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prk-gunwook · 2 years ago

Note

your writing is literally ascending me to heaven! IT'S SO GOOD! could you please do a reaction of them to getting them flowers? Not for like any special occasion, just *shrug* casually (?)

And not to forget, I'm in love with your writing, literally so thankful that your blog exists! have a good day/evening/night! take care of yourself, stay hydrated!! <33

BOYS PLANET — reactions to a flower

INCLUDES || sung hanbin | seok matthew | zhang hao | park gunwook

GENRE || tooth-rotting fluff, a surprising amount of mutual pining and meanings behind flowers, school au

WORD COUNT || 3k

NOTES || tysm omg im over the moon to hear that !! <3 i actually LOVE flowers as a love language, so i was extra excited to write this one :3 (not proofread, too lazy rn :3)

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, SUNG HANBIN 𖥻 ❛ blue salvias ❜

SUNG HANBIN, contrary to what you may think, didn’t like flowers all that much. Sure, they’re pretty, but they’ll fade and wilt after only a few moments of appreciating them. He much preferred other gifts— that is, until he met you.

You reminded him of a flower; beautiful in a way that is not meant to be touched. Cherubic and angelic, petals of morning dew and silk that blossom and bloom when left to their own devices. As a man, he could never wish to hold you, for that will corrupt your beauty.

You have a timeless face. Hanbin could gaze upon it for eternity and find a new feature to appreciate each year. He could map the coordinates of your smile and the altitude of your eyes; he could graph the volume of your laugh and how it pitches slightly in the middle.

He first realized that, perhaps, flowers can be something beautiful when held by man, too, when you introduced him to pressed flowers.

Your room had countless flowers of all kinds hanging from the ceiling; crimson bouquets of begonia, flushing yellow poppies and dried salvias, all tangled together in twine. Your fingers gently held them as if made of glass, as if even the softest of movements would cause them to disappear in a flurry of sweet scents.

“Why do you keep flowers?” He asked you one afternoon.

“They have so many meanings,” You replied. “Like a blue salvia; it means ‘I’m thinking of you’. Most people get roses because they symbolize romance, but I think picking each specific flower with a meaning in mind is so much more romantic.”

“But they wilt so easily,” He argued.

“And then you can press them, and turn them into something beautiful again.”

“Press them?

“Yeah. Like, in between books and stuff,” You explained lamely, gesturing at the floor. “You can preserve them that way. They look really pretty. Usually, I use them as bookmarks.”

Hanbin thinks about that interaction more than he likes to admit— actually, he thinks about every interaction you have a good deal more than he’d like to admit. He performs autopsies on the words you’ve spoken, dissecting each consonant and vowel for the slight confirmation you might like him in the same way he likes you.

“I got you something,” You’d said that morning, hands hiding behind your back in an endearing way that made him smile. He nodded, urging you to explain further.

You’d presented him a small box (which made hardly any sound when he tried shaking it later to see if he could guess what was inside it). It was wrapped in brown parchment paper, a cute bow of twine sitting atop.

“You can’t open it until you’re home, alright?” You instructed him, a stern look in your eyes that had him agreeing before he even registered what you asked. The entire day it sat in his backpack, feeling heavy despite the fact it couldn’t have weighed more than half a pound, box included.

That led him here; sitting anxiously in front of his desk with the box atop the mahogany wood. He swiveled back and forth in his chair, running through every possibility of what it could be in his mind.

After a few tense moments, he opened it.

Hanbin didn’t recognize the flowers at first.

A few hours later, only when the collection of flowers were already tightly pressed within books just the way you taught him, did he realize where he’d seen them before.

Blue salvias.

He didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, SEOK MATTHEW 𖥻 ❛ pink bluebell ❜

SEOK MATTHEW doesn’t know much about pop culture, but he knows it’s a definite cliche to fall for someone who works in a flower shop. It’s not his fault, though—really! I mean, anyone would fall for your cute smile and rosy words and soft eyes and…

Matthew groans. Yeah, he’s got it bad.

Well, he knew that already. If the almost daily trips to the flower shop you work part-time at didn’t indicate anything, the fact his face turned bright pink at the mere mention of flowers certainly did.

But, seriously, he can’t help it. You’re so sweet when you offer to help him find what exactly he’s looking for (which he doesn’t even know, because before this Matthew had exactly zero interest in flowers). And when you explain the meanings behind each and every flower, and your eyes light up— Matthew swears he could see the stars behind them. He wonders if the sky ever gets jealous that, no matter how hard it may try, it can never compare to you.

“Oh, Matthew, back again?” You ask, voice ringing like bells. He could listen to it on repeat.

“Yeah! Uh, just here to look around,” He replies, voice sounding strained even to him. You just nod, bright smile never leaving your face.

“You must really like flowers.”

“Something like that.”

He takes his time strolling around, discreetly stealing glances at you each time he moves to the next aisle. His blush must match the color of the roses, by now, he thinks. When he finally picks out a flower, not paying attention to the meanings scribbled hastily beneath the care instructions, he feels a surge of disappointment.

His time getting to see you is almost over (even if a good portion of it was spent staring at you with no actual conversation initiated).

“Who’s the lucky person?” You ask while plugging the number of the flower into your cash register. Matthew stares at you, eyebrows furrowed, before realizing you must think he’s giving all the flowers he buys to someone. Hurriedly, he shakes his head.

“No— no one!” He exclaims, far too quickly to be believable. You laugh.

“You picked out a pink bluebell, Matthew,” You say, smiling even brighter now (he didn’t think it was possible). “It means ‘everlasting love’, you know.”

“Oh. I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t looking at the meaning,” He mumbles bashfully. You just laugh again, and he cherishes the fact he was the cause of it. “You could, I mean, you can keep it. Not like I have anyone to give it to.”

That’s the closest he’ll ever get to making a move, he thinks dimly. Your smile morphs into something different— something softer, more genuine and human. Something full of human emotion. He thinks he sees that smile in his mirror every time he thinks of you.

“Well, since it’s mine, now,” You say, examining the sweet flower and inhaling the scent briefly. Your eyes flit toward him, making contact before he looks away. “I’ll just have to gift it to someone.”

Matthew feels his heart sink momentarily. Of course— of course!— someone like you already has a partner. How foolish would he be to think someone who shines brighter than the sun itself doesn’t already have a moon? He chides himself mentally over and over again.

“I hope you at least read the care instructions,” You tell him. He glances up, confusion gracing his features for a second, before you hand the flower to him. He hesitates before taking it, looking around as if there were anybody else you could possibly be handing it to.

“For you, Matthew,” You say. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him. He wraps his fingers around the delicate blossom, pink petals bouncing with the movement.

“But—!”

“Don’t think too hard about it.” You tilt your head to the side. “Just a flower for my favorite customer. Surely you can’t refuse that, right?”

“I… I guess not,” He concedes, looking down at the flower like it was a gift from a god. He thinks it must’ve been, considering how heavenly you are.

The moment he leaves the shop, he feels as if he’s walking on air. As if the clouds lowered to allow him to step, as if he was floating above the Earth. The feeling in his chest is squeezing his heart so tight he thinks it might burst— and he would be fine with that, if it were at your hand.

Everlasting love, he thinks to himself.

Everlasting love.

That sounds just right.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, ZHANG HAO 𖥻 ❛ red chrysanthemums ❜

ZHANG HAO is not a sap. Sure, he watches a (frankly) embarrassing amount of romance dramas, and yeah, he weaves intricate scenarios of relationships in his mind before he sleeps, but that doesn’t mean anything! He is not a sap.

He doesn’t crave the feeling of another’s hand in his. He doesn’t fantasize about how your lips would slot against his like the missing piece of a puzzle he’s been trying to complete his entire life. And he sure as hell doesn’t wish you would love him the way he loves you. No, absolutely not. That’d be insane.

His heart isn’t speeding up as Ricky alerts him you’re walking his way. He doesn’t fight the urge to check his reflection in Keita’s glasses. He doesn’t take a deep breath to steel his nerves and calm his beating heart.

He doesn’t relish in the sound of your voice as you call his name, the way your gaze is directed at him and only him. No, no, no! He doesn’t, he swears!

“Hao!” You say, tickling his ears like a sweet melody of wind chimes tinkling against each other gently. “Would you mind checking over the Prom plans with me? I need the student head’s approval to move forward!”

Zhang Hao doesn’t slap Keita’s head for making kissy noises at him, and he doesn’t secretly hope there’s an ulterior motive behind your words. No.

“Yeah, of course,” He says. He hopes he looks as calm as he sounds. (And he hopes you don’t see Ricky and Keita pretending to make-out behind him).

“Awesome! I just need your signature to finalize the theme, time, and decorations!” You tell him, holding out the clipboard with a long string of papers attached. You flip through at the speed of light, talking about the different streamers and confetti, and how the theme ‘Night out in New York’ is one of your favorites because it allows creative freedom. He listens to every word.

“The bouquet samples arrived just a few minutes ago, if you want to go check them! That’s actually why I decided to come find you,” You admit, tucking the clipboard away. He nods, as if there was any doubt he’d ever want to spend more time with you.

Hao stands up, brushing off any dust or dirt that might’ve speckled his uniform, and heads off after you. He neglects waving goodbye to his friends, as he could see Yujin and Ollie approaching, and they were sure to make it egregiously well known just how much he liked you. The two couldn’t seem to keep a secret for their lives.

“The flowers were pretty expensive, but the board told me to go all out for Prom! It’s not every year their star students graduate, after all!” You tell him, bouncing as you led him. Hao tried not to smile too hard.

It was true. MNET High had always been an incredibly prestigious school, but the batch in his year were notably exceptional. Between Sung Hanbin, Seok Matthew, Cha Woongi, Keita, and himself, it was no secret this year's seniors were favorites of the school board. Zhang Hao had even managed to snag himself the role of student head— with you as his vice. Originally, it’d been a bother to have someone else working with him, but he’d grown unabashedly grateful for the opportunity to meet you.

“What do you think of them?” You ask, clasping your hands together and rocking back and forth on your heels. Belatedly, Hao realizes you’d arrived at the student center.

“They’re really pretty,” He says earnestly, taking a step toward the bouquets of pink, red, yellow, and blue. He says your name to catch your attention. “Really, they’re beautiful. Did you design the bouquets yourself?”

“Uh, partially,” You reply, seeming bashful to be receiving compliments. “I chose the red chrysanthemums! They’re my favorite flowers.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well— they— they just look cool,” You say lamely, looking away. “I liked to study the meaning of flowers when I was younger.”

“What do red chrysanthemums mean, then?” Hao asks, curious as he slowly lifts a finger over the ridges of the bright petals.

“Oh—! Uh, I forgot,” You say. You’re lying. Obviously. Even he can tell, but he doesn’t push. He watches as your fingers flex, seeming to be in an internal debate with yourself, before you pluck a flower from the bouquet and hand it to him.

“Here. You can… you can look it up yourself, later.”

Zhang hao signs off on the Prom preparations.

He isn’t fighting the urge to take out his phone right now and look up the meaning right now. It isn’t lingering on his mind all the while during his walk back to his friends. He doesn’t fight a smile when he finally sees the meaning.

He doesn’t.

“Love and passion.”

That doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t.

Zhang hao has never been good at lying to himself.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, PARK GUNWOOK 𖥻 ❛ pink aster ❜

PARK GUNWOOK thinks he must be dead and gone to heaven. That’s the only explanation for your beauty. He wonders if your love story is one of the beauty and the beast; he is hulking and tall, built of muscle and blood. You are lithe and spry, built of springs and ichor.

“Gunwook,” You say, wiping a splotch of dirt from your forehead. Your gloved hands are covered in the substance, and it stains your clothes and skin. Your jeans have green all over the knees, which are threadbare from years of rolling around in the grass. With a trowel in one hand and a handful of weeds in the other, you look every part messy and sweaty. He loves you more than anything.

“Sorry.” He steps forward, trying desperately to ignore how hot it is and how the humid air clings to him as he tries to help you with your garden. Canopies of hanging flowers and grapes hang over his head, drooping down into his eyes and casting a much-appreciated shade over the two of you.

Peas, tomatoes, potatoes and all sorts of wild flowers litter your backyard, some growing in basins and stone patches, some tended to in batches of odd stems and petals.

He takes a handful of weeds and pulls them from the dirt, tossing them into the small pile you’d created.

“You’re seriously perfect for this,” You tell him, watching as he barely uses any of his strength to pull the roots you’d been struggling with the past hour.

“I’m starting to think you’re only dating me for the gardening benefits,” He says, eyes squinting against the sun as he stumbles into a patch of dirt not covered by the overhanging plants.

You gasp in mock offense. “Of course not!”

He gives you a disbelieving look from the corner of his eye.

“I’m dating you because you’re the only one tall enough to pick my grapes, too!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too!”

You set a basket down beside his feet, empty save for the purple stains of grape-picking seasons long gone.

“Now get to work, peasant!” You exclaim, giving him a deceivingly bright smile. Gunwook can only shake his head, an affectionate smile crossing his face despite himself. Damn you.

“Yes, chef,” He mutters, a reference to the obscene amount of Gordan Ramsey shows you watch. As you work on gathering up the pile of weeds in your arms to toss away in the compost, he busies himself reaching up to pick the long vines of grapes and throw them down into the basket beside him. (He doesn’t actually. He sets them down gently, because he knows you hate when your grapes are squishy).

After a few minutes of picking grapes, the basket half full, Gunwook feels a tug behind his ear, like someone’s pulling his hair. He rolls his eyes for a moment, thinking you must be teasing him, until the light brush of something unfamiliar nestles against his skin.

“Hold—still!” You struggle, trying to balance something behind his ear. He, of course, spins around and catches the item as it falls. A flower, bright pink and petals stretching long, falls into his open palm.

You frown, picking the delicate blossom up not even seconds after it lands and trying to place it again.

“Hey, stop!” He struggles. He doesn’t want pollen in his hair.

You ignore him, continuing to adjust the flower until it lays snuggly parallel to his ear, the petals invading the peripherals of his vision.

“It’s a pink aster!” You tell him. “They’re Aphrodite’s flower, you know!”

He turns the same shade as the flower behind his ear. “You mean, like, the love goddess?”

“Yeah! They symbolize love and charm!” You explain, stepping back to admire Gunwook— or rather, how the flower sits. He looks away, suddenly shy.

You were always the more bold between the two of you, despite what people think. He tends to hesitate before pulling moves on you, and you tend to grab him by the collar and force him to finish them. That’s why he loves you, really.

“…Thanks,” He says, smiling at you as you pick a grape from the basket and wash it under the hose. He has no idea how sanitary it is, but you seem to not care as you plop the fruit into your mouth.

“‘Course. It looks cute on you, princess,” You say, winking as you steal one more grape.

Gunwook kicks at you, pretending to be upset you’re stealing from his harvest, despite his beating heart and loving gaze.

He thinks the entire universe must have conspired to let him find you, and he thanks his lucky stars they did, for he has never felt so deeply for someone.

He loves you so much he pretends not to notice you stealing yet another grape from his basket.

—

#boys planet #boys planet drabbles #boys planet fics #boys planet scenarios #boys planet x reader #sung hanbin #seok matthew #seok matthew x reader #zhang hao #zhang hao x reader #park gunwook #sung hanbin x reader

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emmg · 8 days ago

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Did you write that Elgar’nan/Lavellan thing yet? Asking for a friend 👀 (the friend is me) and if not fully can you share a wip for the starving masses? I may or may not have reread pretty bait several times oops

Yeah, let's not talk or mention my earlier writing lol. Doesn’t exist. Never happened. That’s all ancient history, like some cursed artifact I’m this close to chucking into a digital volcano. One day, I’m just gonna snap, delete the whole lot off ao3, and purge my soul of the cringe that is my old writing. The pre-2023 stuff? Especially cursed. It’s a miracle I haven’t rage-quit and wiped it from the face of the earth yet.

But as far this particular thing is concerned—not finished I'm afraid and I'm not entirely sure when it will be since I'm still trying to piece together the plot I want it to have. If you want to brainstorm with me, be my guest and slide into my dms. Rn I'm just trying to figure out a reason for keeping up the veil with Solas trapped inside because I'm not killing the egg lol

But yeah sure, here's an excerpt that features him and a very angry Ellana below the cut lol

She will carve a path through every Venatori fool enough to fall under his spell. She’ll slit one’s throat, string another up like a butchered animal, disembowel the next—and when she reaches Elgar'nan, she’ll fucking stab him. She’ll carve him into ribbons, strip him bare, stretch every piece of his skin in the sun to dry. She’ll keep him alive, make him watch, force him to witness as she devours him piece by piece, the way the Veil now feasts on Solas.

She will be rage unbound. She will be a blood-soaked revolution.

He may have pulled the sun from the heavens in Dalish legends, may have been the first light of creation itself, but she will shatter him. She will break his bones, drink his blood, make him feel the hollow ache of ten years of endless, aching want. Ten years spent searching, only to find Solas, touch him, and watch the Fade claim him once more. Watch him wither, watch him fracture, watch lives fall around him like leaves. Ten years, ten years—

"Perhaps," Emmrich ventures, wringing his hands, glancing between them, "Magister Pavus and I should speak to the Evanuris alone. You need rest."

She knows what he truly means. Someone ought to separate Dorian and Inquisitor Lavellan—she’d overheard him murmuring it to Harding before they set out. And he’s not wrong. They’re poison to each other like this, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s sorrow, locked in a spiral that can only lead to ruin.

But she doesn’t care. And Dorian doesn’t care either. They don’t even glance at each other as they stride toward that garish table, its every detail designed to dazzle and offend, where Elgar'nan lounges like a king, already assuming his victory. Behind him looms Ghilan'nain, a monstrous shadow of her own making. Her very presence chills the air; she’s a nightmare incarnate, Blight oozing from her wounds, staining her blackened eyes, twisting her form into something no longer natural. Just seeing her is enough to freeze the blood. A true horror.

"You, I know of," Elgar'nan says, his voice slow and serpentine, each syllable unfurling as he points a jewel-encrusted finger toward her. "The Inquisitor, they call you. Child of my children, lover of Fen'Harel."

His gaze drifts to Dorian. "You, however, remain a mystery, an unfamiliar face amidst this tangled web, though you do carry the stench of this land deep in your bones."

Finally, he turns to Emmrich. "And you—I’ve seen you trailing behind the wolf's little disciple. Both of them, wandering the Fade now, yes?" he asks, feigning innocence, every word dripping with the sickly-sweet pleasure of a man who already knows every detail, who has woven the strings and now watches them dance.

"Sit," Elgar'nan says, sweeping his hand in a grand, careless gesture. "Be my guests."

Reluctantly, she does. Wine stands between them—a full carafe, glasses set out in some mockery of hospitality. She doesn’t hesitate. She pours a glass for herself, another for Dorian. They both drink, empty their glasses, and drink again, as Emmrich sighs, and Elgar'nan watches, one eyebrow arched, amused but silent.

The first hazy edge of inebriation tugs at her, and she clears her throat.

"Well then," Emmrich begins, doing his best to sound diplomatic. "We are, of course, very grateful that you have not torn down the Veil. Naturally, we must discuss what your… ahem… arrival means for Thedas as a whole. I hope you understand that our reality diverges from yours, and while I sympathize with your loss of—"

Elgar'nan raises a hand, wincing, cutting through Emmrich’s stream of words. "It will come down," he snaps, dismissive. "Once it finishes draining the Dread Wolf. Make no mistake, mage."

Ghilan'nain’s tendrils twist and coil around the back of Elgar’nan’s throne like snakes, furling and unfurling in an eerie, silent rhythm. Her head tilts, but she doesn’t speak.

"And who do you belong to?" Elgar'nan asks, his gaze gliding over her. "I see no markings on your face. Whose sigil did you wear?" He gestures idly, as if this were merely a tiresome ritual. "A simple formality before we proceed. You see, in my time, we respected the boundaries of one another’s possessions. ‘Meddle not, take not’—a matter of decorum," he finishes with a careless shrug, as if such notions were etched into the very fabric of existence and she, too dumb, has somehow forgotten them.

To him, she is nothing more than property unclaimed, an object waiting to be sorted into its proper place.

"Not yours," she snaps, feeling for the first time like the dog he’s trying to make her. "Your vallaslin was too damn ugly. No one wanted that marring their skin."

She watches Dorian lean back, cross his legs, and swirl his wine with a disconcerting casualness. "Ellana," he says, his tone light, far too light. "Your people hail from the Dales, do they not?"

"Many elves do," she replies.

"Splendid," Dorian says, a wry smile creeping onto his face. "Perhaps we could extend these two," he gestures grandly toward Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, "a polite invitation to fuck right off back there. Tevinter has enough tyrants as it is."

She hums, considering. "I was thinking somewhere a bit more permanent myself."

"Oh? Do enlighten me."

"Into the fucking abyss," she says with a shit-eating grin.

Elgar'nan’s gaze sharpens, the amusement fading. "You are the first of your kind to speak to your creators in such a manner," he remarks, coldly. "It is unbecoming."

She shrugs, rolling one shoulder. "Unfortunately, I have no more fucks left to give," she says. "What about you, Dorian?"

Dorian makes a grand show of it, looking around as if he might find some hidden reserve of care—patting himself down, peering into his pockets, even reaching into the folds of his vest. He lets out a theatrical sigh, throwing up his hands. "Alas, I seem to be freshly out as well," he laments. "A tragedy, really."

She’s hated before. She’s hated many people in her life—mostly because hate comes easily to her. Righteousness was never her compass, just a habit formed by the good intentions of others pulling her toward the right choice. Her instinct was always for the simple path, the selfish one. But this hatred, the hatred she feels for Elgar’nan, is different. It’s new, raw, pulsing. She stares at him as he lounges there, head resting on a closed fist, his gilded, horned crown catching the light, the brightness almost blinding her, tangling with the gray of his hair. She’s glad he’s sitting—if he stood, she wouldn’t be able to reach that face, ageless and ancient, to claw it off.

She slams her glass against the edge of the table, shattering it with a sharp crack. Her hand closes around the jagged shard, fingers gripping tight. She doesn’t care—she lunges across the table, every fiber of her body coiled and ready, her focus narrowed to a single, blinding point.

Ten years. Ten years she’s played the diplomat, the peacekeeper, the politician. Ten years of forced smiles, of patience, all to find Solas. At first, she wondered if he would even want her when she found him, but that worry faded. Her desire didn’t matter—she didn’t have any right to his want. She’d made peace with the idea that she’d be alone even if she found him. But she wanted to speak with him, to hold his hand just once more, maybe embrace him. Even if he walked away after, she would have that, she would have closure.

Ten years. Ten years for fucking nothing.

She makes it all the way to his throat before anyone moves, her grip so tight on the shard that her hand is slick with blood—hers, his, she can't tell, and she doesn't care. His collar is high, stiff, his armored robes a fortress of pomp and arrogance, but she jabs the glass forward anyway, feeling it scrape as she hunts for bare skin. Voices shout behind her, someone catches her ankle—

Then her face is slammed against the table.

Dazed, she catches a glimpse of his wrist—Elgar'nan’s wrist—before a hand grips the back of her neck, smashing her head down again into the wood.

"A mutt and his bitch, snarling and snapping," he hisses as he grinds her face against the table’s surface. "Where is your civility, Inquisitor? Where is your respect?" His grip tightens, fury leaking into his voice, his breath hot against her ear. "For all his faults, let me tell you this—Fen'Harel knew how to wield his wrath. He was always precise, always ceremonious."

He lifts her just to slam her down again, harder, his voice coiling with rage. Wine splashes over, the carafe cracks, its fragrance mingling with blood in the air. "The wolf bared his teeth only when cornered," he spits, voice cutting, disdain smoldering beneath each syllable. "His tongue was honeyed, his words weapons, chosen to tear and gut as sharply as any blade." He presses down on her harder. "A mastery you, it appears, utterly lack."

She knows this is madness. She knows it’s reckless, short-sighted, utterly stupid. She knows Solas had no choice but to trap these monsters in the Fade—it was all he could do, all anyone could do. She knows Elgar’nan bleeds Blight, that the poison is woven into him, that he’s made of something ancient and wrong, something that defies names.

She knows it, feels it like iron shackles around her chest. And yet none of it matters. Not here, not now. Somehow, this shard of glass in her bare hand—not the one that once held the Anchor, now made of brass and runes, but her flesh and blood hand—feels like the only weapon she’ll ever need, the one that will end him.

She sees his other hand, the one not holding her by the neck, and with a wild thrust she drives the glass through it. Blood splatters across the table, black and thick, seeping into the wood. He snarls, some foul curse in that ancient, broken language, and his grip falters, just for a moment.

Then a pair of arms is around her, dragging her back. It's Dorian, pulling her out of the reach of Elgar’nan’s claws. He’s beside her, staff flashing, blocking one of Ghilan’nain’s writhing tendrils, lightning crackling at its tip. He’s shouting, furious, words spilling out rough and raw, not at her, but at them. If anything, she realizes, he’s spurring her on, his voice cutting through the red haze of her rage.

“…the barest taste of what you deserve!” he’s sneering. “Come a bit closer, why don’t you? You’ve got a few too many limbs for my liking, you eldritch monstrosity.”

#my asks #idk man im more of a character exploration type of writer than anything else #so i need to piece together a semblance of a plot before i finish the chapter #otherwise it will remain in limbo forever lmao #elgar'nan #or more like elgar'asshole but whatever we all know he's a bitch with anger management issues lol #evanuris #i'm keeping ghilan'nain alive too because she's way too amazing

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mamayan · 1 year ago

Text

I’m writing a Yan!Feitan fic rn and tbh my heart is swaying as I rewatch the show.

I don’t see this man as anything but awkward, deranged (not delusional), and mildly violent/sadistic towards his darling.

I don’t see him wanting to torture them… at least not in a traditional sense of his norm. No, he’s an intelligent individual, albeit stunted in the emotional intellect category. This means he’s not just whole heartedly ignorant of his feelings, and I see him falling for a darling he respects. At least in one way of another. He’d be confused why he’s feeling the urge to be closer to his darling, or maybe even frustrated when he’s not quite grasped his own intentions, but he’d be quick to catch on. He’d realize and then he’d act. I see him coming to a swift conclusion.

He’d take his darling 100% right away no questions asked if they were considered physically weak in his mind (so not as strong as someone in the Troupe, but I could see his darling being a Pro-Hunter or something of the sort, but in his mind they’re soft lil weak baby cuz he’s just a monster).

Though, I don’t see him yeeting them into his torture chamber or even belittling them.

Why you may ask?

I believe Feitan is, and this is sorta canon too, a master in psychology (not his own, he’s a busy man, ain’t no one got time for all that). At least in terms of torture/extracting information/and coercion! He’s not suave like Chrollo, but he’s not unaware of what makes a person tick!

He’d certainly not put up a front like other Yanderes, no, he’d be himself. That is probably what makes him terrifying, because even around the people he considers peers… he’s a scary lil man. He’s quick to make his darling bend to his will, and he’d do it perfectly to fit his daring.

Darling is a little spit fire with a good right hook? He’ll force them to their knees before him with his fingers tangled in their hair/around their neck.

Darling literally cries when someone say’s they’re disappointed in them?Feitan will make them sob as he tells them how their behavior/actions is such a nuisance. He’d trigger them immediately.

He’s not doing these things because he wants to punish his darling for no reason. If he wanted to let off steam, he’s got plenty of access and lack of morals to go get whoever strikes a nerve with him and take their skin off. Why would he even bother on his darling?

I do see him making his darling watch his torture sessions, but not as a deterrent lol.

He 1000% wants praise and admiration from his darling. I can even see him mentally expecting applause or something dramatic as he manages to remove all vital organs from the inside of someone and still keeping them alive.

He’s a creep♡

Feitan also strikes me as cat-like. He’d go after an independent darling and then get upset when he’s given attention when he doesn’t want it… and when darling doesn’t give it suddenly wants it.

He’d strip that independence away immediately (unless his darling is fairly powerful in his eyes, I can see him being flexible in areas depending on darling’s feelings towards him).

He’d just awkwardly stand in front of his darling as they read on the couch- just blocking their view… staring down at them. Not speaking.

Awkward man doesn’t know how to initiate. Hoping darling does? He’s not gonna ask, probably won’t talk either.

Anyway just my ramblings. Fic will come lol

#HxH #feitan #feitan porter #ramblings #yandere Feitan #sfw #nothing serious I’m just organizing thoughts

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shira-hoe-shi · 2 years ago

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A Mutual 'Oh Fuck.'

Kidlawlu magic!genderbend WIP

I started working on this when I had a surprise two hours free at work and needed somewhere to channel all of my directionless energy.

This is strictly a WIP. I'm not saying I'm not going to write more of this, but it feels a little too happy for what I'm looking to write rn?

But! I still thought someone might like it and I wanted to share bc I'm always looking for constructive feedback to become stronger writer :) + I'm really struggling with how to turn an idea into a finished piece.

The details are irrelevant—who poured the last round of drinks, who started the inevitable dick measuring contest, who pissed off the island’s resident mystic.

What matters right now is the jackhammer working to ram its way out of Kid’s skull. He feels like shit. The inside of his mouth is dry and he realizes with a grimace, wiping the back of one arm against his face, that the corners of his mouth are crusted over. Pushing himself up to his elbows, Kid sucks in a deep breath, curling the air at the back of his throat in an attempt to dislodge a night’s worth of mucus from his sinuses. He spits haphazardly to the side, not even sparing a glance to where the warm splat makes contact.

Sitting up completely, Kid buries his face in his hands, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets, dislodging sleep and bringing himself fully into the realm of the living. It’s bright as fuck. His chest hurts; his chest feels fucking heavy.

He stretches his arms high over his head with a pop before snapping his neck from side to side with the swift cracks. Joints settled, Kid lets a hand fall to his bare chest to idly check for damage. Had he gotten into a fight? Finally given that twink bastard Trafalgar Law something to really be goomy about; maybe a goose egg or a split lip on that shitty smirking face.

Kid’s fingers prod intently. His skin is tender. It’s soft? His frown deepens, eyes snapping fully awake and down.

Does he have fucking tits?

Kid is scrambling to his feet and he doesn’t scream, but there’s a high pitched wheeze that slips out of him that feels dangerously close. He doesn’t make it to his feet, legs tangling and suddenly he’s falling ass over tin cups before meeting the wall with a hard thud.

And it gets worse. So much worse. Because Kid didn’t trip over a mess of blankets or a pile of discarded laundry. No, he has one ankle hooked under none other than Trafalgar Law who’s now snapping awake and jostling a similarly entwined Straw hat Luffy with him.

Law’s staring at him and he’s staring back, a mutual oh fuck dawning across their faces in an instant.

Law is still, well, Law, but softer somehow. The hard lines of his chin dulled, lips full and swollen despite the tightness of the sneer they’re pulled into, and—oh shit—shirt ruffled and unbuttoned, allowing one pert breast to peek through. Small. Maybe a handful, not Kid’s hand to be sure because that dude is massive, but… the tendrils of his tattoo dip and bend to their body’s new curves, swirling snuggly against one taut, brown nipple.

Maybe his eyes linger a second too long, maybe his mouth falls a millimeter too wide, but Law is growling and wrenching the two sides of his shirt together.

“Eustass-ya,” his voice like gravel through clenched teeth, “what the fuck did you do?”

Indignant. In an instant.

[... something something “Me!? You creepy bastard you’re the one who likes playing with body parts y’sick fuck”]

[..something something Luffy’s eyes are still heavy with sleep and though he’s sat up enough to take in the room, if there’s something amiss, he certainly hasn’t realized it yet.]

[Kid has huge tits; Luffy looks almost exactly the same lmao]

#kidlawlu #eustass kid #trafalgar law #luffy #genderbend #my fics

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panthera-tigris-venenata · 1 year ago

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I’m just gonna post it here. With no context. There is some but I don’t feel like finishing it rn. (The context is that Uma isn’t on the Isle and the Hook siblings are running a crew together.)

Anyway. Enjoy about 750 words of the Hook sibling being mean to one another I guess.

Things are going fine, they really are. Really.

Well, fine. No one is actively dying, at least, which is about as good as it gets on the Isle.

And none of the Hook siblings are yelling at each other, which might be due to the fact that Harriet is, ehm, rather busy at the moment, and CJ is nowhere to be seen.

Harry is more or less haunting the deck of the ship, sitting at the railing of the command bridge and scaring the pirates into actually performing their tasks with his mere presence.

He is reading a book, or maybe just pretending to so he could catch the port rats slacking – one might never know with the Hook siblings. No one can tell what they’re thinking at any given moment, and they love it.

Harry smirks and taps his lips with his hook, only glancing up to tell Desiree to move it unless she wants to be scrubbing the deck for the rest of eternity, and off her own blood at that.

He gets back to reading without checking if she obeys her command.

Next time Harry looks up, it is to greet Ginny Gothel, who just walked from the Captain’s cabin, smudged lipstick and tangled hair. Self-satisfied smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are so dark they might be black holes. Pupils and nothing else.

She doesn‘t look him into the eyes much longer.

„So long, witch,“ he tells her, sliding of the railing and coming closer, „Ad arbitrium.“

She catches his hook before he can touch her cheek: „Fuck you, Hook,“ she says.

The deck is silent.

„You wish,“ he answers, or maybe „Is my sister not enough?“

Maybe he said both, and maybe neither; Ginny laughs, high and wild. The wind carries the mocking sound away.

She never answers.

Harry doesn’t look after her as she leaves the ship. After all, Ginny Gothel is not his problem. He barely cares if she lives or dies.

He takes out a flask from his pocket; his rings clank on it way too loudly as he opens it. He takes a sip of the vile liquid inside.

His sister, the mighty Captain Harriet Hook of Dead Beauty, stumbles out of her cabin and immediately tears the flask out of his hands. He lets her have her drink before he pushes her away and takes <i>his</i> flask back. She can get her own alcohol, please and thank you.

Besides.

She just saw Ginny.

„She left already?“ Harriet asks. She does <i>not</i> sound heartbroken or sad in the slightest,please and thank you. She is a Hook and they don’t have a heart, anyone could tell you.

Harry doesn’t deem it worthy of an answer anyway.

With another drink, he says: „And this is why I should be the Captain, sister dear.“

She sneers at him, grabbing the alcohol again. He will be resupplying from her personal stock.

Unsurprisingly, the taste of cheap rum does nothing to lessen her sneer.

„You, sister dearest, spend your time drunk and fucking that witch of yours, or worse yet, the Tremaine world wannabe.“

If the deck hadn’t been dead quiet and abandoned before, it certainly was now.

„You say that as if you didn’t fuck half the Isle, frater care,“ Her knuckles turn white where she holds the flask. Neat.

„And you drink as much as me.“

„Are you calling me a whore?!“ he declares in mock offence, loud enough for half the port to hear, really.

„And I ain’t lying!“

Neither of them knows who started throwing things at this point, and the crew is too scared to tell.

Sometime during the fight, CJ comes, sneaking around them to get to her cabin; the older siblings interrupt their fight barely long enough to ask her where was she so long, and where does she think she is going?

„Why,“ the youngest Hook turns her nose up, „I’m crashing at Freddie’s now. Just getting some weapons and jewels and stuff. Eyeliner.“

„Touch my eyeliner and die–“ They both threaten at the same time, „Touch my jewels with one of your fingers and I cut off your whole hand, savvy?!“ adds Harriet.

„Geez, chill a bit. As if your stuff were Freddie’s style,“ sneers Calista, undisturbed by her older siblings, „Also, Anthony’s coming over. Just thought y’all would like to know.“

CJ cackles as her older sister pales considerably and uses the distraction to slip away from her siblings’ grip once more. Chaos cannot wait and all that.

#disney descendants #harriet hook #harry hook #cj hook #Ginny gothel #tw alcohol #tw discussion of sex life #swearing #they're not having a good time AT ALL

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yagamisdiary · 10 months ago

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i can't rn

Growing up tangled was my thing, I'm not even lying, and after reading Eldia, the little kid inside of me was screaming, like when they saw the lanterns, I was crying because I WISH SO BADLY I COULD EXPERIENCE SOMETHING LIKE THAT and all I was listening to during this scene was "I see the light" from tangled and like how beautiful the lanterns and just everything was in the movie and how you made it 10XXX BETTER IN THIS FF OMG, and the way y/n acted was so healing my inner child, and the waterfall scene was BEAUTIFUL, HOW DO YOU WRITE SO BEAUTIFUL LIKE WHAT SECRETS ARE YOU HIDING FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD??!!!

Also, I've been here since Parasite was getting updated, and I didn't want to read Eldia because I refuse to read anything but Eren ff for the longest time. Still, after reading Eldia finally, I'm having a war in my mind like, which one is better? Eren, or Jean? BOTH??!! but I have come to the conclusion that I shouldn't compare them because of how drastically different they are.

Sorry, all of this is so random, but I must tell you: Your writing is my Roman empire.

THIS IS SO REALLLLLL

honestly i was a hugeeeee eren girl especially when i wrote parasite but i also thought jean was cute especially during the final season and he just reminds me of flynn ryder so much so when parasite was over i was like 🤔 now what if i just…

tangled is my fav disney movie of all time like i can watch it everyday and not get tired of it so being able to like combine three things i love (aot, tangled and writing) was just very special for me

i’ve happy u loved both of them because they’re both so very different books 🤍🤍

#amara's love mail

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zyafics-recs · 7 days ago

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reblogging comment review by @zyafics

im currently writing rn and i love gigi's dialogues the most, so i'm back here to read and get inspired from her amazing words (long annotations below) ⬇️

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened.

pussy

Self-sufficiency had long been your norm. Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age.

my poor baby who had to take care of herself for too long (love love this sentence)

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of his presence inside you—

the butterflies i felt from reading this line

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.” "You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

i love their banters fr

“At least they’re not murder—”

one thing i love is how this fic is similar but deviates from the original canon plot and i love that you managed to capture the same essence!

"What are you doing?" you asked, your brow furrowing in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.“Helping you.”

when the bare minimum got me kicking my feet 🤭

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener.

this is such a standout line when i first read it cause i love how u captured the atmosphere of cheap motels (LOL)

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh.

CAUSE HE DIDN'T WANT TO LET GO OUT HER HAND 🫠

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the underlying edge of irritation. "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got just one room with one bed."

the one BED TROPE YES

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear surged through you, your body instinctively fighting against his hold as you struggled to break free.

one thing i love more than the one bed trope is the nightmare one that follows it 😈

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and disbelief. "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

MY POOR BABY OHMYGOD

But then, instinct kicked in, and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could. Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you like a lifeline.

i love love LOVE how you write intimate moments like this

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft sound of your heartbeat. "Yeah, I think so."

his voice so soft, just above her heartbeat? shut up your writing EATS

It served as another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep. And it terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence.

YOUR CHARACTERIZATION OF RAFE I LOVE SO SO SO MUCH

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that." You felt like there was more to the story.

yeah 🤨

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely as he locked onto your gaze, "I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted, his tone laced with irritation. "I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

damn shit, because he wants to be ur bf 😉

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

me, reader, "damn that's so long ago why won't u forget about it" me, irl, *i've held year-long grudges against people for stealing my pencils*

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. "You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door. “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

he's so insecure 🥺

“Right,” You swallow, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

DAMNNNN

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion, his movements graceful yet filled with an underlying urgency. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch wavered between tenderness and roughness, with soft, gentle kisses blending seamlessly with fervent, desperate ones, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely. You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. It felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. It was as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words, everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it.

INTIMATE INTIMATE INTIMATEEE 💘

“You can’t kiss me to avoid questions, Rafe.”"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

reminds me of that specific scene in 10 things i hate about you

"I know," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. "But for now, can we just...be?"You nodded, "Yeah," you whispered, "For now, we can just...be."

my poor babies i love; they r unfortunately stuck in a situationship 😭

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - two

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader x sorta canon!rafe; doesn't exactly follow the real plot line but...it does?; am i turning this into a series? maybe.

word count: 6k...

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination.

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that. You knew better.

Despite that...You found it impossible to look at him for the next forty-eight hours. In fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound. Self-sufficiency had long been your norm. Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age.

Initially, there was an undeniable tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of his presence inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it gave you whiplash. In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets. Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the knot of frustration building in your chest. He was so fucking insufferable.

"Oh, so you've got a better suggestion?" you shot back in defiance.

He shot you a glare, but you can't help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky, "I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"Hell no?” you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, his frustration evident in the way he tugged at his hair, "C'mon,” he scoffed, his voice tinged with impatience. "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness. On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause. There was no third chance.

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

Rafe’s stare flickered with a hint of irritation, “I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not about to let us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The tension between you two was palpable, but there was no time to dwell on it. You both turned your attention back to the task at hand. The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom. As night fell, you both moved with practiced stealth, with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat. The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards. Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back. Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention. The sound was louder than you expected. But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered urgently, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat.

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously. Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a surge of hope. For the first time in months, freedom was within reach.

As Rafe guided the boat out of the harbor, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? I told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed. "Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride," he said, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving," you snapped back, your voice tense.

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing. The silence between you was a common thing, the hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the night. Minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding. You kept scanning the horizon, every wave a potential threat.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but edged with irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him. “No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, the easy bravado slipping for just a moment, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints”

“At least they’re not murder—”

You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching as he ground his teeth, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water with renewed urgency. The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed.

What could you possibly say? Apologize? There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him. Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. And you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words. It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind and he still refused to show remorse if not between four walls with you. Never out in the open, never too loud.

The sound of the engine became a steady thrum, drowning out any other noise, as if creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the weight of the past pressing down on you like a lead blanket. It was done. And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t.

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, like a never-ending path.

After what felt like an eternity, a sliver of light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn. You breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats," he instructed, his voice curt and businesslike. He was all focus still, facade slipping away to reveal that calculating side that had always unnerved you.

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently. The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, breaking the silence. Your voice was softer, the edge of anger dulled by exhaustion.

Rafe glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you want to get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end. Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death.

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that twisted in your gut.

“You know what I meant, Rafe.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you pressed on, determined to break through the wall of resentment that had formed between you, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly; the hard edges of his demeanor were momentarily blunted by your words. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before.

“If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you. The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage. With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence.

Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead. You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water laps gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your brow furrowing in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness. In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps, despite your efforts to remain composed. You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet. The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees. It was larger than you had anticipated, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps. The warm, humid air carried the scent of salt and seaweed, adding to the coastal ambiance. As you walked, an uneasy feeling crept over you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, maybe it was just the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year.

After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island. The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds.

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you said, nodding towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Rafe followed closely behind you, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the dimly lit room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what? Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly masked your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a knack for getting what he wanted. To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," he said, his tone disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks.

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment. "Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you; his expression unreadable. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind. His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway ahead.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual brooding demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump,” Rafe said, his tone light but with an underlying note of exhaustion. "But it'll do for now."

You sank onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh “Better than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised," you said with a wry smile, a hint of defiance creeping into your tone. "We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization dawn on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

“I can sleep on the floor, relaaax.”

You shoot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Seriously?" you ask, a hint of incredulity coloring your voice. "You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "Why not? It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that. Instead, you only studied him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none. Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind. As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the calm before the storm. It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness. For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. Concern gnawed at your gut as you watched him, the sight of him trapped in a nightmare and it weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, despite the walls he put up, you didn’t like to see him in pain. It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

"Rafe," you whispered softly, trying to rouse him from his restless slumber. "Hey, wake up."

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out in a strangled whisper as you clawed at his hands, desperate for release. But he was lost in the grip of his nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as the world blurred around the edges, darkness creeping into your vision while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp, "Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat vanished, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed. Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and disbelief. "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. It was a startling sight, seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do or say in the face of such raw emotion. But then, instinct kicked in, and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could. Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you like a lifeline.

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft sound of your heartbeat. "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. The weight of his body against yours was oddly comforting, grounding you in the present moment and pushing back the memories of his violent outburst just moments before.

After a while, Rafe pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you "I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his blonde hair from his sweaty forehead, your touch gentle and reassuring. "I know," you whispered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You don't know why you offer him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light.

"Yeah," you admitted, your voice soft but steady. "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside. Then, Rafe spoke again, his voice tinged with curiosity, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression urged you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once, “Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing. He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

But you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily. With a sigh, you reached out and gently grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded, his defenses crumbling.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you on the bed, his usual bravado replaced by a rare hesitancy. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you, a wave of warmth and comfort washed over you, “Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fitful sleep and restless dreams, but somehow, with Rafe by your side, it felt more bearable. When morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes, brb. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you. Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, probably sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night. It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions and weaknesses. You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

Pushing aside your conflicting emotions, you rose from the bed and stretched. The events of the previous night began to fade into the background as you focused on the task at hand: a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl. You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets if you stayed another night.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a soothing balm, washing away the remnants of fear and tension from the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you like a comforting embrace as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles. You focused on the simple act of washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you.

Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness, his vulnerability laid bare. It served as another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep. And it terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence.

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air and with a towel wrapped snugly around your body, you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction. His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you. As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a withering glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

Rafe held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall. There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about. Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

As you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room. The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast. As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day. It was strange, hearing Rafe talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to coast through life on his family’s wealth and influence. But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him. He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan,” you said, your voice steady and confident. “Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began, your tone light as you tried to sound casual, "I've been curious—why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food, a hint of surprise in his expression. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know," he admitted his voice casual but tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?”

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table. You knew what that meant.

You leaned forward, expression softening as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catches you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness and irritation. You straightened up, your expression hardening as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his.

"It’s not important," he snapped, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled slightly at his harsh tone, the sting of his words making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this. But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You blurted out, frustration bubbling over. You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

The words stung like a slap to the face. Resentment flared within you; the color drained from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think I don't carry that guilt with me every single day?"

His words caught you off guard, the raw emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I’m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, “I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wants to say.

“Right,” You swallow, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours, “You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t kiss me to avoid questions, Rafe.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his stubbled jawline, "It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell. But then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

"I know," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. "But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "Yeah," you whispered, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

Text

My Deep Blue Love (Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader) -- Soulmate AU one shot

This was 100% born out of boredom and loneliness and those damn Soulmate AU POV Tiktoks that I have seen practically 24/7 for the past WEEK on my fyp

(I’m not sure if I’ll do a part 2, rn I have no plans for it)

quick note on the technicality of this one: you lose all ability to see colors when you turn 12 and you don’t regain the ability until you meet your soulmate. but! you have to meet them in person and it has to be a mutual eye contact. pictures/videos of them don’t work, and if you just saw the back of their head or something in person, that doesn’t work either. it’s all about the shared eye contact babeyyy

small disclaimer: Brie Larson is mentioned in here and she has a wife, but that is very much only in this fic, and as far as i know Brie doesn’t have a wife irl lol (i also don’t know if she’s spoken about her sexuality at all so what i’m saying is take it with a grain of salt ok)

Summary: Everyone around you is meeting their soulmate, but you still see in black and white. You’re ready to give up, and basically have, when you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Warnings: None! Just a bit of angst, lots of fluff toward the end

You knock on your mom’s bedroom door at 4:58am. She’s already awake, sitting up in bed, ushering you over.

With tears in your eyes, you crawl onto her bed, snuggling close to her chest.

“I don’t want to lose my colors,” you whimper.

“I know, baby,” she whispers, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

You were born 12 years ago on this day at 5:08am, so in a few short minutes, when you officially turn 12 years old, all color will drain from your life.

Or the colors could stay, but that’s only if you’ve somehow already met your soulmate. And that’s rare, nearly impossible.

You squeeze your eyes shut at 5:07 and you don’t open them again until 5:10.

The colors are gone.

+++

twenty years later

You sigh heavily as you receive yet another wedding invite. You are invited to witness the official beginning of Olivia and Jeffrey’s lives together as husband and wife, soulmates for all of time.

The glitter sticks to your fingertips, tiny black dots against your skin. Your friend told you it’s gold. You barely remember what that looks like.

Lately it seems like everyone has been meeting their soulmate. Just yesterday, you were having coffee with a friend when she looked up at the girl sitting behind you, and boom.

“It’s like the world just exploded,” she had said. Colors were everywhere. She immediately left you to go talk to the girl.

You don’t blame her for that. If you had met your soulmate, you probably would’ve done the same thing. But you can’t say for sure because you don’t know.

You wouldn’t be so cynical of it all if your boyfriend of five years didn’t meet his soulmate while the two of you were out at dinner. You wish you could say that he was faking it. But it was clear from his face (and the girl’s) that he wasn’t kidding. It was real. He had met his soulmate, and it wasn’t you.

It’s never you.

You’ve had guys cut off dates before they even start, all because they didn’t see colors when they laid their eyes on you. They refuse to even be friends with you.

All anyone is doing anymore is searching for a soulmate and it’s exhausting when none of them are yours. When all of your friends see color now. When everyone assures you that it’ll happen soon. What does soon even mean?

You grab your ice cream from the freezer and fall onto the couch, flicking to whatever channel has late night shows that aren’t complete garbage.

As usual, you find yourself watching a talk show, and tonight Tom Hiddleston is one of the guests.

You’re sort of familiar with him from a few movies, but other than that, you hardly know anything about him.

“So, Tom, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on with you and Brie Larson?”

“Brie?” Tom asks, clearly shocked to hear this question. “We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, she doesn’t make you see any colors?”

“Ah, no, actually, she does not,” Tom chuckles, but doesn’t sound sad at all, surprisingly. “Her wife does that for her, not me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh really?” The host brushes past the mention of Brie’s wife and keeps the focus on Tom, of course. “So is that true, you still don’t see color?”

Your ears perk up at the mention of someone else not seeing in color. It’s rare for anyone to talk about this on television. Most celebrities don’t talk about whether or not they’ve found their soulmate, but more often than not, those that have are quite loud about it.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tom answers. “I still see the world in a lovely black and white.”

You snort, harshly jabbing your spoon into your ice cream. Lovely. Yeah, right.

“Do you really think it’s nice? Do you not miss the colors?” The host asks.

“No, no, I do. I do,” Tom admits. “But I like to think I’ll see them when the time is right.”

You groan, going to Google to look up his age. And when you see he’s 40, you groan even louder. He’s older than you and he still hasn’t met his soulmate. That’s just depressing. How can he sound so optimistic?

“Alright, well, if there’s one thing you wish you could tell your soulmate, what would it be? Maybe they’re watching right now, you never know.”

Tom smiles wide. “Maybe, maybe, um… Oh, so many things,” Tom exhales deeply. “I guess I could be cliché and say I can’t wait to meet them and wait for me, but I think I want to say… I think I want to say I understand. It is frustrating, still seeing in black and white, but our paths will cross soon, I’m sure of it. Until then, my eyes are blue.”

Blue. Blue.

You roll your eyes. You don’t even remember what the color looks like.

+++

seven months later

“I am not going to a movie premiere. You’re insane!”

“Please!” Your friend, Catherine, cries. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

You glare at her over your coffee. “That just makes it sound like you have a trick up your sleeve.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I just want you to take advantage of this and come with us! When will you ever have the chance to go to a movie premiere again?”

She has a point. Dammit. “Touché. How did you get tickets, anyway? Please tell me you didn’t spend thousands for this.” You wouldn’t put it past her, even though you tell her not to every time before she does something like this.

“God, no, Joe surprised me with them earlier. He said he went to school with the lead.”

“Oh. Cool. Who?”

“Tom Hiddleston, I think. Have you heard of him? He’s British, but that’s about all I know. Joe just said they ran into each other the other day and reconnected.”

You stop halfway through a sip of coffee, careful to not choke on it. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. I...I’ve seen him in a couple things.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t met his soulmate either…” Catherine trails away, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “I heard,” you set your cup down. “He’s probably met them by now though since he blasted it on television like that.”

“Or he’s still searching and you’re still being too cynical.”

“You’re probably right,” you chuckle.

“Sooo, you’ll come?”

You sigh heavily. “As long as you help me pick something to wear.”

+++

“I’m regretting letting you talk me into this already,” you mutter when you nearly trip in your heels.

“Oh, hush,” Catherine swats your arm. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up and look hot for no reason. Take it.”

“Fine.”

Catherine’s soulmate, Joe, was whisked away almost as soon as the three of you stepped inside the venue by some director (you think), but he promised to return in a few minutes. Catherine told him not to worry. She’s used to him being dragged away for conversation. You can see from her face that she’s more proud of him than anything, and not at all annoyed.

Currently, you and Catherine are standing near the small bar, waiting for them to announce that it’s time to take your seats. You desperately want a drink, but part of you knows it would be a bad idea.

One glass of wine can’t hurt, though. Maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain in your feet.

You peel away from Catherine when you see Joe coming back, and you flag the bartender down quickly.

After ordering a glass of white wine, you wait patiently, wishing you had chosen a dress with sleeves. It’s fucking cold in here.

“Darling, you’re shivering, are you alright?”

Your head turns toward the smooth voice, face set and mind trying to decipher whether or not it was a sincere or creepy comment when the world quite literally explodes.

There, standing beside you, concern written all over his face, is Tom Hiddleston. Only now the concern has washed away into awe when your eyes lock with his.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, stumbling even though he’s standing in place.

“Blue,” you murmur. “Your eyes are blue.” Without even thinking or asking, your hand lifts to cup his cheek, and then you pull back, “Shit, sorry—”

But he grabs your wrist gently, placing your palm on his cheek. “It’s alright.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you whisper in reply. But here he is. His eyes are blue, his lips are pink, he has tiny brown freckles all over his rosy cheeks. You look back to his eyes, narrowing your own. “You liar. Your eyes have green in them, too.”

“Do they really?” Tom chuckles. “I never would’ve known.”

“That’s why you have me,” you tease, and you don’t know where any of this is coming from, yet it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. It feels like you’re finally yourself.

His other hand tangles with yours as he nods. “That’s why I have you, indeed.”

At this time, the lights in the theatre begin lightly flashing, signaling that it’s time for everyone to begin making their way to their seats.

But neither you or Tom move one inch.

The only issue is people are beginning to stare.

You notice it first, so you slowly pull your hand from his cheek. This movement shocks him back to reality, too, and he blinks a few times, yet he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I, um, I have to make a speech,” he says. “But then I can come back to you. Will you save me a seat?”

“Don’t you have to sit up front?”

He nods. “I do, but—”

“Then I’ll come with you.” You aren’t sure if it’s the fact that he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, or if it’s because you’ve been waiting so long that now you don’t want him to be further than an arms length away from you, but you mean what you say.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but you both need to make a decision quickly because you can see someone waving from the wings, most likely trying to get Tom’s attention.

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t question it, in fact, he grins, and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x fem!reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x soulmate!reader #tom hiddleston soulmate au #soulmate au #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #completely self indulgent #as always

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colgatebluemintygel · 2 years ago

Note

hiii watching bake off rn and thinking abt your wiwhw remus :( he’s sooo… gonna politely ask u to indulge me and wonder if u have any little ideas with what r/s are up to in that au? or any scenes that didn’t make the cut xx they’re so special to me

HELLO ANGEL, LOML !!! xxxxx

it's so funny that you say this, actually! because this week they've fully taken up residence in my brain again after a brief 2 months away <333 they went on holiday and now they're BACK and i can't get them out of my head!! they're giggling and holding hands as we speak!!

i've just started drafting out the first of many lil sequels, and it'll follow on pretty directly from the final chapter! SOO i won't say too much about that just yet, but watch this space!!! all i'll say is that it will, in fact, feature them wading in waist-high water! lol

but HOW ARE THEY??? they're soooo good!!!!! and they're soooooooo stupidly sickeningly in love!!!! sirius has been alternating between kissing remus and obsessively writing songs. he's up all night writing! picture remus asleep and drooling, twisted and tangled in the sheets, with the undersheet fully yanked up off of the mattress, while sirius sits there with hearts in his eyes, writing songs and gently brushing the curls out of remus's face like "hehe!!!!!!! i can't believe he's mine! :'-) <3333" while remus snores xxxxxx

sirius wakes remus up every morning with coffee in bed because remus is utterly useless without it. and then remus makes bread, and sirius sighs dreamily as he watches remus knead it. this may or may not lead to kitchen shagging! it has been known to happen!!!

sirius keeps trying to teach remus how to cook, which, as of typing this, has led to 3 house fires :-\ sirius still hasn't given up <3333

remus hoards mugs on his bedside table and always leaves little random bits of loose paper lying around, which makes sirius laugh. remus still thinks kevin mccloud is a bit of a posh twat, but he sits through nightly viewings of grand designs because it makes sirius happy. sirius is also a bit posh, but remus loves him anyway!

remus brought his pet hen (lottie!!!) with him to london from wales, and he's learning all about urban chicken rearing xx one of their neighbours, a very rich and funky old lady who collects victorian lampshades, is obsessed with lottie (and also remus), and looks after lottie whenever they're away!

sirius takes remus on tour! and remus gets very horned up watching sirius play shows (and singing songs about him), which leads to a lot of shagging in changing rooms! in fact, there's just a lot of shagging in general!! that never changes!!!

remus and arthur talk constantly! he sends remus daily pictures of his ties!

they eventually Come Out as a couple and go to an award show together, where sirius wins an award for his album about remus (i mean. they're all about remus! goes without saying, really!). remus gets a bit panicky from all the people and the cameras, so he and sirius sneak out and smoke a cheeky ciggie on the roof of whatever fancy building the award show is being held at. then they go back inside and sirius watches stunned as remus just lopes right up to jay z (or idk. some other famous dude) and asks for gum. lol. remus clearly has no idea that he's talking to someone wildly famous, and sirius is just standing there, watching this interaction like :'-))))))))) i love this man!!!!!!!!

I GOT CARRIED AWAY BUT AHHHH they're so good! so so so good and i'm so unbelievably glad that they're special to you! they're so special to me too <333 always will be xxx

#they're soooooo #so so sooooooooo #yknow #:'-)))))))#there's so much more i could say too LOL #this is all like the first year afterwards!!!!!!!#i haven't decided if sirius goes back on bake off yet #but if he DOES then remus definitely comes back for a 'best of' mini season and they openly flirt the whole time <3333333 #well i mean #they openly flirt Again only this time it's actually aired on telly HEHEHE #wading in waist-high water #ask

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meltwonu · 4 years ago

Text

9. “Try to stay quiet, understand?”

11. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

32. “If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.”

notes; dom!hoshi, tiger-hybrid!reader, ….threesome, dom!jihoon, dirty talk, degradation, name-calling, hair pulling, blowjobs, bukkake, fucking in public, usage of the term ‘master’, this is rly just pwp ☠️ god the way i am fueled by, like, 2 pictures of soonyoung rn AND THE FUCKING TEASER THAT CAME OUT TODAY??? HELLOO>????AND PPL SPECULATING IF THE BACKING VOCALS ARE JIHOON? I AM NOW A WH0RE☠️☠️ also yes this is a continuation of my last hosh drabble! Altho ig you don’t really need to have read that one to get this one? This ones just… smut. 0 plot, all railing ☠️💕 Anyway, as always, thank you for requesting! Sorry I turned it into a 3some! 🤣💕 Enjoy!

“A-ah… m-master…”

Soonyoung smirks - hands gripping your ass tighter as his cock slams into you with each skillful thrust of his hips. “M-master!”

“Try to stay quiet, understand? You wouldn’t want someone to walk into the sauna and see me fucking your pretty ‘lil cunt, do you, kitten?”

The thought has you clenching harder around his cock; nails digging into his back when his cock curves right into your g-spot. “Ah, I--” You bite down on your bottom lip, images of the male from earlier winking at you from behind the receptionist table flooding your mind.

“Oh? Maybe you do? Hah, greedy ‘lil slut. Who was it?”

Soonyoung pushes you harder against the sauna’s wooden walls; sweat dripping down his and your body as he rocks into you and through the heat and the pleasure, you can’t even remember the male’s name - only his sultry gaze when he watched you walk in with Soonyoung earlier.

You open your mouth, ready to explain yourself when the door to the sauna is tugged open harshly.

“Hey, whoever’s in here has to go, we’re closing in--whoa.”

Jihoon stands in the doorframe, towel slung over his shoulder and hair mussed from a workout as he stares at Soonyoung’s naked body hoisting you up and keeping you pressed tight against the wall.

“Uh…”

He can’t deny the way his cock twitches in his sweats when Soonyoung makes no efforts to stop fucking you.

You really did look pretty like that.

“Mmh, a-ah, m-master…. P-please…!”

Jihoon feels goosebumps rise on his skin at your broken cries and shameless moans that only resonate in the small sauna room - hand clenched right around the towel’s edge as he gulps.

“Well, are you gonna stand there all day, Jihoon? I can’t tell you how much tighter my kitten’s getting with you watching her get her pretty ‘lil cunt fucked.”

Jihoon will admit he’d never done this before.

“God, your fucking pussy is so fuckin’ tight around my cock..!”

But he falls into it with ease when he rocks into you from behind; hands on your waist and cock filling you up perfectly as your walls clamp down onto him harder.

Soonyoung keeps your mouth stuffed full of his cock as he smirks down at your head - hands tangled into your hair as he guides your mouth down onto him.

“I think she was hoping you would walk in. Right, kitten? Did you think Jihoonie was handsome when you saw him?”

The two males share a knowing glance before they’re both thrusting into you at the same time; both of their cocks making you whine and clench at the fullness you feel from both ends.

“God, is she always this wet and tight? Fuck, it feels like she’s gonna cum already.”

Soonyoung lets out a humming noise before he’s tugging on your hair harshly. “Oh? I didn’t know you were so sensitive, kitten.” He mocks, “Or is it just that you’re finally satisfied with two cocks inside your needy mouth and cunt, hmm?”

You moan around him in return; eyes crossing when he pulls on your hair harder. The slight sting bleeds into pleasure as they only start fucking you faster - body jerking between them both.

“I did think she was pretty cute~ Who would’ve thought I’d get to fuck her ‘lil cunt too. Can I cum inside of her?”

The primal need in you wants them both to cum inside of you and fill you up to the brim with their hot cum but you let Soonyoung make the decision as you whimper around his cock instead.

“Got a better idea. Let’s cover her pretty body up in our cum instead. Then get her ‘cleaned’ up in the showers.” He grins.

Soonyoung had to admit - you looked good being stuffed full of cock and he could only imagine the other positions they could get you in with more space in the showers.

Jihoon nods, doubling his pace when he feels you getting even tighter around him from the suggestion.

“I did say she should come around more often~ Maybe you can keep me busy when Soonyoung’s in his training session~” The latter is directed to you and you can’t help but think about sitting on Jihoon’s cock while the two of you sat at the receptionist table or even you on your knees sucking him off from underneath the table while he greeted customers.

Your thighs tremble when you feel Soonyoung and Jihoon’s cocks throbbing inside of you and when Jihoon wraps a hand around your tail and tugs on it - you can’t stop your orgasm that has you crying around Soonyoung’s cock as your walls flutter around Jihoon’s.

“Oopsies~” Jihoon lets you ride out your orgasm with his cock snug between your walls and Soonyoung massages the base of your ears as you moan around him.

“Her pretty body is so sensitive~ Will she even be able to take more of our cocks after this?”

Soonyoung makes an acknowledging sound as he pretends to think and he’s quick to tug you off of him by the hair as a thread of precum and spit connect your chapped lips to the head of his cock.

“Well? Think you can still take more of us even though your filthy ‘lil cunt already came, kitten?”

You let out a sniffle; eyes wet with fresh tears as the pleasure washes over your entire body.

“Y-yes, master… P-please… fuck me m-more…” Your voice is hoarse and your cheeks stained with tears when Soonyoung lets go of your hair - letting your head roll forward as the sauna’s heat finally catches up to you.

Your entire body buzzes with the post orgasmic bliss but a disappointed moan falls from your lips when you feel Jihoon start to pull out of you.

“Sit up for us, kitten~” Soonyoung coos, vastly different from his rough touch from moments prior. “Be a good ‘lil slut for us.”

You do your best to obey as you sit on the wooden bench, licking your lips when they both approach you with a hand around their cocks.

“Open your mouth.” Jihoon murmurs. You do as you’re told as they stand on either side of you, jerking themselves off as you sit with your eyes closed and tongue out waiting for them to cum all over you.

There’s a soft growl from Jihoon who cums first - hot rivulets of cum hitting the left side of your face and chest as you moan and grind down onto the bench underneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….!”

And it only takes a few more expert flicks of Soonyoung’s wrist before he’s following suit; growls on his lips as he watches your face and body get covered in a mixture of his and Jihoon’s cum.

“Such a messy ‘lil slut… I’ve never seen you this content, kitten~”

Mewling, you open your eyes to watch their hands on their cocks, milking themselves of their orgasm as you draw your tongue back into your mouth to swallow up all the cum that’s landed on it.

“Fuck, she’s so pretty.”

Soonyoung beams down at you; the pride in his chest swelling knowing that you were his. “I know.”

You can’t help but grind down against the bench more; feeling empty and craving them inside of you again when they start to come down from their highs.

Their scents make you feel dizzy - heady fuzzy from a combination of it and the heat inside the sauna.

“M-master… I--I want m-more… p-please...”

They both snicker, nodding at each other when Jihoon starts to back away first to collect his things.

“I’ll meet you two in the shower room?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made a mess in here, Soonyoung…”

“Why?”

“Who’s gonna clean it now?”

“I mean--”

“It’s gonna be one of us so…”

“We can just--”

“I’m already off the clock sooooo...”

Soonyoung lets an exasperated sigh out before he stares pointedly at Jihoon. “If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god. We’ll both do it, okay? I’ll let kitten take a nap in one of the rooms while we clean and then you can go home. Agreed?”

“Fine. But only if you let me play with her again.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes as he nods - already reaching for a clean towel to wipe off the dried cum on the sauna’s bench.

“Deal.”

#hoshi smut #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #hoshi scenarios #hoshi imagines #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #호우주의보 발령 #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #hoshi #woozi #woozi fic #hoshi fic

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fandoms-are-insane · 4 years ago

Text

“Take you to Paris”

Shigaraki Tomura x reader (angst-to-fluff-to-smut)

Word count: 2813

Some hurt comfort smut because I want to hug Shiggy rn

It all started with Ratatouille.

Tonight wasn’t any different from usual. Friday is date night, a tradition Shigaraki and I have managed to uphold ever since we started dating four months ago. It’s not always easy but we manage, despite his hectic lifestyle.

Going out, having to deal with people, has never been either of our strong suits. Because of that it usually ends up with him stealing us buying a random game and trying to speed run it, or renting a movie.

Hence how we got to Ratatouille.

His arm is draped over my shoulder and I’m cuddled into his side. His hand absentmindedly draws patterns onto my shoulder, artists gloves allowing him to move this freely.

The Eiffel Tower comes on screen and I can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, “I wish I could go to Paris one day.” I said it more to myself than anything, just marveling at the beautiful animation, but suddenly the hand on my shoulder freezes and I feel him stiffen up against me.

I look up at him questioningly, “Baby are you oka-“

My question dies in my throat when I see his face, well, more like the face. It’s a shield, formed by years of ignored hurt. It's a shield that he puts on around others, but usually never me, at least for a long time he hasn’t now. Though his eyes are still firmly trained on the tv, they’re unfocused, I can tell his mind is somewhere else, somewhere dark.

“Shiggy?” I question as I slip out of his grip to turn the movie of. As soon as my warmth leaves his side he shrinks in on himself, eyes now dropping to the floor, hand flying up to his neck.

I quickly make my way over to him, snatching his wrist and pulling it away from his neck, he flinches at my touch and pulls his wrist out of my grip like I’ve burned him. I try to reach out again, lift his face to look at me but he cowers away from my touch again. So instead, I kneel down in front of him, putting myself right in his line of vision to try and meet his gaze. It’s only now I see that they’re glossed over, filled with tears that want to spill but are being held back.

“I can’t take you to Paris-“ he mumbles it quietly, so quietly I assume I must’ve heard him wrong. I place my hand on his cheek and try once more, “What baby?”

“I can’t. Take you. To fucking Paris!” He slaps my hand away from his face and I flinch at his unusually harsh tone.

As soon as his own reaction registers to him his eyes widen in horror. He stands up and walks all the way to the other side of the room, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Shiggy I don’t get what yo-“

“You want to go to Paris and I can’t take you,” he curtly states, like that is supposed to explain it all. Instead, he only manages to confuse me even more, “I wasn’t actually serious.”

“That’s not the point, don’t you get it?! Look at me Y/N!” He gestures wildly to himself, “I’m a villain, I can’t take you to the movies, we can’t go shopping, hell, you can’t even have pictures with me on your phone! So I’ll never be able to take you to fucking Paris!”

“Baby you know I don’t care about that, I know who you are and I love every part of you, no matter what.”

“Don’t say that so carelessly! I know you don’t mean it! I know that you’ll eventually realize how big of a mistake you’re making and leave! And if you don’t then you’re a fucking idiot,” he’s pretty much shouting at this point, words laced with venom making my chest tighten, “I have done so many bad things, that’s why here, inside these four walls, will always be the only place I can be with you, don’t you get that?” His words hurt but I ignore the dull sting they leave.

“I might be an idiot,” I say softly, crossing the distance between us in a few swift strides. “But,” I continue as I grab his hands and hold his gaze in mine, “I’m not leaving you. Ever. And I’m not ignoring the things you’ve done either. I know what they are but I love you despite that. You, Tomura Shigaraki, are the love of my life and the thought of having to spend a day on this earth without you makes me sick. No matter what, I will love you with every fiber of my being until the day I die.”

My words finally get through to him and he crumbles, tears flowing freely as he quite literally falls into my arms. Soft mumbles of ‘why?’, muffled by my shirt, fill my ears as I stroke through his hair, each of them breaking my heart.

After a couple of minutes pass, I pull his face up from my shoulder so I can rest my forehead against his, “I love you,” I whisper once more, just for him, and lean forwards capturing his lips in a soft kiss. A sob wrecks through his body, he continues to cry softly as my tongue licks at his lips, tasting salty from his tears, but he nonetheless still parts them to grant me access.

After a while his hands find purchase on my hips as he tries to pull me impossibly closer, as if he let go I might disappear.

“I love you,” I murmur against his lips again before I move on to kiss his cheek, “I love your laugh,” I kiss his ear, “I love your shouts when you lose a game,” I kiss his jawline “I love our indoor date nights.”

I travel lower until my lips are pressed against his neck where tiny scars litter his skin, “I love your scars too,” he lets out a whimper as I softly place my lips on the skin there, “they don’t define you, but they’re a part of who you are so I love them just the same.”

I lean back and bring one of his hands up to my lips, “I love the way your hand feels in mine,” I take my time to kiss all of his fingertips before pressing a kiss to his palm, “I love how it feels when you let your fingers dance along my skin,” another whimper, “and I will not stop loving these hands because they can do bad stuff.”

“I will not stop loving you,” his tears have stopped flowing but his lips are still trembling so I put a tiny peck on them, “ever.”

“I love you too,” it's silent for a few moments before he hesitantly continues, “please let me make love to you.”

His words catch me by surprise and I feel my face heat up.

It’s not like we haven’t had sex before, we have, but ‘Making love’ would never be a good way to describe it. It’s always rough and fast with Shigaraki, gentleness not of concern.

“Okay.”

His lips are on mine again in an instant, slow and passionate in their movements. The pace is bittersweet and leaves me lightheaded.

He walks me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I softly let myself fall down, Shigaraki following my movements not wanting the kiss to be broken for even a second.

My hands tangle in his hair as his find their way under my shirt and explore my soft skin, the difference between the smooth silk of the gloves and his calloused hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. My shirt and bra are soon to be discarded and his hands eagerly continue their exploration.

He softly cups my breasts and toys with my nipples, all the while not breaking our kiss, and I can feel heat start to pool between my legs.

I pull at his shirt and he helps me take it off, “See, now it’s fair,” I giggle against his lips, I feel them curl up into a smile before he finally breaks the kiss, smiling down at me for a second before greedily attaching his mouth to one of my nipples while his hand continues to toy with the other.

His hips are already slightly rutting against my thigh, he’s rock hard, more slick pools in my panties and I can’t take it anymore, I need him even closer and I need that now.

“Tomu, stop,” I call out to him, he immediately lets go of me, eyes frantic in fear of having done something wrong, “lie down for me baby.”

He gives me an unsure look but nevertheless follows my request.

I situate myself between his legs and slowly slide his pants down, I leave small kisses and nips along his leg as I do so, when those are removed, I follow the same process as I make my way up again. A large spot of precum is already staining his boxers, “let me take care of you m’kay?” I say as I pull the waistband of his boxers down, he hisses as the cold air from the room hits his sensitive member, head red and already coated in precum.

I place a kiss to his tip, followed by a small lick that makes him groan. The bitter taste of his precum making me let out a low hum as well.

Shigaraki holds my hair back for me as I take his head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and savoring the flavor some more before I slowly start bobbing my head up and down his length. I find a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as I can while pumping what doesn’t fit.

Shigaraki is already a whimpering mess above me, the slow pace such a huge contrast to how it usually is that it makes his heart flutter. He softly pulls my hair, guiding me up and down his shaft at a slightly faster pace. I gag a few times but also fall into the rhythm after a while. His moans making my core ache for some relief.

I snake my hand down my body and into my, now soaked, panties. I rub slow circles along my clit causing me to moan around his shaft. Which in turn makes him let out a guttural groan.

He pulls me off and I whine at the interruption, “No matter how amazing this is, it’s not what I want right now. I need to be inside you baby, gonna fill you up nice and good. Can I do that love?” His vermilion eyes bore into mine with an indescribable earnest, his pupils blown wide with desire, I whimper; “please.”

Shigaraki swiftly flips us over, pinning me below him. His lips find mine again in a sweet embrace but he pulls away before we can get sucked up into another heated kiss. He’s still close enough that I can taste his breath, “I’m going to make you feel so good baby,” with a huff he pulls up my skirt and rips my panties off.

I let out a yelp in surprise which quickly turns into a drawn-out moan when he plunges his index finger into my tight heat. “Such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against the skin of my neck before leaving a dark bruise there as his thumb start to circle my clit, ripping even more sounds from my throat. Soon after, a second and third finger are added, the long slender digits turn my brain to putty.

The coil in my stomach pulls impossible tighter as I near my orgasm, Shigaraki can feel it too by the way I’m clenching down on him, “Go ahead love, let go. Fuck- you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

His husky voice finally sends me over the edge, the knot in my stomach snaps, I let out a high-pitched cry as Shiggy guides me through my orgasm. I don’t get long to catch my breath though, not even a moment later he’s already pressing another kiss to my lips.

“Ready baby?” he asks while lining himself up with my entrance, I nod and he slowly pushes himself inside. Once fully inside he gives me a moment to adjust, no matter how much he stretches me or how often we have sex, it always causes a dull ache in the beginning.

“You can move Tomu, please move,” Shigaraki doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pulls out almost completely before slamming all the way back inside, and again, and again, and again, until he eventually falls into a steady pace. The pace is slow, but that doesn’t matter, not when his tip is nudging my cervix with every thrust and he’s staring at me like that. His eyes stare into mine with so much love and adoration that I completely lose myself in them.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room as a thin layer of sweat starts to form on both of our bodies. “Tomura!” I shout as he hits that spot inside of me that has me seeing stars. He smirks, angling his hips in order to keep hitting it, succeeding even further in turning me into a moaning mess.

It doesn't take too long for the knot in my stomach to tighten again, I pull his head down for a deep kiss and he swallows up my moans as it snaps for the second time tonight. My orgasm brings him closer to his own, he fastens his pace and pushes my legs up until my knees are to my chest, allowing him to hit even deeper.

“Fuck Y/N, ngh, I’m close, I-I’m close,” he says with a strained voice, grip in my thighs turning bruising as he continues to piston into me. ”Don’t pull out,” my own voice surprises me and it startles him as well, he looks at me with wide eyes, hips faltering for a second before continuing his brutal pace, “a-are you sure? You’re not on-”

“I know,” I cup his face and smile up at him, “I’m sure. I love you so much Tomura.”

“Shit,” is head drops to the crook of my neck, his thrusts growing sloppy until he stills inside of me, hot white ropes of cum coating my insides and shooting directly into my womb.

We stay like that for a moment, both catching our breath before Shigaraki finally sits up. I whine, wanting to keep him close, but my body is too worn out to make any useful protest. My eyes follow his figure across the room and into the bathroom, where he soon merges from again with a damp cloth. He cleans me up before discarding the cloth onto the floor and slipping under the covers with me, the rest can be worried about later.

He pulls me close against his chest and nuzzles his nose into my hair, I let out a happy sigh and melt into the embrace. We rest like that in a comfortable silence and I can feel my eyes start to droop as his steady breathing lulls me to sleep, until: “We’re leaving.”

“Hmm, Shig, what?” I try to move back to look up at him but his arms keep me pinned firmly in place.

“I said we’re leaving,” he takes a sharp inhale before he continues, “I still don’t know what kind of mistake the universe made that made you end up with someone like me-” I try to interrupt him but he pulls me closer to him and sighs, “Let me finish please.”

I nod and he continues, “As I was saying, I have no clue how it happened, but it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. You, Y/N, are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I fell madly in love with you and miraculously you felt the same. I didn't want to let myself believe it at first, I couldn't, not when at any moment you could become aware of the mistake you were making and leave, taking my heart with you in the process. But now I know that you plan on staying, I’m never giving you that chance again. I want to stay with you forever, I-I wanna have a family with you, love,” his hand gently strokes over my stomach, “but I can’t do that. Not yet at least, not while we’re still here.”

I try once more to look up at him and this time he lets me, his eyes are teary but he has the happiest smile on his face that I’ve ever seen, he pushes his forehead against mine.

“Let me take you to Paris.”

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akawrites000 · 3 years ago

Text

sunflowers, breaking clichés and faraway lovers

Hero trudges back home, her foot kicking up some mud on this lonely strip of road. She can't decide if she's happy or frustrated that nothing ever happens where she lives, not even villains, as if they don't find this place appealing enough to even visit.

She decides, after a moment, that maybe it's both. She's both happy that she doesn't have to deal with villains here, that this is the one constant place that she has in her life, and she's also a little frustrated that nothing ever happens here, and everywhere you see are familiar faces. She kind of wishes her town had the tradition to were masks like people in Jaoanese festivals do, so that it would at least bring some novelty into this place. Or she wishes that she can spot a new face somewhere, but the only face she wants to see right now is that of her partner's.

The wind blows to the left, and she turns to look. That's the path that leads to the sunflower field, one of her all time favourite places. She takes out her phone as the wind pushes her further to the field, holding the device in front of her face, trying to get a nice angle. Click. She opens villain’s chat and hits the send button, with a yellow heart emoji attached to the picture. She then sits down at the edge of the field, legs dangling, eyes taking in the spectacular view in front of her. This is probably the only place I'll never get tired of, even if it's the same ten years from now, she thinks.

Hero’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she pulls it out to see a message from villain. She opens the chat — smiling softly.

V: This looks so beautiful!! Is this the sunflower field that you always talk about? Thank you for the picture baby💛

Hero takes a moment to swoon. She loves it when villain calls her baby, and she has a feeling that they know that too.

H: Yes it is, one of my favourite places ever! I wish I could show this to you someday.

There it is, hero thinks. This ache that mixes up with the bubbly feelings in her chest because her lover lives in an entirely different continent away from her and there's nothing either of them can do about it for now. It's this sizzling agony that's there right under her skin, keeping her awake at night sometimes.

V: That sounds lovely. I would love to see it.

And then hero’s smiling, grinning. So much that her cheeks start to hurt and those blue feelings inside her chest slowly melt away, leaving her with this happy, giddy haze. Somewhere inside, the logical part of her speaks — what is even happening ?

Hero ignores that and just stares at the wide expanse of the field in front of her, beautifully painted by the sun setting on the horizon behind. She lets her mind wander to villain, her lover whom she's never met but knows — because one doesn't have to meet to know someone right? Of course hero aches to meet them, just like all the lovers in ancient texts do. She's no different. So she tries to meet them in her imagination at least- one hand in their soft, brown hair, while the other cups their cheek, tender with that natural blush that drives her crazy; and then villain's hands are in her hair, tangling her long back strands but she can't find it in herself to care one bit —

Her phone buzzes again and hero’s pulled out of that soft world in her mind, back to the real one. Her eyes take in her surroundings once again, noticing the changes. The sky is inky blue, like deep ocean waters and the sun is nowhere to be seen . The sunflowers that were all looking at the sun like dedicated devotees, have now turned to look at their loved ones next to them instead, and settle in their arms for the night. Hero looks at her phone, her mind working in two angles — one thinking about this fact that she read about sunflowers somewhere while the other focuses on villain’s chat box.

V: You'll have to fight supervillain later this evening right?

Hero groans as she remembers her pressing duties to this city — fighting supervillains, protecting the civilians, being the symbol of justice. It's only in the short time that she spends with villain — in their chatbox, occasional phone calls, when she thinks of villain, that she feels like a normal twenty something, just living her life and falling in love with someone breathtakingly amazing.

H: You're always more updated about my schedule than I am xD But yeah, I have to.

Hero imagines villain’s mouth, unable to decide between their usual smirk or rare soft smiles. She wonders what expression they're wearing right now.

V: Of course I am. That's one thing technology is good for.

Hero chuckles, simply happy that villain even bothers to keep track of all of this.

V: Fight safely and vigilantly okay? Trust your gut feelings, they're always valid. Your feelings are always valid.

Hero clutches her phone tight in her hand, trying to bury her face into her own arms. Her heart performs this dance everytime villain does stuff like this, and she never knows how to handle it.

H: Thank you my love❤ I'm a little nervous of course, but I think I'll be okay. I can do this.

Hero knows there's no point in putting up a front or lying to villain. They always know somehow. And hero thinks that she doesn't want to lie — she's always putting up a front for the world, the people, her opponents. So she wants at least this one person in the entire world to know who she really is, in all her silly, anxious and raw glory.

V: You'll be fine baby. You're an amazing fighter and I believe in you.

Okay, that's it. Hero feels like her entire body is on fire and she forces herself to look away from the phone screen at the field in front of her so that her fingers don't start doing this embarrassing keysmash that people generally seem to do when they're embarrassed. Does she want to do that? She thinks she'd rather avoid it. Or at least try to.

That's when her mind supplies that fact about sunflowers that it was trying to remember. When the sun is not visible, the sunflowers turn towards one another, as if the sun is just a fever dream that is abandoned as soon as it dips below the horizon, and the only real things that exist in the world are the flowers themselves and their partners who exist right beside them. Hero watches as the wind gently coaxes them, one flower falling into another and vice versa, as they hold each other and dance while the first stars form constellations in the sky. Hero thinks how beautiful this is, that there is a whole universe beyond clichés, that a sunflower doesn't have to achingly wait for a sun that will never belong to it, but instead the world is for its taking as it falls in love with the flower next to it — one that will return its feelings.

And all of a sudden, hero is overwhelmed by this weird emotion in her chest. She can't name it, she's always been bad with names. But sitting here and looking at these sunflowers breaking clichés makes her heart soar for some inexplicable reason. It's like nature is telling her that nothing else matters other than feelings that are respected and returned.

She opens villain's chat and starts typing in everything that she's realised in the past minute with increased fervour, afraid that all of these thoughts would just up and disappear into a puff of nothing because nothing is really everlasting — except this one moment. And she plans to make the best of it. She types the last letter, then attaches a close-up picture of two sunflowers with tangled petals facing one another and hits send.

Villain takes a minute to reply, but it brings the brightest smiles to hero's face regardless.

V: I don't know if you even realise this, but I just love the way you fucking think ❤ The sunflowers seem like they could pass for humans themselves don't they? Because I just find this whole thing alarmingly human — the way we have our hearts on our sleeves when we know no one else is looking, for that one person.

Hero sighs happily, she didn't think feeling understood could feel this liberating. It's definitely one of those feelings that people can get high on , she thinks. Damn, she thinks she's definitely getting high on this herself.

H: Thank you love, I love the way you think too! And I do agree, the sunflowers are humans xD (plus ten heart emojis).

A few more minutes go by and hero receives another message from villain with this attached picture:

there's a hand (hero guesses it's villain’s hand) holding two violet flowers together (so they look like they're hugging) with this caption —

I had to chase away two ducks for this picture, because these flowers were apparently their evening snack. How cool is that?

And hero’s full blown laughing now, the clutching-your-stomach kind of laughing and she hopes that the laughing emoji on her phone would do this justice. Probably not.

—

Here's the live coverage of Hero vs Supervillain-

The newsreader reads live from the venue and villain’s eyes refuse to leave the tv screen for even a single moment. They watch as their hero holds her ground against such a powerful foe and villain’s heart fills up to the brim with a mix of fondness and pride. They don't feel the rest of the evening pass by, as they sit and watch the entire live coverage without as much as even getting up.

Hero emerges victorious, and she has a few surface injuries here and there, some nasty looking gashes but she's standing there and she's alive and she's okay and villain finally lets out a breath that they didn't even know they were holding.

That's their strong, sweet and kind hero and villain can't be happier to call her their girlfriend.

Hellooo there lovely people!! I know it's been a long while since I posted (that's because life is pretty hectic rn) but I finally found some time to write (and procrastinate, but that's the usual lol). So what's new is that I've given you all some female rep, because I just realised that I haven't really written much female mc content. So I hope you all enjoyed reading this, and thank you for your support as always - means a lot<3

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