns like that but the last thing you want is for this to somehow impact Cassandra.

You look down as his hands slip away from the back of your body, and you reach for his right wrist. Splaying his fingers open, you wince at the reddish bruising beginning on the bones of his knuckles.

“Your reputation is going to go right down the drain.” You mumble to which Guy lets out a short laugh, mostly air out of his nose.

He waits until your gaze meets his own, “I don’t care.”

Your stomach does a full flip, and regardless of how sick you felt in the dining room before all this happened, you find yourself utterly at ease in his presence. Your eyes linger on his lips far too long and you pull yourself away before doing something foolish. Making your way towards the icebox, you grab a chunk of ice and wrap it in a tea towel, bringing it back over to him. Guy shifts, leans back against the kitchen counter, allowing you to take his hand again to set ice down on his sore knuckles. He pulls a face, his eyebrows drawing together before his shoulders even out. His thumb brushes back and forth over your own.

You concentrate on the task in front of you even though his hand is relatively fine, no broken skin, no blood, but it gives you something to do while your mind spins. He angles his head down but doesn’t say anything, waits for you to tell him what’s still bothering you.

You’re not sure you even want to get into it, shaking your head, “Sometimes I really hate being a woman.”

A small smile tugs the corners of his mouth. It’s not what he expected you to say, “I would look rather silly in a dress.”

That encourages you to laugh and based on his expression, that was his intention, “I don’t know, I think you certainly got the legs for it.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest as well and the sound blooms heat in your stomach, curling lower. You pull the ice back to check on his hand before bringing it up to your face. You place a kiss on his knuckles and Guy visibly swallows, his thumb moving to trace the line of your jaw.

Suddenly the words unfortunately unspool from your lips, “I think my father might want me to marry Xavier.”

Guy’s body stills, his jaw clenching as he listens to you. His reaction flames that same heat to curl in your veins, spreading it throughout your body. You suddenly feel far too close to him, the warmth of his body kissing your skin, the scent of pine and something purley him brushing against your nose.

You look down at his hand, tracing circles into the underside of his wrist, along the tree of veins there.

“I have to talk to him about it. I’m sure he wouldn’t…” You shake your head, chewing on your lower lip, “Xavier mentioned—”

“I wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth,” He finally offers, his voice more of a comfort than he realizes.

And maybe he’s right—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time men have told you things that were lies. To garner favors, attention, respect. Xavier definitely seems like a person who might do that. Who’d want to make you squirm, influence you, hurt you. Just because he can.

Guy turns the hand that you’re holding so that his fingers can grip yours, “Your life is your own.”

And as you linger in the kitchen with him, your hands joined, fingers slowly lacing together—you wish more than anything that that were true.

—

March.

You speak to your father. And while Guy was right, Xavier was just trying to get under your skin, you’re still expected to find a husband before the next season. Someone suitable. You suppose you should be thrilled, given that some parents choose outright for their daughters who they’re going to end up with. But…you also know that while the choice might fall into your hands, it’s an illusion. You can’t pick just anyone.

There are standards, expectations. Things you couldn’t care less about.

Your father might not tell you explicitly, but you can see it in his eyes when you talk to him about what happened with Xavier. About Guy. He’s grateful that Guy didn’t allow anything to happen, his expression is fond, something that comes from knowing the Thwartes for so long.

But there’s also a sternness to him, like he can sense where this conversation might be going far before a certain thought colors everything for you: he likes Guy, he thinks he’s a good man—but he’s not the marrying type.

Of course this would come down to money, to prestige, to influence.

And, what—someone like Xavier would be more ‘fitting’ because he has money to burn? The fact that Guy Thwarte is a good man should be more than enough.

As you walk through the grass towards the lake on the estate, you try to push as many of these thoughts that you can right out of your mind. It’s not as if you and Guy haven’t spoken about marriage but…never between one another.

It’s not just about the technicalities, either. You know how you feel about him, how you’ve always felt about him, but that doesn’t mean he feels the same way. Doesn’t mean he’s interested in being tied down. You know just as well as he does that marriages to influence and money mean something, and while you’ve got something sizable to offer…he could want more than that.

He’s the man you’ve always talked to about everything and suddenly you have no idea how to speak to him about this.

The weather is fading into a soft chill, no longer freezing or snowing, but not yet spring. You glance down at the edge of the lake, reaching the toe of your boot at the water and tap the surface. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth because this would be absolutely absurd to do…and yet.

Making the decision before you can change your mind, you tug your coat off, toeing your boots to the side. Parts of your dress go next, even though getting out of the bodice and corset is difficult, a ping of sudden excitement at the thought that you won’t be putting them back on. At least not by yourself. You strip down to the sheer, full-body slip underneath the thick fabric of your skirt, goosebumps spreading along your thighs and arms.

And then you jump into the lake.

A sharp squeal leaves your lips at the temperature, but when you feel your body catch up with your half-brained idea, there’s something refreshing and utterly cleansing about disappearing under the surface of the cold water. You close your eyes and wait as long as you can before wading to the top.

Dragging a deep breath into your lungs, you lean your body back, floating slightly and looking up at the sky. Clouds speckle the grayish blue, like big puffs of cotton stuck to fabric. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, finally beginning to feel centered once again.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Your foot slips on a rock, nearly pulling you under as you look over your shoulder at Guy approaching the lake edge. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his slacks, his eyes wide and touched with amusement, dancing over your form submerged in the water. You wait for the moment for his presence to send you off-kilter, to disrupt the calm you desperately just sunk your teeth into…but that moment never comes. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always made you feel this way.

Calm, comfortable, safe.

Turning to face him, you float a bit on your front to get to a place in the lake where you can stand. Your shoulders and the top of your chest exits the water and you’re well aware how sheer this slip is, plastered to your skin.

Guy is aware too. His eyes travel down your form and then snap back up, as if he realizes what he’s doing, looking away a moment before a twinge of a smile tugs the corners of his mouth.

“You’re going to catch your death.”

You hum, shaking your head, “I’m tough.”

He laughs suddenly, though the sound is warm and intimate, like a shared secret. And maybe it is. “I’m well aware of that.”

You lift one of your hands and send a small splash towards Guy’s leg, not enough to soak him, but enough to tease, “Get in here with me.”

His mouth opens, eyebrows shooting up, “Absolutely not—”

“Get,” You send another splash, this time with purpose. It sprays along his side even though he attempts to jump back to avoid it. You laugh, “in here.”

“Menace.” He tosses out, but it’s so affectionate that he can’t even begin to hide it. Especially with that handsome grin on his face.

You lean back into the water and you know you should turn away when Guy starts to take off his coat, when he unbuttons his pants, when he removes his waistcoat. And yet you don’t. You drink him in. There’s a moment where his eyes find yours, when his fingers slow, and there’s a drawn breath into his lungs, his mouth slightly parted.

And heat gathers in the center of your body, dipping between your legs. You swallow over an emotion in your throat, something you can’t (or don’t want to name), and eventually you tear your gaze away. You don’t look up again until you hear him slip into the water, a harsh breath leaving his lips at the temperature—but your thoughts zip elsewhere, that heat between your legs giving a sudden pulse.

“Alright, you got me in here.” He says it begrudgingly, but his tone of voice doesn’t match his expression as he wades closer to you.

You’re not sure whether you’re just getting used to the water or because you can feel the warmth of his body, but you slip into that contented state that you usually are with him. You walk backwards, the water brushing over your shoulders, and for a moment you wish he wasn’t taller than you—because your gaze is drawn to the broadness of his chest, the map of his shoulders, the soft slope of his neck.

You drag in a breath, attempting to clear your head. “Wasn’t sure you would.”

He huffs out another laugh, “And how often do you find me denying you anything?”

You grin.

Comfortable silence stretches between you, birds stirring in the singular tree that’s near the embankment. You wonder if that means spring is truly close, hugging winter through its last bout of chills. A sound of chatter draws your attention towards Guy’s estate, the crunched gravel of carriage wheels, the huff of horses. Eyebrows drawing together, you see someone moving in the distance, but can’t make out whether they’re coming or going.

“Did you have a visitor?” You ask, slowly rotating back to look at him.

He’s quiet, contemplative, chewing on words in his mouth. He drags his fingers through the water, “Yes,” Guy pauses, his focus returning to your face before, “Jean Hopeleigh, actually.”

Oh. You know her—you’ve seen her at various parties, have heard her name passed around like a tray of champagne at a party. Women and men alike are enthralled by her, by the promise of attachment, not just because she has the impressive promise of wealth, but because she’s beautiful.

And she’s been to visit Guy.

A thousand questions begin to pelt the inside of your mind, like rainfall, did he invite her? Did she come on her own? What did they discuss? Is he interested in her? How could she not be interested in him? Is he going to see her again?

Is it too late?

“Oh she’s…” Words fail and you try to come up with something that doesn’t speak to what feels like a sickening rock settling in the base of your stomach. “I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Your cheeks feel hot at that being the only thing you have to offer, and the twitch of a smile that pulls on Guy’s lips makes you want to look away from him. To slip underneath the water until your lungs burn and beg you to resurface.

“She’s lovely,” He agrees.

“Are you courting her?” Blurts from your mouth so fast it takes you a moment to even realize you’ve said it. It’s not supposed to sound so…so accusatory.

There’s hesitation in the way Guy’s body stills, as he watches you. It’s a singular heartbeat, a one breath in, before he steps closer. Your eyes tip up, unable to look away, nowhere for you to hide from the aftermath of your question.

“Would it bother you if I was?”

Yes.

It’s an instant response strangling your tongue and you bite down on everything inside of you in order to keep that word under lock and key.

“No,” You whisper, “No, of course not.” But despite the words leaving your lips, Guy is still looking at you the same. Like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you, because he does. He knows you better than anyone.

You clear your throat, trying to float away from him by tipping yourself back and lifting your feet off the lakebed, “You’ve always talked about if you were to…find a wife, you’d want someone who could be a friend, a partner. Jean, I’m sure, would be your equal in every way.”

Guy purses his lips, “Would she?” The question is asked like he already knows the answer, and it catches you off guard in a way that you were not prepared for.

“Wouldn’t she?” You toss back, arching your knee up to gently send a splash in his direction with your foot.

The movement seems to break the odd spell between you two, silence melting into the water and disappearing, Guy grabbing hold of your leg and tugging so you have no choice but to float into him. Your breath catches in your chest and it takes everything in you not to wrap your legs around his waist when his body lines up with your own.

“I spoke with my father,” You tell him after a moment and while his touch disappears from your leg, it lingers near your waist, a teasing reminder of how close he is. “You were right—I’m not set to marry Xavier.”

You don’t tell him other things that were said, about inferences that were made, about how you ended up at this lake to be alone. About how some of society must think about Guy if your father was saying the same thing—that he’s not ‘good enough’ to be called someone’s. Yours.

You can’t think of anything that feels less true.

You pick your hand up out of the water, fingers gently toying with a tight curl that rests on his forehead. You’re not sure whether it’s an accident or on purpose, but Guy tips his head down, his nose and lips brushing against the soft skin on the inside of your wrist.

“Looks like we’re both free to make our own decisions.” He murmurs.

We’re both free—meaning—

“You’re not courting Jean?”

Guy smiles a bit against you, pulling back a little as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t look up at you. Your fingers twist his curl for a moment, eventually letting it go. Your heartbeat is ricocheting against your ribcage, your hand slipping under the water. There’s a certain secrecy in being cloaked by the water, his fingers grazing your wrist, like it’s only a world for the both of you that no one else can see into.

His hand wraps around your own.

Both free to make our own decisions—you squeeze his fingers. You hope more than anything that that’s real.

—

Present—April, continued.

When Guy returns from upstairs, he’s got a set of dry clothes on himself, a long-sleeved dress shirt for you draped over his shoulder and then a bunch of blankets tucked under his arms.

“It’s not much but I figured the trousers would be swimming on you.”

A small smile because yes, that’s probably true. He’s taller than you, so the dress shirt should be fine. You can wrap the blankets around you, anything to get this damp dress off. It’s keeping a chill lingering in your chest and the tip of your nose.

He sets the blankets down on the floor and when your fingers touch his as you take the shirt, Guy seems to realize that he should be turning around or leaving so you can undress.

“I’ll just—” He motions over his shoulder.

But before he can disappear, you reach for his wrist, waiting until his gaze meets your own, “Can you…”

You’re unsure why it’s difficult for you to finish that sentence, suddenly the room feeling overwhelmingly warm. You think it’s from the heat of the fire but your skin still seems cool to the touch. Luckily, Guy doesn’t need you to explain, just gives you a brief nod before encouraging you to turn around.

And he begins removing pieces of your dress.

The elaborate skirt comes first, untied with practiced hands, and tugged down so you can step out of it. The cage-like petticoat is something you always felt was rather silly, and yet you sometimes enjoyed wearing it. Like your legs were birds, or something, kept behind flexible wires. A small smile tugs the corners of your lips at the thought as it's untied and gently lifted over your head. Your chemise is left along with your corset and you're not sure whether the small intake of breath comes from you or Guy when you feel him step closer, a shiver slipping down your body as his fingers tug on strings.

It doesn't take long for him to loosen it, the fabric falling free, and there's something about taking an unrestrained, deep breath with him so close by that makes you feel dizzy.

Turning to face him, you tilt your head back to look up, fingers gripping the bottom of your chemise. Your nipples are hard against the soft stitching, from being cold or from anticipation, you’re not sure. But you can tell that Guy is purposely looking at your face, his nostrils flaring a little, jaw gently clenched in concentration. A gentleman.

“Would you be willing to help me with this as well?” You ask, heart beating so fast you can nearly hear the reverberation in your ears.

This is a line that cannot be redrawn once it’s erased.

And Guy destroys it as if it never existed in the first place.

His fingers curl into the chemise and he uses it as leverage to yank you closer. The moment your body bumps into his own, he leans down and kisses you with fervor—like he may never get another chance. Like he’s been thinking about this as long as you have. That’s all the encouragement you need. Your hands rake into his hair, gently tugging, titling your mouth against his own. A noise you’ve never heard him make before, but have thought about him making far too often, climbs up his throat. It creates another fire in your chest, seeping outward, liquid heat pulsing between your legs.

When his hands bunch the fabric of your slip near your thigh, you draw in a sharp breath. He seems to pause at that, looking down at you, lips slightly wet, eyes dark.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks against your lips, “We can stop.”

You shake your head, your hands moving to his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband. The muscles along his abdomen twitch as your fingers find the buttons of his trousers. “No.”

Guy holds onto that thread of control, just for a moment, “If you change your mind…”

You pause, making sure he sees your face before you nod in understanding. And then that thread of control snaps. He cups both sides of your face with his hands, leaning down to kiss you again, gently encouraging you onto the floor where blankets are still haphazardly piled up. You reach blindly for one, fanning it out, before you end up lying on your back. Guy brackets your body at your shoulders, his mouth finding the curve of your neck, his hand sliding between you to tug up the fabric of the chemise.

You didn’t have a mother to tell you about the inner workings of what you’re supposed to do in situations like this. Your sister’s eyes would go wide any time you might mention a man was attractive, like it was some dirty little secret that one shouldn’t pry with. The only reason you have any semblance of how to move, on what happens, is because you have an aunt that’s saucy after she’s had a few champagnes.

Not wanting Guy to interpret your thoughts as hesitation, you also reach down between your bodies to work on the buttons of his trousers again, groaning slightly at the heat of his skin. His fingers caress the inside of your thighs before he inches up, right where you want him most. Your eyes close when he spreads your lips, thumb finding that bud of nerves, circling. Drawing in a sharp breath through your nose, you slide a hand inside his pants and wrap your fingers around him, stroking upwards.

Guy groans, moving a little into your touch, his lips crashing down onto yours again. The stubble of his facial hair against your skin almost adds to the pleasure—you wonder what it’d feel like between your legs.

You’ve explored your body on your own, but nothing has felt nearly as good as this. He maps out kisses down your jaw to your neck, one finger sliding inside of you, and then two after you’re used to it. His wrist turns, he curls his fingers up—

Fuck.

You try to continue your ministrations for him as well, but it’s almost difficult to concentrate, contentment pulsing in waves, making you feel like you’re too close to the fire. Your thumb circles over the tip of his cock and he moans, pulling back just a little to look down at you.

“I don’t…” You begin, worried you’ve done something wrong.

He shakes his head, the thumb of the hand holding his body above yours brushing against your shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” He promises, assuring you, “Especially if you do that again.”

You lean up so you can reach him, nipping at his lower lip and then follow his suggestion. You roll your thumb back and forth across the tip of his cock, his whole body reacting by thrusting into your hand. He begins to show more attention to your clit, a strangled whine emptying from your lips, and suddenly all that build-up comes to a peak—and you feel yourself falling right over the edge.

Your eyes slammed close with your release, hoping Guy isn’t far behind. Seeing you come apart, along with a few more strokes, your thumb pressing against the head, he loses himself against your body. Even though both of you are breathing heavily, he kisses you again, his tongue sliding along yours languidly—like there’s all the time in the world to be here, doing this with one another.

There’s a moment in which you both pull back, catching your breath and Guy takes the opportunity to clean you up, removing the chemise entirely. His eyes drink in the sight of your body, completely naked before him, leaning down to brush kisses along your sternum, stomach and between your breasts. It almost makes you want to begin all over again. Almost.

He reaches for the shirt he brought down, helping tug it over your head and slide your arms through. When he’s pulled his trousers moreso around his waist, he lies down on top of you, but not enough for his body to crush your own. He becomes a comfortable, solid and warm weight, using his elbows to keep himself propped up. He smiles at you, curling his fingers around some of your hair that’s framing your face.

You bring your hand up as well, cupping his cheek, encouraging him to lean down so you can kiss him again.

“Warm enough?” He asks, his nose bumping against yours.

“Perfect.” You whisper back, another kiss following.

—

May.

The prospect of snagging a husband is so far in the back of your mind, it’s practically something you’ve forgotten about. Your father, however, hasn’t. And while you love him, you’re starting to lose a little bit of respect for him. He’s not only begun to pile that pressure onto your shoulders, but he’s also been ignoring how terrible of a husband Louis can be to Cassandra. He may not be putting his hands on her (at least nowhere that can be seen), but the light is gone from her eyes. It’s clear any time you look at her.

If your father wants to ignore that fact, if Cassandra would rather stay in a loveless, brutish marriage just because it’s ‘what a woman does’...then the only thing you can vow to do is now allow yourself to become that.

You refuse to settle on any man just because it's ‘what one does’. You will not sacrifice your happiness for anyone.

You’ve also been seeing Guy behind closed doors for the past month.

Now, there’s nothing to be ashamed of and it’s not like you’re trying to hide, exactly, but moreso being together feels like something precious, intimate. Yours. And you’re unwilling to share that, lest it crumble like ash between your fingers.

To those with prying eyes, you and your neighbor, your best friend, appear as you always have been: close, friendly, confidants. But…seeing him in the morning as light filters in through curtains, the way he cups your cheek and brushes his lips along your temple when you’re in the kitchen, the way he smirks before he kisses you, his hands wandering to undress you and eventually pulling you close to help put clothes back on,

—that version of Guy belongs to you.

“Escaping again?” You hum at the familiar voice behind you on the roof of your home. “Are you ever where you’re supposed to be?”

A thrum of amusement plucks in your chest as you turn to look at Guy, who’s walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. The perfect portrait of easy handsomeness, dressed in trousers and a white button down, a pine green waistcoat over top. It somehow makes his skin glow, the warmth in his brown eyes like toffee as he steps closer. No matter how often you see him, it’s still the same reaction of fluttering butterflies and your stomach turning inside out.

“It’s right here,” You tell him with a smile, tipping your chin up to look at him. “On this roof. With you.”

It’s a much smaller get-together than your father has thrown before, but Louis’s family is here too. And you don’t want to see Xavier unless you have to.

He reaches for your hand, bringing it up so that he can encourage you into a small spin that makes you laugh. Which seems to be his intention, if the answering smile is any indication. “I brought treacle toffee.”

You sigh softly, tipping your head back in a dramatic fashion, “I suppose those are the magic words.” And some of the only ones that could get you off this roof.

Guy holds onto your hand to lead back downstairs, briefly squeezing your fingers on the steps before letting go, offering his arm instead so you can walk with him into the main living space where people are gathered. You ignore gazes that feel like someone is trying to get your attention and allow Guy to guide you into the kitchen. He lets go of your arm so you can make a b-line to the toffee on the table, grabbing a small chunk with a content hum.

“This is your mother’s recipe, right?” You ask.

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, “Brought something else of my mother’s today too.”

You turn to see what he’s referring to but you almost inhale the toffee when you see him get down on one knee.

Instantly, “No.”

Guy’s lips twitch, “You didn’t even let me ask you anything yet.”

You know exactly what he’s going to ask you—he has a small, red velvet box between his fingers. It’s not open yet, but you know what’s inside. His mother’s wedding ring. The bridge of your nose stings as tears well in your eyes. You can’t accept this from him, you can’t say yes to any of his questions.

“No, Guy.”

He sighs softly out of his nose, but he doesn’t lower the box, nor stand. “Why not?” He asks quietly.

A choked laugh leaves your lips but you try not to cry. Is he being serious right now? “Don’t play games with me.”

He brings the box down, but he doesn’t put it away. Instead he opens it. “You think that’s what I’m doing?” The ring is beautiful—plain, but not meager. It’s not meant to be flashy or overly expensive, gentle in its craftsmanship, elegant. It was perfect for his mother, who was so stunning inside and out that she made jewels look superfluous.

“I think,” You sniffle, “You’ve always been someone to protect me, to rescue me when I needed it. Be there for me when no one else was. You know my father is close to forcing my hand when it comes to marriage.” A tear slips down your cheek, “And I’m terrified it might have to be Xavier.”

Guy’s entire body tenses, like he wants to stand at the sight of you beginning to cry. But he doesn’t move, just takes his mother’s ring out of the box.

“Those things might be true, but that’s not why I’m asking if you want to marry me.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, a shuddered noise leaving your lips. You have no idea what to say, what to do. You feel frozen to the kitchen floor, so afraid beyond anything that you’ll somehow lose him.

“You want me to say it?” He adds, waiting until your gaze meets his, “It’s because I love you.”

All the air in your lungs rush out, two twin tears skirting down your cheeks in the aftermath. The room suddenly becomes tight, like it’s filled with cotton, your heart hammering in your chest at simple words you thought you’d never hear him say. Yet the moment he says them, you feel at home, like it's the most honest thing you know.

Because maybe they’ve always been true.

“I think about you every day—” He continues, “From the moment I open my eyes to when I put my head back on my pillow. Because I can’t picture a day not spent with you.” Then he smiles, finally standing from where he was kneeling and reaches for you. His hand cups your cheek, brushing away your tears with the pad of his thumb. “Please don’t cry.”

A wet laugh sounds from your throat and you tip your chin into his touch, closing your eyes. You press a series of kisses to the palm of his hand, relishing in how he makes you feel. How he’s always made you feel.

You allow yourself a moment to calm down before you give him the very real consequences of a decision like this. Just…just in case he wants to choose a different path, you wouldn’t blame him.

“My father might disown me if I marry you.” The words come out shameful, a whisper. “I wouldn’t have anything to offer you.” You know that he’s been forced into a role that often falls to women in society—to marry someone with money. In this case you know how important that is, what’s at stake, his home…his mother’s home.

Guy is quiet for a moment before tipping your chin, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. He makes sure his gaze is fully on yours before, “I don’t care—we can build something together. It doesn’t change my question.”

Drawing in a soft breath, you look at him. Your eyes memorize the handsome lines of his face, crystallizing this moment, because things will not be the same again, “Then ask me.”

He doesn’t get down on one knee, but he does take your hand, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Wife—something about that has never felt so right, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at him. Guy, your neighbor, your closest friend, someone you never saw coming but fell in love with all the same.

The word yes is barely out of your mouth before Guy is kissing you, sliding his mother’s ring into place.

—

June.

Your father is not thrilled at the secret proposal but in a surprising turn of events, he does not disown you, either. There’s a conversation he has with you in his study, asking you if you’re happy. You remember how quickly you told him yes, how unequivocally easy it was for you to give that response. He looks into your eyes as you say it, how he weighs that word with precise care, like maybe he’s asked your sister the same thing and has come up with something dishonest.

“That’s all your mother would want,” He tells you, then a ghost of a smile, “She decided to marry me against her parent’s wishes, you know. And look how well that turned out.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made you hug him all the tighter towards the end of that conversation.

You’re not sure what changed his mind on the matter…but maybe the mention of your mother should be all the answer you need. Things are not altogether settled with your sister either, but…there’s hope that you can eventually help. Cassandra has to want to be happy just as much as you want it for her.

Walking through Guy’s estate until you find him in the unkempt greenhouse, a small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you see him perched on the ground above wildflowers. There’s no waistcoat, just a long-sleeved button down rolled up to his elbows. It’s unclear whether he’s trying to plant something or tame weeds when you approach him.

“Think you’re making it worse.” You tease.

His entire body relaxes at hearing your voice, turning his head to look up at you. “Quite possibly. I admit I don’t have a green thumb at all.”

He stands to his full height, waving around a few stems of wilted daisies. Or…at least you think that’s what they are? They’re terribly discolored. Your nose twitches and you take a step back from him, stifling a sneeze into your arm.

Guy lets out a soft laugh, “Bless you.” He tosses the flowers aside, digging into his pocket for a handkerchief to hand you. “Won’t be using these in the bouquet then.”

He means for the wedding. Your stomach does a full-bodied swoop, warmth kissing the back of your neck, chest and cheeks. “Well I would hope not,” You sniffle, dabbing your nose with the handkerchief. “They’re wilted.”

He purses his lips, “Valid point.” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and uses his body to back you up a step, “Let's get you out of here before your nose is all red.” He leans down and teasingly kisses the bridge of it.

You playfully swat his chest, “I don’t mind being in one of your mother’s favorite places.”

Guy hums thoughtfully, tipping his head back to look at the greenhouse as you both step outside of it. “It was. Other than the walled garden.”

You smile, pressing yourself up on your toes to steal a soft kiss. It’s a quick thought, but you find yourself saying it anyway, “We should get married here.”

He pulls back a little, brushing some of your hair aside that’s caught in a breeze. His eyebrows draw together in gentle confusion, “What, here?”

You nod, “On your estate. I don’t need or want anything fancy.” Your hand rests on his chest, relishing in the strong pattern of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “I just want you.”

Guy watches you for a few moments, perhaps to gauge if you’re serious. He then picks up the hand that’s resting on his breastbone, bringing your fingers to his lips to press a series of small kisses there, making you smile.

“Well there’s no need to worry about that. I would think by now, it’d be fairly obvious.” He murmurs, “I’ve always been yours.”

Guy cups both sides of your face to draw you into another kiss—languid, with all the time in the world at your feet. Your heart beats in tandem with the sentiment.

#guy thwarte #guy thwarte x reader #the buccaneers #matthew broome #matthew broome x reader #mccall writes things

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