#which sometimes catches a downpour

[fluffydeoxys]

Thank you guys! ; ;

I feel very grateful. And shy! But uh, mostly grateful.

Here it is here, and the pinned post has been updated with it as well.

[asilentsongbird]

Neuvillette pines for you.

Furina learns to avoid him simply so she doesn't have to hear about whatever thing you've done lately that Neuvillette is obsessed with.

The ache is so deep in his soul it almost hurts.

The rain comes in a downpour sometimes. To match the wetness on his cheeks. Though sometimes he can't tell if it's the rain or his tears on his face.

You find him like this one evening. An umbrella tucked under your arm as you find the Chief Justice on the shore, head bowed and completely soaked.

"Monsieur Neuvillette?" you ask softly, coming up behind him. Your umbrella is just big enough to protect him from the rain. "Are you alright?"

He turns to you with shock on his face, tears still running down his face. A thousand thoughts race through his head, everything from did you see him crying to why in the world are you out in the rain?

A soft, gentle hand touches his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize it's your hand, the softest thing he's felt. Instinctively, he wants to lean into the touch. So he does.

"Are you crying?" your voice is soft, concerned, without the barest hint of judgement he so easily passes on to the players of his court.

The umbrella is shoved into the crook of his arm, and another hand reaches up to join the other. You cup both of his cheeks, though he has to bend slightly to allow you to do so, which he does so easily.

"There," you murmur, brushing your thumbs under his eyes. Your smile is so soft, even softer than your touch. "You have beautiful eyes, Monsieur Neuvillette. I hate to see you so sad."

The rain stops suddenly, as though someone has turned off a switch in the sky itself. His cheeks are dry and the sky is clear, and before he can say a word, you're looking up at it instead of him, still smiling.

"The rain stopped." You sound so happy about it, he almost feels bad for making it rain. You press the umbrella further against his hand.

Your touch feels warm. Inviting, and soft. Everything about you feels soft to him.

"Keep it for next time, okay? I'd hate to stumble upon you wandering through the rain again. You could catch a cold!"

He clears his throat softly, trying to figure out words. He's pretty sure words didn't exist before you started talking to him, and now he's floundering over them like a child.

"Allow me to walk you home," he finally manages, as though he didn't stumble over words for the first time in his life.

You smile, and link your arm through his own when he offers it. The sky above you two hasn't been this clear and blue in ages.

Perhaps, after he finishes walking you home, he can figure out how to finally ask you to dinner.

But who knows, really. After all, if he cries again, will you touch him as softly as before?

There's only one way to find out.

[vifilms]

≛ LONELY IS THE MUSE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

feat. bodyguard!abby x famous actor!reader

warnings. eighteen+, suggestive nsfw content: reader fell first nd and abby fell harder, some angst, fluff, slightly coded fem reader, personal trainer!abby, just two idiots pining. i saw the discourse for some romance and i wanted to do my part. enjoy friends.

LONELY IS THE MUSE, entangled in an endless web of a high profile life, everyone waiting on you hand and foot, hollywood’s star in their prime — everyone needing a piece for themselves. yet the mysterious blonde who has not a clue to who you are catches the eye of the lonely muse.

wc. 8k

“You know you don’t have to stand this close to me.” Abby counters, but her words didn’t make you move an inch. Not that she really thought they would. Secretly, she enjoys your gentle touch. She likes how comfortable you feel around her. The downpour in New York has your arm entangled with her own, your hand gripping her bicep as she holds the umbrella.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to ruin my hair.” You replied gently, as you rested your head against her relaxed bicep.

“God, forbid your hair be in ruin, sweet girl.” Abby’s wet lips look inviting, especially when she’s smirking at you. Delectable, enticing, desired seeping underneath your soul as you try your best to keep them at bay. 

“Now that would be positively tragic, wouldn’t it? Just a paparazzi’s wet dream. Need my hair in ruins for them to get a handsome payday.” Abby shakes her head, the budding smile threatening to reveal itself. You can see how it grows, despite the effort she makes to disguise it. 

“I think you do enjoy my company. Paid or not, I bring some light into your life.” You play with the ends of her hair. The blonde feels a tingle pricking at her skin. She ignores it. 

“I can see that smile.” 

Better than anyone, Abby knows the gleam in your eyes is too dangerous to entertain, so she looks forward. It’s what she's paid to do, to keep you safe. Not to entertain some weird crush that will soon pass when you move on to the next actress, artist, or producer. She doesn’t need a reminder of how different your world is, she’s already abundantly clear on where the both of you stand. Worlds apart from each other, even if you’re leaning against her, the greedy hands of the public grab onto you first, mercilessly sucking the life out of anyone who enters your life. 

All it does is isolate you, making your life incredibly lonely. Trapped on the throne you built with your raw talent, but the industry is a double edged sword, as much as it appears to lift you up, it impales any sense of normalcy at a private, peaceful life. You take pride in these little moments you have with her. It’s the only time you get to have a taste of normalcy, even if you did have a bodyguard, which wasn’t entirely normal. Yet, Abby is a gentle reminder of a life she wishes to have. Someone who is kind, and loving; a soul that exists for no selfish gain, greed, or selfishness. 

Sometimes, you take advantage of it. 

Abby knows you crave physical affection. Ever since your messy break up, you’ve been finding any little excuse to justify it. Abby didn’t really mind at all. Even if she tried to deny it in her head, she’d miss it if you stopped. The incessant need you have to be close to her at all times, your essence bleeding on to her, suffocating her with everything she wants, but knows she can’t ever let herself dip into the deepest edges of you. 

Especially, not when you are still attempting to decode the wreckage of your last relationship. 

Abby hates seeing you like this, but she knew there was little she could do to help. All she could do is let you ride the wave of heartbreak, take in the silent tears hitting full cheeks, and hope it would all end soon for you. For now, she would allow immediate proximity.

You’re hurting. You need it.  

The first few weeks, even a couple months after, she expects it. Now it’s month four, and you were still touching her all the time. Lame excuses falling from your lips daily and Abby was sure you didn’t even believe them. She thought about bringing it up to you, establishing healthy boundaries before she crosses a line.

Yet, it feels…nice.

It felt good to be needed. The reason she had taken this job in the first place. It wasn’t what she had imagined for herself – a bodyguard of a famous musician. She jokes about it now, but it's a twisted fate for the two of you. Your eyes shine bright whenever someone asks, and you always take the lead.

Abby has always been more reserved, and your personality is as bright as the sun. She liked Abby the second she laid eyes on her. Not because she was beautiful or the most gorgeous human she’d ever seen.

Which she is.

No.

Her stupid pounding heart, the one she felt beating violently out of her chest, loves you, has no idea who she is.  She had thought possibly the blonde stranger was putting on a front, some did. They liked to conceal their intentions behind greedy eyes and malicious intent.

But Abby turned out to be different.

When a blossoming friendship turned into a job opportunity, it took Abby through a loop. It was the very last thing she was expecting from you. You’d kept her in the dark and when you announced exactly who you were, Abby really didn’t know. Never was she really a fan of social media, didn’t really partake in it unless someone was showing her the latest trend going around. She’s a little old fashioned but she likes it. It worked in her favor when it came to you. Unknowingly, for the first time since your fame struck as quick as lightning, you had the pleasure to befriend someone who had no idea who you were. 

As fresh as breathing your first breath of air, you took pride in the circumstance. Someone enjoying your company for who they are and not just for your social standing, fame, or most importantly the money. Before either of you could really even fully come to it, Abby has become such an influential person in your life, and then you were attempting to entice her with a job opportunity, and she accepted. 

You thought it would take longer and knew from the moment you had asked. But her life was uprooted by you, and she felt guilty about how much it fills her up with glee. 

In the last year, Abby became the only person worthy of your trust, the only one who would keep your confessions confined, not letting the secrets drip like cheap wine down the drain. Rather more as if she was out in the vineyard, carefully hand picking the grapes for the wine as she crafts it herself. Giving it the love, care, and attention it needs to flourish into fine beverage. From one sip alone, knowing she would crave for the taste. 

Getting to know you in ways some would dream of. Often, the mass of the public did, but you’re more selective who you let in your life now. Swiftly, you noticed how easily Abby listened. 

Listening and seeing you for who you are, not some strewed version the media made you out to be.  

She understood why you felt the need to and maybe why you felt comfortable with her. You spent time with her more than anyone. After two years together, she had learned every little detail about you. Where you liked to get your morning coffee, your favorite brunch spot, which bar you like to frequent when you had a night to give, which gym was your favorite, and to not speak with you until you’ve had said coffee. 

It’s these little things Abby remembers, constantly getting her in trouble.

When paparazzi are around, you always accept her hand as she guides you through the swarming crowd. Abby knows you despise it. How inhumane it makes you feel. You feel like an attraction, an object the masses had come to see rather than being viewed as an actual person. In these moments, you cling onto Abby the most. While she’s intimidating to all, there leaves a small exception for you, never has she once been anything to you more than just a sweet, gentle giant she wants close to her at all times. 

Her stature is standing a little over six feet tall. Her arms always looked too good against the tight fabric of her shirt. The one you grip onto as she is navigating through a crowd with you in tow, she’s always focused. The remainder of your team was behind you, while she was always in front of you.

At all times, protecting you.

But it was moments like today, you were grateful for. You blended with the hectic life of the city. You were just two people waiting at a crosswalk, waiting to get to your next destination.

Abby tries not to pay too much attention to how you’re squeezing her bicep, with a strong grip further indication you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

She supposes it’s better than feeling your hand in hers. There were times when Abby deemed it necessary. She would grab it whenever she needed to get you through from point a to point b, quickly. It made you follow her pace instead of lingering behind. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel with your head resting against her arm, your body so close to hers.

How was she supposed to act normally?

The rumors were already getting bad. You denied them when asked, and you did gracefully each time.

All Abby could think about if this moment was captured, it would be perceived as intimate. It felt like it was, but she didn’t want the entire world to see. Not when she felt the two of you walking this very nimble line of friends, something professional, and something more. She didn’t need thousands of eyes giving their two senses in a situation she didn’t even fully understand yet. All it took was one person to snap a photo if she gets too close to you. If her touch stayed on you for too long, or if she let the love reach her eyes. The ladder was the most difficult to control. It’s a part of her just as much as the air in her lungs.

This life is new to her. At times, Abby wondered if she’s biting off more than she could chew.

The only reason she’d left was for you. She had a small, quiet life. Abby’s life was very average, a cloud of normalcy hovered above her before the two of you met. A personal trainer full time and she resided in a cabin about half an hour from where she worked. She chopped wood to relieve stress, Her girlfriend liked it at the time, and she did too. She had her two dogs, and a darling kitten. 

She enjoyed the privacy. The isolated countryside her sweet family could reside in. Abby had built this life she was proud of, and it made her happy. For a time, it worked. She was genuinely content with where she was. There wasn’t a need to stress or control where her life was going. It felt like a huge relief. She tended to live inside her own head, not be present in what she has right in front her.

It had been months since she felt like that. It’d felt good and she was proud of herself for not succumbing from within and really coming to terms with what she had built around her. This was the most difficult route for her to take. To allow herself to be open, even if there was a chance of her falling.

Abby really should have felt remorseful for leaving it all behind.

Nora was sweet. The most caring partner she ever had, but there wasn’t much she could compare it to. Besides her, there had only been two, and she didn’t even count Owen. A long misstep until she landed where she needed to be. He did care for her, and he seemed to be more kind-hearted than most men, but the bar was set so low, he should’ve exceeded expectations.

And he did, in some areas.

Others, he fell more than flat but there was little to nothing he could do about it. Abby likes girls and he wasn’t one. Her sexuality shattered their relationship into a million pieces – leaving neither of them any option but to move on.

Nora felt real. This genuine connection she’d never experienced before. Abby knew it one year into their relationship. The pair had built this life together, one where she didn’t feel trapped in, and one Abby could be proud of. She felt acknowledged and loved Nora. There wasn’t a sliver of a doubt in her mind this where she needed to be.

She tells Nora when she needs space, and she isn’t ashamed of it. If she didn’t want to go out, Nora wouldn’t guilt trip her into it. Abby didn’t feel pressured to intertwine her identity with Nora just because they were together. Nora hardly ever gave Abby a reason to be upset. She showed up like partners were supposed to, even when Abby didn’t.

But it was a heavy weight to carry for Nora. Being her first serious queer relationship, Abby was left stunted in areas where Nora had to lend a helping hand. She never made Abby feel bad about it, but the two of them could feel the string keeping them threatening to snap.

Often, it frustrated Abby. To always be the one receiving help and never giving it. She didn't blame her partner, but she was left at a crossroad. 

She never understood Owen more and it really pissed her off.

To no fucking end.

But Nora was far more patient than Abby had ever shown. Maybe it was the testament to love or maybe Nora was just a good person and Abby is shitty. She had more patience than Mother Thersea herself, and it amazed her. Always guiding Abby with a gentle hand, never getting upset with her even when she let her anger shine through.

It makes her feel undeserving of a love she could never earn.

This pure and untainted love had never touched her before, and she’d never fallen this hard. Abby didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She really thought this could be it. Nora could be the one. They could get through those hardships together, right? 

Then you came and overwhelmed her like a tsunami.

She was running late, which was completely out of the ordinary for Abby. Instead of her neat braid, her sun kissed-blonde hair was in a low bun. Underneath her eyes was evidence of her lack of sleep. She hadn’t been getting any as of lately and the bags only seemed to get deeper.

Abby wouldn’t call the fights constant, but it sure did feel like it.

The back and forth, having the same fight consistently. Abby was more than frustrated. The biggest efforts she made were dismissed by Nora, even making her upset at times. She was trying too hard and being annoying, or not doing enough and then it meant she wasn’t present in the relationship.

Abby felt her stuck at a wall, Nora on the other side of it and she couldn’t hear a damn thing.

So, she was running late.

One of the many fights  they’ve had with each other as of late. Nora is tired of dealing with a “baby gay” as she likes to remind her in the heat of their arguments. Abby gets offended, her lips forming into an even deeper pout, her porcelain skin flushed in anger before she gives them both space. 

Contemplating about the future of their relationship in the shower, causing her to be late to work in the process. 

Astronomically behind – her client arrived at the gym she worked at half an hour ago. The most recent argument with Nora plagued her morning. All they seem to do is argue, trapped in what they both need from the relationship, but all the two of them could do is argue, argue, argue.

But neither of them makes a move. They are still as the eerie silence that carries them into questioning. 

It’s when she’s too inside her head, fearing about the future, when she violently bumps into you. Body colliding with yours, Abby’s stone-like build causes you to crash into the pavement, your belongings scatter along with Abby’s. 

“Fuck. Are you alright? Sorry, I’m in such a hurry, I’m sure I wasn’t even paying attention.” You let her pick you from the ground, she does with ease. She looks right through you and you expect the excitement, the excited tears, or to be asked for a picture but it never comes.   

“For a moment I thought I ran into a wall—” You giggle to yourself. “Really, I’m alright.” You spoke softly. You pick up both of your belongings that had slipped from both of your grips, returning it to its owner. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Abby asks again. 

You think it’s cute how much lace of concern is conveyed in her cerulean eyes, full of light and wonder, so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. 

“No no! I’m fine! Really don’t worry about it.” 

Honestly, you’re still in amazement she has no idea who you are. It makes your fondness of her grow even more. The two of you depart quickly, go about your day, and you think nothing of it until you go to unlock your phone to message your manager and it’s not a picture of the moon you’d taken during the eclipse, it’s the mysteriously hot and kind woman you’d run into before. 

Shit. She has my phone. 

Lucky for you, Abby was coming to the same realization. Ready to bring out the workout she had planned out for her first client, opening her phone to access where she had written everything out only to find this isn’t her phone. Well, fuck. 

Abby hollers at Dina to take over the client for a moment, excusing herself for a moment before retreating into the office to call from her direct line. 

Idiot Anderson. Now you get to make an idiot of yourself, twice. 

Way to go. 

She calls her phone and it rings a few times before the familiar voice chimes through the speaker, the one she heard this morning during her fit of anxiety. 

“Please tell me this is the woman I ran into earlier or else I’m going to be even more embarrassed for answering a stranger's phone.” 

“Well you’re in luck.” 

“Oh thank fuck—” You curse yourself before being so vulgar with someone who you didn’t even know. “Sorry! God, this is all my fault. I must have swapped our phones when I picked them up and didn’t even realize.” 

“It’s okay, really, if I was paying attention where I was walking this morning it never would have happened. Did you wanna meet?” 

“No! Let me. Please, this is all my fault. I should at least be the one who makes the drive.” 

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Abby offers the address of work, thinking once after she does if it’s a good idea, a total stranger knowing where she works but she’s already giving the street name and suite number before she can even make her mind. Abby usually doesn’t get nervous but this situation has sent her into a frenzy, thinking about how dumb she could have been. Nora will get a good laugh out of it she thinks, then she is reminded of the fight the two of them were still in. She wonders if she’s even tried to reach out to her yet or if Nora’s just waiting until Abby’s anger rolls over. 

More favorably, the ladder. 

Until the two of them have the comfort of their lives, the cushion they have between their shared friends and the home they share twenty minutes out of the state, until it comes up again and they’ll be contemplating it all over again. Anxiously, the front desk girl, Bevs, the younger girl who has a crush on her, shyly comes up to her. 

Bevs says what she assumes is your name, confusing Abby in the process. 

“You know her?” 

“How could you not? She’s one of the most famous actresses ever.” Abby is stunned to say the least. Truthfully, she had no idea. Her lack of social media keeps her out of the loop and as much as her friends tease her about, if Abby knew who you were the first time around, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to say more than two words. Clearly, you’re a fresh face to her. Already, Abby knows Manny is going to have a field day when Bevs lets this information spill in her sheer excitement. 

Great, she thinks. 

“Oh.” 

“I put her in your office. Some of the clients were already starting to have questioning looks, putting the pieces together. Hey! Maybe they're as clueless as you.” 

“Bevs, go back to the front desk.” With a curt nod and realizing she has pushed too far, with a tail between her legs she retreats back to her post. 

Okay, Anderson, let’s get this over with. 

Abby smells you the minute she steps foot in her office. It’s not the usual pinewood scent the candle in her office radiates. There’s a lingering smell of lavender with just a hit of vanilla. It’s sweet as it engulfs her nostrils, she finds herself sniffling slightly, a silent beg for more of it. You’re standing the minute you’re aware of her presence. Painfully, Abby is aware of her lack of clothing. The tight sport jacket is left unopened, her black sweatpants, accompanied with her sports bra, abs on display as she watches your eyes examine her carefully. 

She’s not sure how to feel about it. 

There is a moment, a short one where your eyes go to her chest, the silver barbells constricting against the small fabric, clear as to what lies beneath. 

Abby does smirk at that. She’s only human. 

You keep staring at her for a minute longer, well it feels like one but Abby deems it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” The more time goes on, the sweeter you are. “It’s pretty close to where I live.” 

Abby didn’t know it then but you were lying straight through your teeth. The trainer didn’t know you moved around your entire day to make the phone swap or the butterflies swarming your stomach from just how attractive and nice she seemed to be. There was something about her that sent your caution flying to the wind, drifting in the leaves with the rest of your pride. 

“Well I appreciate you coming out this way, even if it’s in your area. I really wouldn’t have minded taking the drive.” Abby pulls out your phone as she hands you yours. It’s simple, transactional, and it should have just been left at that but you had a fondness of putting your foot in your mouth. 

“Are you a trainer here?” 

“Uh, yeah. Been doing it for a few years actually. I spent so much time here already, now I get paid for it. Can’t really complain.” 

“Do you ever do private sessions?” 

“Um-” Abby scratches the back of her awkwardly, not sure if you’re asking her genuinely or if you’re trying to insinuate something else entirely. 

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just have a….job opportunity I have to get in shape for and you just look like you know what you’re doing.” Abby thought you might as well point to her physique but if anything she was flattered. It was always nice knowing something she’s been working on for years, her longest standing commitment besides Nora, is appreciated. 

“Sure, we could work something out.” You slightly smile before you exchange phones, this time on purpose, to put in the other’s number. Normally, she didn’t give out her number to clients, but Abby makes an exception for you that day. To this day, she’ll never outwardly admit why she did, not even to herself. 

- 

Two years later, she’s single from her life being turned upside down by you. The casualty being her own relationship, leaving Nora behind was one of the hardest decisions she’s made. Nora never agreed on Abby taking the job. As much as Nora wished for Abby to be more open about their endeavors, as soon as she accepted an offer that could drastically expand the trajectory of their life, Nora couldn’t be asked to compromise another thing. 

That was that. Not even two months into Abby working for you and Nora had called it quits. Abby never talked about it, only you knew she had a girlfriend she used to talk about when you began training with her, and then it was just silent. Back then, you didn’t know her well enough to pry, so you didn’t. 

Even as time passed, the two of you became friends through your employment, spending all your time with her during press season for your upcoming film, Lonely Is The Muse, together. Today was the only day you had off, even if it means Abby technically had the day off, you insisted that both of you leave the hotel and go out for the day. It's the most peace you felt during the European leg of the tour. Only one more day of dealing with your sensory issues, people in your face telling you when and where to go, or the distasteful question regarding your past public breakup instead of the work you were promoting. 

Some interviewers were kind enough to let the drama go but some wanted to get their own viral moment, waiting for you to say the wrong thing. As the industry likes to say, any publicity is good publicity. 

When you’re America's sweetheart actress of the century, such luxuries can’t be afforded. 

As your manager likes to remind you, there’s a reputation you have to protect. 

“Would you like to head back now? Long day tomorrow. Last day of interviews and then your flight leaves first thing in the morning.” 

“Did Stassie put you up to this?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.” 

“Mhm, your definition of fun is letting you do whatever you want.” 

“And the problem with that is?” 

All Abby can do is chuckle. 

“What do you want to do then?” Abby asks. She takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, as blinding as the sun but obtaining the serenity of the moon. “I’m all ears sweetheart.” 

It’s how the two of you end up here, a rooftop party, a friend of a friend you said. The party was lowkey, more than the typical ones you would get invited. Maybe because you weren’t in Los Angeles, Miami, or New York — but tucked away on another continent — or perhaps everyone here is just discreet. 

There’s only two fans that come up to you instead of twenty. You’re thankful for some sense of normalcy, one night where you can just feel normal. It still never gets old, people coming up to you as they confess the impact you’ve had on their life. It feels unbelievable at times but you’re grateful for the luxury life you’ve been granted. 

“Here. No liquor tonight.” Abby hands you a glass of red wine, your favorite beverage of choice when you couldn’t have tequila. 

“Yes Ma’am.” You playfully salute her. More than anything, you enjoy the not so subtle chuckle. “Not that I don’t love your company but isn’t Stassie supposed to boss me around?” 

“She felt under the weather. Plus, we both know you don’t listen to her.” 

“And I listen to you?” Your hand plays with her loose blonde hair, smoothing out the white button she’s wearing. 

“Yeah, you do. I wonder why that is.” Abby is playing with fire tonight. Possibly due to the fact that you wouldn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, keeping your body close, practically gluing yourself to her. Yes, she’s charged with keeping you safe and protected but it seems you find enjoyment bringing it to another level entirely. 

“You’re much nicer to look at, that’s all.” It’s light, a quiet whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone — not even for Abby to hear. “Don’t wanna make my handsome bodyguard upset.” 

Faking your pout as you let the words leave your lips, Abby chuckles as you get closer to her, her body standing strong as you push your weight onto her. Stoic as always, while you lean on her, she keeps her eyes peeled. Ensuring your safety at all times. 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you a shot tonight.” 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

Abby chuckles, again. She’s delighted you’re enjoying yourself, even if it comes at her expense. There’s a soft jazz song playing outside, couples dancing to the music, you zone out for a moment as you look upon one in particular. 

They are older, possibly in their forties, raven hair beginning to gray, fine lines crinkle when they smile at each other but it’s hard to take note of anything else but the way the couple looks at each other. Your mind wonders how long they’ve been together, if it’s been for years, months, a couple weeks. 

It doesn’t really matter. You just want that. 

The feeling isn’t lost on you, especially when you’re in the arms of the woman you love. For her, she’s being protective, doing her job but you wish it was different. A bubbling desire dripping off your tongue, a need to have her close to you but because she wants. Not because she’s paid to. 

“If I can’t have any tequila shots, god forbid, you have to dance with me.” You down the rest of your wine, placing the empty glass on the bar. “C’mon, you can give Stassie an earful later.” 

Pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor, Abby leads as your head rests against her chest. The steady, soft heartbeat soothes you, a reminder of the safety you feel with her. Caught in the riptide of her kind eyes and heart full of gold. It’s what makes her so unique, so loved, so her. With a surprisingly good tone, Abby sings to the music softly before twirling you around and spinning your body back to her. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Your hand rubs lovingly on her lower back as she holds you in her arms. You take pride when it doesn’t feel transactional. When she holds you and it feels as if she was meant to. There’s nothing else comparable to it, her frame melting into yours as your soul finds solace in her warm embrace. 

“There’s plenty of things.” Playfully, Abby smirks. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” 

The sarcasm practically drips out of you as her smirk grows wider. 

“Can I ask you something?” You hesitate for a moment as you find her beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. It’s only then does everything troubling might dissipate while she holds you — secretly hoping it’s forever. 

“You can ask me anything.” 

You give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts as you move to the delicate beat. “Do you ever wish for a life where you could have had a normal life? I wonder if things could be different.” 

Immediately, Abby answers. 

“Not anymore, no, not for a second.” 

If it was even possible, Abby pulls you closer to her, not urging a word more. It’s how she is, cold and distant to some but they don’t feel the stutter in her breath when you’re near or the soft pad of her thumb rubbing soothingly on the back of your hand. Or the soft words of encouragement when you’re having a difficult day. 

They hear none of it. 

She dances with you for a couple more songs, before you find solace on the couch. You lay beneath the moonlight, your body cuddles into her side as you stare up at the sky. 

It’s lost on you how you’ve ended  with her, someone as kind and untainted as her, wanting to spend her free time with you, but you’re grateful for it. Whatever god you have to thank, you’ll get on your knees to praise their alter for bringing Abby into your life. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you and she doesn’t even know it. Albeit, she hardly knows the extent of how wonderful she is. 

“Why here?” 

“It’s a good night, nice weather. Why not?” 

A question with a question. It’s the most straightforward answer you’ll ever give her. Innuendos for the sweet girl to piece together, but with the soft circles being drawn her stomach with the pad of your finger leaves little to nothing to decode. 

“It’s nice, yeah.” 

Abby always has so little to say but her mind swarms with a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea and a million of why this is where the constellations in the jaded sky have led to you. Straight into the pits of innocence, a heart that’s been hurt more times than she can count but still as golden and whole as one could be. 

“What do you think of Italy?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice? That’s all I get?” 

Abby smirks but her body stills when you play with the waistband of her trousers before gliding back to the security of her abdomen, carving the liner of her defined abs. The ones she tries so hard to cover up, but you saw on the very first day you met her. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, an eyebrow raising in suggestion. Abby knows it’s a double edged sword, one she doesn’t want to be injured with. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Cautiously, Abby warns. “I’m not sure that last drink was a great idea.” 

You rest your head on her sternum, sapphire eyes looking down at you as her hand finds home on your waist, the blunt of your nails scratching softly at her stomach. 

“They always seem like a great idea at the time, don’t they?” With a gentle hand, you caress her scarred cheek, the pad of your thumb gently tenderly kissing the freckled skin. Outlining the softness of her jaw with your left, while your right one refuses to leave her stomach. 

“I don’t see how anyone would ever want to leave you.” Abby hums, not giving you much to go off of, tight lipped as she’s always been. The Nora situation has always been on your mind. One day, Abby’s speaking of her like she’s the love of her life and the next? Abby stiffens so tight when you bring up her name you promise yourself to never speak of it again. Until now, almost two years later, you’re more curious than you have ever been. The fatal ending, not belonging to you, but still you paw for the answers with your greedy palms. 

“You can just ask me if you want to know. I can see the look in your eyes.” 

“What look? I don’t have a—” 

Abby tilts your chin with your palm, leaning into her touch as you often do. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“How do you know this look?” 

“Hm.” Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “You’re just trying to get me in trouble now.” 

Your tone shifts, your eyes become transcendent, more crystal clear than they’d been all night. 

“What happened between you and Nora?” You ask, treading lightly on the ground you’re skating upon, in fear the ground beneath you might just crack if you apply too much pressure. 

“Why is it so important to you?” 

“It’s not that it’s—” You face plant into her chest, giving yourself a moment to breathe. Fuck, even her chest smells good. 

“You don’t ask about anything unless it’s of value to anyone. You don’t waste time, you’re very adamant about it. Painfully so.” Blonde eyebrows relax as she closes her eyes for a moment, but her touch on you soothes you. It’s gentle; a somber comfort bleeding into blissful joy. 

“But I’ve spent a lot of time with you.” 

“Yes, you’ve spent a lot of your time with me.

Abby opens her eyes to see you, your head tilted to the right, as you look upon each carve of her angelic face, the one that could only be carved by the gods above, resembling an angel on earth. As pure as the snow with the biggest heart of gold you ever have had the pleasure of knowing. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” You smile slyly. 

“We didn’t break up because of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abby sighs, “You’re not some homewrecker. My home with Nora was already wrecked before we met.” 

“Are you just saying it to make me feel better?” 

“No, I’m not.” You play with the ends of her golden hair, it hurts to be this close to what you want but knowing it’s so clearly out of your reach, league even, all of it will end the same. “Nora wasn’t fond of her being my first relationship with a woman. It caused a ripple effect, me feeling like I wasn’t good enough and her feeling like she has to carry me in the relationship, emotionally anyway.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” 

“No.” 

“It was because of me.” You state, as a matter of fact, knowing there is no other truth to be known. With tears welling up in your eyes, an ache  in your heart, one that made you ache all over. The dread of the guilt weighing heavily on your heart, time and distance still isn’t enough for you to run from it. 

“It was a job that was a great opportunity. Alright? It wasn’t you, even if I hadn’t, we both wanted different things. I didn’t even realize it until after but I wasn’t happy. I promise, it has nothing to do with you.” 

What Abby didn’t know, you needed to hear her say those words. In the back of your head, a monstrous demon unleashes in your mind, telling you crashed her relationship. You were the problem and her inevitable doom, but she’s assuring you it wasn’t the case. 

“We hardly knew each other back then.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, Abby can’t imagine her life without you. 

“Yeah hardly.” 

There’s that look again, pouring into Abby’s soul as it eats her up whole, the gleam in your eyes begging for more. It’ll complicate things if Abby gets involved, she knows this, but it already seems like she is despite her best efforts not to be. 

“Did I do good? You always say you miss stargazing with your brother back home. I know it’s not as quiet as the cabin you have, but I thought it would be okay for now.” 

“The view isn’t bad, not one bit.” She admits as she lets you rub her abdomen, the goosebumps crawling upon her skin the more Abby lets you touch her as if she’s yours to hold. “Lev would like it. I’m convinced the kid likes you more than me now.” 

“As he should. I’m pretty damn amazing.” 

“He asks too many questions though.” 

“About what?” 

“I dunno…..things.” Abby retreats back into her shell, the layer of protection she uses to protect herself from getting hurt. Most of all, out of everyone the gods could torture her to be confused about, of course it has to be you. Everyone in your life is always begging for pieces of your time, pieces of your affection and bits of your time to suck you dry. Abby has always wondered how you juggle it all. It feels cruel to even think you would put her in the mix. 

Painfully, there’s nights like tonight, where she sees the desire swarming in your eyes — every part of her pleads to give in to the temptation. Give into something she’s never even let herself think about until the last few months. As thick as drywall, there was a barrier keeping her heart from you, one she kept to protect you and herself even. 

The absolute last thing she wanted was to wreck everything this has to offer. If she makes the wrong move, all of it can come crashing down on you…it’s the last thing she wants. Make you a martyr in her story, one she thinks and dreams of often but knows you’re too big for her to exist in your life. The circles you run in don’t even exist in the same planet, the same fucking universe if Abby’s being honest. 

“What things?” You pout, your hand traveling south, caressing her thigh with a familiarity Abby wishes you didn’t have. She wishes for a lot but they never come true, that’s all you can be, a dying wish Abby curses upon a fading star.  

“It’s just stupid shit, not worth mentioning.” 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” You take a deep breath, your voice already shaky and you haven’t even told her yet. “I don’t think you even know how much you mean to me.” Abby isn’t sure where you’re going with this, terrifying her instantly. 

Have you finally had your fill of her? Were you gonna fire her? Now? 

“Lev doesn’t just talk to you about us.” 

“Us?” Nervously, Abby stomach clenches, unprepared for where this conversation is heading. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

Abby visibly and loudly gulps, almost making you giggle slightly. 

“I-I’m not.” 

The stonewall she attempts to hide behind but you won’t let her, not tonight. Slumping in the shadows, waiting for you to find someone else to love as she watches your happiness from a far, that’s what she allows herself. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Abs, look at me.” She meets your eyes, away from the constellations in the sky, afraid if she looks for a moment too long she’ll be stuck here forever. “Talk to me, m’right here, not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Instantly, Abby grips your hips, keeping you in your place. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“What?” 

“I’m not what you want. I’m surely not what anyone needs. Hell, I’ve only been with one woman which is deemed to be for not being enough, right? I’m the girl who came out too late, who doesn’t have enough experience but because I’m built like some fucking adonis I need to know whatever the fuck I’m doing but I don’t. I never know what I’m doing. The only thing I know how to do is protect you, that’s all I’m good for and I’m not gonna screw that up just because I—” 

“Because what?” Your pelvis is on top of hers, your face coming closer to Abby’s, watching as you are irrevocably close to her, closer than you’ve ever been, wet lips ghosting over her pouty pink lips. Abby doesn’t even know when you moved, how you got so close, too lost in her own head to register your movements. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Abby puffs out. 

“It matters to me.” You sink into her, further, if it's even possible. “No one matters more than you, alright?” 

“But there’s people.” Abby looks for an excuse to get up, she comes up enough so she’s sitting up against the armrest of the patio couch, holding your lower back as she does so, leaving you straddling her hips. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is you.” You push a piece of blonde hair away, seeing her beautiful cheeks more clearly, her shining blue eyes finding its unique path to your heart, the one especially made for her. “Here just let me talk, alright? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” 

Abby is nearly crying, practically purring as you run your fingers through her cascading blonde hair. It’s too much but not enough. Although she is sure of one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything. 

“I’ve always been one for pretty girls. I had a reputation around Hollywood, always chasing one after the next, never reaching my fill or as the tabloids like to say.” You chuckled half-heartedly; the wound cutting deeper than you would have liked. “My publicist having to pay paparazzi an obscene amount of money to get these photos from ever hitting online, month after month, it was pathetic really. Just trying to fill a hole, one I didn’t even know how to fill.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I never wanted you to see me differently but I’m not ashamed anymore though. I’m not that person anymore. I haven’t been since I met you.” Abby falls silent, her cheeks turning crimson before she can try to hide it “You not knowing how I was, it's just the humbling I needed. Not to mention you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen— you still are— but you had a girlfriend so I kept my feelings silent. Something just felt different with you and then you were single and I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you so I made a promise to myself. I would never start anything with you, not unless I was in love with you.” 

“You love me?” 

“It’s impossible not to.” You sigh into her, forehead pressed against hers, her strong hold not letting go. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just can’t live in a world where you think because you’re not experienced as some, you think you’re less than people who are.” 

“It’s true, I’m not there with everyone else and it shows.” 

“Abby, you’re not getting it.” 

“Well, no shit. I’m not good enough for any of this, you especially.” 

“It’s not…” You bite your lip as you reach for her hands on your waist, intertwining them with your own. “Abs, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” Your lips ghost over her lips again, but this time Abby inches closer, her breath warm as it hits your mouth. 

“What?” 

“If I was a patient person and waited for you.” 

More than before, Abby’s breath is heavy as the rise and fall of her chest is rapid, trying to calm herself down but it’s impossible when you’re this close. It’s a lot for her, maybe she’s overly sensitive, but your touch is practically lighting her on fire. Abby wonders if it will ever be able to be put out or if your magnetic touch will leave her scorned. 

Puppy eyes inwardly pleading for an ounce of your touch, so sweet as she supports your weight with her strong thighs, anchoring you to her — never quite letting go. A single glance detrimental to the layer of protection she built around herself. 

“There’s no more waiting, m’right here.” Abby closes the gap indefinitely, lips connecting with yours as they move in perfect harmony, as if this is what she was made for. Involuntarily, she whimpers in your mouth as you gently tug at her bottom nibble at her bottom lip, your tongue sliding in as it dominates her own. It happens too quickly — the way her very being melts into you. 

Like honey to a bee, there’s nothing that’s ever been so sweet. 

This is all you need. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Let’s get out of here.”

taglist: @brackishkittie @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-a-gay @pa-co @rkivedpages @abbyspup @lucidfairies @lizzygrant @yourfriendlyneighborhoodeden @iluvme9 @skzhoiic @angelynn-nicole @hearts4joongie @moonyvs4 @loveyru @imdrowningindispair @random-fag @swinesb @spacewlf

[krirebr]

random hoeing:

Steve catching you in the rain, his white shirt completely soaked and transparent

Ok, this has to be Neighbor Steve.

Warnings: explicit language, more fluff than I normally do, completely unedited, 18+ - MINORS DNI

After Steve caught you ogling him during the heatwave, the tone of your conversations when you run into him in your building has gotten decidedly flirtier. But for whatever reason, that's where it's stopped. As much as you've tried to send signals that you are very open to more, he's never taken you up on it. Which is fine. It's fine. Totally fine. You are very cool with it. The thought of it definitely doesn't make you shrivel up inside. You are so cool.

All of that is the furthest thing from your mind right now, though, as you and your dog run through the rain. It'd been such a nice day, but as you hit the halfway point of your usual longer route, the sky unexpectedly opened up and you and your poor dog were hit by an absolute downpour. Now, finally home, you're both completely soaked and desperate to get inside and dry.

After some fumbling, you get the door to your building unlocked and opened. Just as you're about to get inside and let the door close behind you, you hear your name ring out. You turn around to see Steve hurrying up the path. "Hold the door!" he yells.

You freeze, doing as he asked. Holy shit. He's just as soaked as you, but while you're sure you look like a drowned rat, he very much does not. He– Well. He– He's wearing that damned white t-shirt again. Except it's not white now, it's translucent. You can see everything – that tattoo you spotted before, and a few more to go with it, an incredible set of abs, nipples. Holy shit.

He quickly ushers you inside, thank god, because you can't move on your own, your eyes still stuck to his chest. "Fuck, that came out of nowhere, huh?" he chuckles.

The moment you're out of the rain, your dog proceeds to do her best to shake herself dry, as if the three of you weren't already dripping all over the entryway. "Oh, shit," you mumble, reaching for her without really knowing what to do.

Steve just laughs. And then does it himself, shaking out his golden locks. Part of his hair flops down over his forehead, and you do your best to hold in your gasp. Really it's just so unfair that he could get caught in a rainstorm and come out looking like that. What the actual fuck? you think to yourself.

Except, judging by the way his head whips around to look at you, maybe you didn't think it. Maybe it was more out loud than you'd meant. Oh god. You immediately start babbling, which is unfortunately just as uncontrollable as the initial slip-up you're trying to make up for. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I just– I mean– Look at you!" You throw a wild gesture at him as he just stares at you with his mouth open, trying to take in your ramble. "It's cats and dogs out there and you look like that?? While I–" another wild gesture, at yourself this time. "I just– How is it fair that you're so beautiful??"

"You think I'm beautiful?" he finally manages to interject.

"Huh?" And that's when your brain finally catches up. Oh dear god. What is wrong with you?? You cautiously glance at him to find him staring at you, not upset, but like he's trying to figure you out. Fuck it, you suddenly think. You've already embarrassed yourself. You have nothing left to lose. "You wanna get dinner with me sometime?"

You swear that the smile that blooms on Steve's face is bright and warm enough to dry you both off. "I was starting to worry I was reading your signals wrong. Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

Your answering smile is strong enough to push all the clouds away.

☔

Thanks for the fun prompt, Eva!

Tag List

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[love-marimo]

Dancing in the Rain (Neuvillette x Reader)

Lolita's Note: ー in which you saw neuvillette standing by the porch in the midst of a downpour of rain ー you asked him to dance, and little did you know it soothed his aching heart.

This, again, is taken from the actual lore of the hydro dragon crying whenever it rains!

There is a common superstition passed down through the hushed whispers in Fontaine…

…that when it rains, it is said that the Hydro dragon weeps.

It is something that you have always wondered about. You always thought about the things that made the hydro dragon cry, because it happens quite often too.

With that said, you have come to a realization that the Hydro Dragon must have a tender heart.

One that is as gentle as a morning drizzle.

Yet one that is as powerful as a thunderstorm blaring through the darkest of nights.

When the latter happens, you seek the arms of the one you love, Neuvillette. And somehow, when your bodies find each other, you swear to the archons that the storm has calmed down.

Even just a little.

The thing about Neuvillette is he does not like to display his emotions.

But he is very polite and courteous. He does not like to make anyone feel excluded, despite working in an occupation where a cutthroat attitude is necessary.

One can say that his personality becomes two sides of the same coin.

There is a middle ground, though ー a blurred space that combines these said facets of his personality. One that he fails to hide every single time.

One that comes out when it rains.

"Darling? Neuvillette?" You shift on your shared bed in a half-asleep state, looking for him.

When you sense that he's not inside your bedroom, you lit up a lamp and searched for him in your shared home.

It's been raining pretty hard these days. Coincidentally in your point of view, Neuvillette has been acting odd. It's as if he's more uptight and aloof. You noticed that he also stays up pretty late ー sometimes you think he doesn't sleep at all.

Another strange thing he frequently does, is he stands by the front porch watching the downpour of rain.

So now you definitely knew where he is.

Slowly, you hesitated to reach for his hair, but you did anyway. Caressing it gently, he was taken by surprise for a moment before he turned to you and gave you a small smile.

"Oh, my dear. You should go back to bed. We still have two hours before it is morning." He curtly tells you before he holds you closer to him.

"It seems that you want me to stay, though." You chuckle, placing your hand on top of his.

He lets out a small laugh ー one that comes out as a content sigh.

The loud downpour of the rain calmed down into a somber drizzle.

"Do you still find storms scary?" He asked you, while he looked out to the distance. You nod in reply. He sighs once again, as if he's apologizing that it cannot be helped.

"As long as you're here, I'm going to be fine." You held his hand and took him with you outside, a sudden idea of dancing in the rain popped in your head.

"What are you doing?" He asked you, a bit alarmed.

"Let's dance in the rain!" You exclaim.

"You're going to catch a cold." Neuvillette tries to take you back inside.

"Then take care of me when that happens!" You retort.

Neuvillette laughs. It sounded more genuine now.

It continued raining, but unlike the violent storm before, it poured gently on your skin. The man brushes a wet strand of your hair that covered your face and smiles at you again.

"Very well. Lead the way, monsieur/mademoiselle." Neuvillette put his hand over his chest, while you held the hem of your dress shirt on both sides.

After you bowed, you took Neuvillette's hands and guided them ー one finds its way on your waist and the other holds your hand.

"We don't have music, so let's just pretend that we are dancing to the melody of the rain." You laugh, as you begin dancing to the rhythm of waltz.

You both shared tender laughs and danced in the rain like children, even if the only light that illuminated you were the lamps of your home.

"I am sorry. I should've stayed in bed. I don't want you to be the one seeking my presence every time you feel afraid, upset, or terrible in general." He sighs.

Just as you wonder if the hydro dragon has a human form, Neuvillette wonders if you already cracked the code.

"Hydro dragon, don't cry. Hydro dragon, don't cry." You started to chant softly, as if lulling a weeping child.

He softened at your expression. As he spun you around he asked,

"Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought it would be nice if the Hydro dragon hears it. I mean, not that it would be of much help." You chuckle.

Neuvillette then finds himself repeating the same words.

"Yeah that's it, let's chant it together!"

Hydro Dragon, don't cry.

Hydro Dragon, don't cry.

Hydro Dragon, don't cry.

Neuvillette admires your gentle nature. One touch, one word, and one look ー all of his worries dissipate.

All of his woes disappear.

And of course, the heavy rainfall that he brings forth once he has a heavy heart stops.

Just like now.

"Oh? The rain stopped!" You squealed in excitement.

"Yes, it seems that the hydro dragon heard us." He replied.

The skies cleared to reveal the slight glimmer of light at the crack of dawn.

Looking up, you can still see the full moon.

"Come, let us go back inside and dry ourselves. We still have a few hours of sleep to catch." Neuvillette tells you, guiding you back to your shared home.

"I wonder if the Hydro dragon really heard us. I hope whatever troubles them is resolved soon." You say as he tucks you to bed.

To him, if it's you, then he can get used to your lullaby ー a hushed chanting of his name, one that seeks to comfort his sonder heart.

ー Lolita

[astraystayyh]

The only exception

barista Minho x reader. strangers to lovers. slow burn. if you can, listen to The only exception by Paramore while reading :)

Minho was content with straying away as far as possible from love. That is until you stumbled into his café on a rainy night, and unwittingly, into his life.

skz song series masterlist

i.

Minho sweeps the countertop with a blue rug, wiping away the scattered droplets of spilled coffee. He grabs a pastry from the showcase- a blondie with a raspberry drizzle on top, placing it on a plate decorated with dainty flowers. And then he gives it to the middle-aged man sitting near the back of the café. 

Minho is in Aurora, completing his mid-day shift, and yet it feels as if he's only physically there. His body is moving on auto-pilot, mechanically performing the familiar tasks etched into his memory by now. And he likes it, since it drowns out the tumultuous thoughts plaguing his mind.

Minho used to look forward to the days when Marta- Aurora's exceptional baker, would prepare blondies. The alluring aroma of the freshly made pastry would waft through the café, enveloping both Minho and the customers in a soothing embrace. He enjoyed preparing the coffee and drawing different pretty patterns on top of it. He also liked the music playing, and sometimes, the manager would even let him play some of his own playlists. 

But that was before Minho got his heart broken, torn in half, carelessly, as if it didn't belong to a breathing human, but rather to an unfeeling entity. Now, his lattes are void of intricate designs, the blondies prepared by Marta remain untouched, and his mind doesn't register the music playing. 

He's just existing, in a stillness he perfectly curated. He's a placid river, undisrupted, running its usual course day after day. 

Minho watches as the man clad in a polished suit finishes his treat, before getting up and leaving Aurora with hurried steps. He eats alone now, Minho has noticed, and his ring finger is void of the gold band he used to wear.

Perhaps that's what Minho's fate would also be. Eating alone in cafés he used to bring his lover to, basking in the chatter surrounding him, in the desperate hope that it'll fill the void inside him. 

ii. 

it's a Thursday, which means Minho is working the night shift at Aurora. It's pouring rain outside, the incessant water droplets a misty veil that fogs up the café's windows. Amidst the downpour, he catches sight of a couple dashing through the rain, hands tightly clutched into one another. They're giggling, as if the rain falling isn't a nuisance, but rather an elixir heightening their love. Minho looks the other way. 

The door to Aurora is pushed open, and Minho watches as you set foot inside. You're drenched in rain, from head to toe, strands of your hair sticking to your cheek. You exhale in relief, closing your eyes for a split second as the warmth of the café surrounds you- like a childhood blanket tightly wrapped around your being. There is a hint of a smile as you walk to the counter. It only grows when your eyes set on Minho. 

"Hi!" you greet cheerfully and he simply nods in return. The weather was horrible and you were probably uncomfortable from the clothes clinging to your skin, so what were you exactly joyful about?

"Can I have hot chocolate, please? Oh, and a piece of that brownie," you point to the showcase, and he follows your line of sight. 

"Sure, anything else?" 

"No, thank you," you smile, and he nods once again. "That will be 10 dollars." 

"Here," you hand him a crumpled bill and he takes it from you carefully, ensuring your hands don't brush against one another. 

You sit down on a chair near the window, and Minho dutifully prepares your order. He brings it to you once he's done, and you grin at him once again. You smile a lot, he thinks to himself. 

Minho goes on with his tasks, cleaning the dirty cups in the sink and grounding the coffee beans. When he's done, he can't help but notice you grabbing some napkins from the table and dabbing your neck and face dry with them. He sighs to himself before retreating to the café's backroom.

"Here, to dry your hair with," he says, handing you a clean towel.

Minho leaves before you could smile at him again. 

iii. 

It's Tuesday, and Minho has just served a freshly baked cinnamon roll to Mark- the middle-aged man who just introduced himself to Minho after months of frequenting Aurora.

Minho liked having regulars in his shifts, familiar faces to look into. This was part of the reason why he picked being a barista as a part-time job- he enjoyed people-watching. Not in a noisy way; he simply liked imagining the lives of the people surrounding him. It served as a distraction from his own. 

Among the regulars was a woman in her thirties who only ordered a chaï latte with a blueberry muffin. Then there was that one student, with blonde hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He really despised bitter coffee, always ordering his with abnormal amounts of syrup.

And now, there was you too. You've been coming to Aurora regularly for the past few weeks since your initial visit. Minho still hasn't memorized your go-to order because you don't have one. You pick a new drink each time as if you were on a mission to taste everything on the menu. 

You come here alone, occupying the same seat by the window with your chin resting on your palm. He suspects you enjoy people-watching too since you often gaze outside. You also bring books with you, reading them while sipping on your beverage. Sometimes you write too, in a tiny sage notepad. 

And you smile, god do you smile a lot. At young children passing by in the street, at an elderly couple holding hands, at the black cat that sleeps on the edge of the window. And you smile at Minho. Each time you order, each time your eyes meet his from across the café. Minho likes to believe that happiness was so deeply ingrained within you, it became the very essence of your soul- an intrinsic part of your being you could not part with.

The door to Aurora is pushed open and Minho isn't surprised to see you entering once again, your bag loosely hanging from your shoulder. 

"Hi!" you greet excitedly as you usually do, and Minho simply nods, as he usually does. 

"I'm sorry if this is a bit weird," you preface, piquing Minho's curiosity. "I'm not really craving anything today, so can you make me your favorite drink?"

"My favorite drink?" he repeats, a bit incredulously and you nod eagerly. "Yes, I drink anything and I don't have any allergies, so whatever you prepare is fine!" you smile hopefully at him.

He stays silent, mulling over your request. He goes to say no, but the smile slowly slipping from your face makes a strange pang of guilt wash over him.

"On second thought, I'll just have-"

"Okay," he interrupts, "I'll bring it to you when it's done," he quickly says and the smile etches itself on your lips once again. Minho feels an unexpected relief dawn on him at its sight.

"Thank you! I'm yn, by the way," you introduce.

"Minho," he says, although you can read it on his nametag. 

"Minho," you repeat, and he finds himself itching to hear his name dripping from your lips again.

Minho prepares you an iced americano with cold foam, and two pumps of white mocha, since you seem to enjoy drinks on the sweeter side. He watches breathlessly from the counter as you take a sip of it, closing your eyes to fully relish in its taste. Your nose scrunches up in delight before you quickly turn around to shoot him a thumbs up from afar. 

Minho nods, before turning his back to you. Unwillingly, a small smile tugs at his lips. He's glad you liked it. 

iv.

Another Thursday unfolds following its usual routine. Mark occupies his customary spot in the rear of the café, while the scent of Marta's lemon madeleines permeates the kitchen.

Except you're not smiling. 

Minho finds it odd, how there was no cheerfulness in your steps as you walked to the counter. You did not smile while ordering, and your voice carried a tinge of sadness when you thanked him.

You did not ask about his day, nor about his cats- that was also something unusual for you to do. You've asked about them each time since Minho told you about them. He didn't plan on doing so, he just saw you one day eyeing the stickers of his three cats on his phone case, while he was counting your change.

"Are they your cats?" you asked, pointing at them and he nodded, a faint smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"They are."

"You must love them a lot. They almost managed to make you smile," you teased, grabbing the rest of the money and walking to your usual seat. 

Minho steals brief glances at you, as he prepares your matcha latte, a drink you seemed to enjoy a lot lately. You're gazing at the window almost soulfully, your back slightly hunched as if there was an invisible weight crushing you underneath it. 

Minho nibbles on his lower lip, contemplating his next move, before grabbing the frothed milk. For the first time in months, he draws a little cat on the surface of your drink, just like he used to do a long time ago.

He brings it to you, and his heart flutters nervously as you gaze down at the cup. He almost second-guesses his action, that is until you beam at him, and Aurora suddenly feels brighter than it did seconds ago. 

v. 

"When does your shift end?" you ask Minho as he sets your perfectly crafted matcha latte on the table- an order he has committed to memory by now.

"In an hour, why?" he asks curiously and you wave your hand dismissively. "Just wanted to know." 

The seconds trickle by slowly, as the hour almost comes to an end. You watch as Minho takes off his apron, running a hand through his hair. It's gotten longer now, silky bangs he tucks behind his ear to keep them from obstructing his vision.

He talks a bit to Seungmin, the other barista that works there. And then he steals a quick glance around the room, where he finds you already looking. You wave him over, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion, before walking to your table. 

"Sit down," you smile, gesturing to the chair in front of you. Minho complies silently.

"Here," you take out a container filled with brownies from your bag. "I never properly thanked you, for the towel and for the little cat you drew on my coffee last week. So, here, thank you," you beam at him while sliding the box in his direction.

"I don't- it's nothing, you didn't have to," he says, and you notice a tinge of pink blush covering the tips of his ears.

"I wanted to. I hope you'll like them, I'm not as good as your baker, but I tried," you confess, smiling sheepishly, and Minho feels a sudden urge to vehemently contradict you, to tell you that they must taste good. And even if they didn't it wouldn't matter, because you baked them for him. And that is enough. 

But he bites the inside of his cheek harshly, physically stopping this rush of words eager to escape his mouth.

"Let's eat them together, hum?" he simply suggests, opening the container and placing a brownie on your plate before taking one himself.

"Is it good?" you ask tentatively and he pretends to contemplate your question for a moment.

"They're horrible, right? I shouldn't have taken creative liberties with the recipe and-"

"Yn, I'm just kidding," he stops you, a soft smile on his face. "They're delicious, see," he says, finishing the brownie in one bite. "Really good," he compliments, reaching for another piece. 

"Okay," you smile in relief, eyes crinkling closed. The sunlight is streaming through the window, casting a golden shadow on your face. You are swaying contently in your place, as you take another bite of the brownie. And you look happy, with him. Minho thinks the brownies are the best he's ever had because he's sharing them with you. Because he got a taste of your happiness through them. 

vi. 

"Can you believe that professor? He failed half the class and he still thinks he isn't the problem." 

You are venting to Minho about your stuck-up Economics professor, while leaning against the countertop. He's listening intently to you, drinking in the details of your face as you talk to him. For some reason, he finds the smile lines on your face mesmerizing, that and the way your eyebrows move with your every word. 

These subtle details have been engraved into his memory since the day you gave him the brownies, two months ago. He has grown fond of you, sitting at your table at the end of his shift without you having to ask. You also hang out outside of Aurora, going on frequent walks and discovering new food spots. He never felt that the conversation between you two was strenuous, or forced. It flowed naturally, like a waterfall knowing exactly where it should go.

He also finds that smiling is easy with you. At your jokes, your stories, and your existence. He's lost count of the times he found himself grinning widely at your words, or smiling softly to himself at the thought of you coming to Aurora soon.

"He's too full of himself to admit he's the one who sucks at teaching," Minho comments and you clap in agreement. 

"Right! And it's so funny because..." You're still talking but your words go unheard by Minho, like a mindless buzz in the back of his mind. He's frozen in his place, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage as he notices the couple who just came in.

His ex, with the man she cheated on him with. 

"Minho? What's wrong?" you call out, snapping him out of his daze. You're eying him worriedly, and only then does he realize how tightly he's holding the countertop. 

"Nothing," he curtly replies, as he plasters a neutral expression on his face. 

He watches as his ex's eyes widen slightly when she sees him. She forgot he was working here. Of course, it'd be easy to do so since she never visited him at Aurora anyways. Despite the flood of emotions cursing through him, Minho maintains a stoic facade, taking their orders as if she's a mere stranger and not the one behind his shattered heart.

As Minho attempts to prepare their coffee, his hand trembles uncontrollably, forcing him to stop before dropping the milk.

He didn't love her anymore, he was certain of it. But still, the sight of her brought unpleasant memories back to the surface. Ones he tried so hard to bury in the back of his mind. And Aurora was his sanctuary. One, she never tainted with her presence. Has she not taken enough from him already? 

"Minho?" you call out softly, and Minho feels guilty because he left you alone with no explanation. Still, when he turns around, he can tell you aren't upset. You are worried, looking at him cautiously. 

"Is everything okay?" you ask once again, and this time Minho can't find it in him to lie to you, so he simply shakes his head no. 

"Your hand is shaking," you observe, before gently grabbing it in yours. You cover his hand with both of your palms, squeezing it lightly to steady the tremors cursing through it. 

Your hand is warm, and very soft, a stark contrast to the sharp emotions surging within him, like pine needles puncturing his heart.

"Would you like me to serve them?" you ask softly, and Minho isn't surprised you picked up on his unease. You're perceptive, it's one of the things he likes about you. 

"Please," he responds quietly. You simply smile, reaching for an apron and wrapping it around your waist. You look adorable, intertwining yourself with his world, and the sight of you eases the ache in Minho's soul.

A few minutes later, you grab the tray from his hands and walk over to their table. Minho chuckles inwardly when he notices that you didn't smile at them, serving them with a blank face, and his chest warms a little.

He has you on his side. 

Five days later, you're sitting besides Minho on a bench; watching the sun as it dips into the ocean, painting the sky in hues of orange and yellow. Yet, the dazzling colors are the last thing on Minho's mind. All he can think about is you. How you helped him with serving the rest of the drinks that day, how he taught you how to work the coffee machines- a solace from the ugly feelings that roared in him.

"Thank you," he abruptly says and you turn to look at him, perplexed.

"For what you did the other day, with the couple that came in. That was, um... my ex and the person she cheated on me with," he confesses quietly, fiddling with his earlobe. He didn't need to tell you, but he wanted to. "I've moved on, it's just... seeing her again hurt. I don't know why." 

Your eyes soften at him, not in pity, but in care. And Minho doesn't mind being vulnerable with you. It's scaring him, but he doesn't mind.

"It's normal for it hurt, it would honestly be weird if it didn't," you smile gently and he sighs in reply, running a hand through his hair. 

"I wish it didn't."

"Love is a powerful feeling, it consumes our entire beings. That's why it hurts when our hearts are toyed with. But love itself doesn't hurt, I feel like it's what makes our world move. You know, the little gestures humans do for one another, that are fueled by love. Like, um... scratching someone's back or peeling someone's fruit. You don't have to do those things, but you do. Because you love the person, and it makes your existence feel gentler, and softer on the heart." You explain, the words leaving your mouth and wrapping around Minho's soul, healing parts of him that he didn't know were bruised.

"My point is, it's normal for you to be hurt. But I hope you don't close your heart entirely to the feeling. Because we may not have grand things in our life, but if there is a hand that brushes our tears away and one that folds our laundry, then that's enough for us to lead a beautiful life."

Minho blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep his tears at bay. He felt as if the letters you uttered unfolded and stretched in front of his eyes, morphing into a gentle hand patting his back. Yours.

You smile softly at him, the water's reflection shimmering in your eyes. And Minho thinks that he's standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to dive into the unknown- into you. 

"How do you do it?" he chuckles in disbelief, as he leans a bit closer to you. "You make me want to believe in love again," he pauses, before adding quietly, "but only if it's with you." 

You remain silent as Minho fidgets with his fingers, before tentatively grabbing your hand in his. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixated on the way your fingers naturally intertwine with one another- as if finding each other after a lifetime of being apart.

"You know, I'd thought I'd always live like this, keeping a comfortable distance between me and people," he says, raising his head to finally meet your eyes, "and up until now I thought I was content with it, with loneliness, I mean. But... but brownies taste sweeter when I'm with you, and Aurora is brighter when you are in it, and smiling feels like second nature around you. And I don't... I don't think I can go back to being lonely again, not when I've had a taste of you in my life." 

Minho's heart is beating wildly into his chest, and he can hear the blood rushing through his ears, frantically, as if to warn him against what he's about to say. But your thumb caresses his palm reassuringly and he wants to try again. With you.

"I- I never wanted to love again, because no one, none of it was ever worth the risk, but you... You are the only exception."

Minho exhales breathlessly and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to your chest. You hoped that your warmth would ease his nerves a bit, that your hand on his back would feel gentle on his soul. You didn't want to rush your answer, trying to think of something that will patch up the deeply carved scar in his heart, a perfectly made band-aid in the shape of syllables.

It's a foolish hope, you realize, to instantly quiet the cries of a bruised spirit. So you simply settle on saying the truth sitting on the edge of your tongue.

"It will be quite hard, and scary for you," you whisper placing a tender kiss on his shoulder blade. "But I'll help you, if you'd let me. I'll take care of your heart better than I do with my own."

vii.

"Hey, baby," you smile at Minho, slipping behind the counter to be by his side. He pulls you by your waist, kissing your cheek softly.

"I missed you," he pouts, and you giggle, playing with strands of his hair, "I missed you too."

"Do you know what day it is today?" he asks, a shy smile gracing his face.

"No...?" you trail out and he chuckles, taking your hand in his.

"Don't worry, you didn't miss my birthday. It's just... it's been a year since you first came into Aurora."

"You remember?" you ask in amazement, your heart swelling with love for the man standing before you.

"Mm, how could I forget you? Also," he sneakily points to a table near the back, "my favorite couple is back."

You turn around, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as you find Mark gently holding the hands of his date. You smile happily when you finally notice it- the wedding ring, finally back on his finger.

[sonnet009games]

Incubus Chapter 4.5

(A small glimpse into Flea’s POV sometime between Chapter 4 and 5. For mature readers only.)

Flea had lived some long-ass days on this wretched fucking plane—but this? This had been the longest. At least until tomorrow, which would probably be longer. And then the next. And every day after. He’d walked for a while. The light had changed around him.

Now, on his back, half on the sidewalk and half in the gutter, blinking up into the dim sky, he wondered when he’d fallen. Or had he chosen to lie down here? Where even was here? It didn’t fucking matter. Black clouds were rolling in.

Maybe I’ll waste away right here, he thought as he stared up into the void.

A drop of rain fell on his cheek. Then another fell, and a few more, and then it was a downpour. He blinked some of it away as it fell into his eyes. He opened his mouth to catch some on his tongue, letting it slide down into his throat.

Maybe I’ll drown.

His leg jerked as someone tripped over it, stumbling but catching themself before they fell.

Maybe I’ll be mugged and beaten to death.

"Watch where you’re going, you blind asshole," Flea snarled, hurrying the process along.

But the person neither attacked nor left. They hovered, long enough that Flea begrudgingly felt the need to shift his eyes to take them in properly.

"Oh," he said in dull surprise. "It’s you."

Until Chapter 5...

[earthtooz]

an accidental diluc fic in which you seek refuge at dawn winery in the midst of a storm. pining ensues. 1k words.

the fireplace crackles, a pen scrawls hurriedly on paper, and the rain that hits the windows of dawn winery is slowly beginning to ease, the oppressive downpour turning into something gentle and calming. you glance out the windows, unfocusing your eyes and mind from the novel in your hands to observe the slowing raindrops.

your pot of tea is empty now, your hair and clothes have dried completely now after being near a fireplace for so long, and your limbs are beginning to ache from how long you’ve been sitting around. perhaps it’s time to return home now. 

diluc, from where he works in front of you, doesn’t notice you, hands too tightly wound in his red locks to look anywhere but at his paperwork. he is so concentrated that you feel bad distracting him from his duties, but with the easing of the rain, you’d rather leave now in case the downpour starts again.

oh, but thinking of the trip back home is already an unappealing thought. it is so warm inside diluc’s abode with the fireplace a few feet away from you, his furniture is so comfortable, and you’d hate having to trek through mud and hills, sullying your shoes and attire. 

however, you would hate to disturb the ragnvindr estate more than you already have with your sudden appearance, frantic to find shelter from the downpour. it just so happened you were near dawn winery at the time of the storm, and when the redhead caught sight of you amidst the onslaught of rain, he hurried you inside with no room for argument. 

it wasn’t that the two of you were unfamiliar. you’ve known him properly for two years now, and you admit that during those years, you’ve developed quite the affectionate spot for the young winery owner. sometimes, you think he feels the same for you, but diluc ragnivdr is diluc ragnvidr, as close as you may be, you are reminded of how unreachable he is for someone like you. so although he is the one that ushered you into his home, offering you a warm place to seek refuge in the meantime, you are the one that feels most guilty taking up space in his home. 

in hopes of subtly catching diluc’s attention, you stand, careful to not let the cushions move an inch as you pat down your clothes.

despite your rustling, the red-haired still has not moved, staring at the paperwork before him as if they were the greatest heathen of his life. one of the maids notice you instead, quickly scrambling to your aid and asking whether or not something was disturbing you.

“no, no, nothing of that sort,” you reassure, unsure of how to act with someone so frantically attending do your wants. “i was merely preparing to leave soon since the rain has eased.” 

the scraping of chair against wooden floorboards fill the room and heavy footsteps follow. “leaving? at this time of day?” diluc asks, presence suddenly larger than life and occupying the whole room. you feel small in front of him, overtaken by a courteous guilt. 

the maid has left. 

“yes, at this time of day,” you confirm. “is that so wrong?” 

“it’s dusk, y/n. the monsters will be out and it’ll be unsafe outside by the time you leave.”

“i can handle myself,” you vaguely gesture to the vision and sword that hangs from your hips. still, his expression does not change. “besides, i’ve been in your hair long enough, thank you for your hospitality, but i mustn’t bother you anymore.” 

“you do not need to be so formal with me. while you are under my roof, it would be in my best interest to take care of you,” he crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from your eyes. “your company could never be a burden, either.”

you cannot help but smile at his shy confession, stepping yourself back in his gaze so he can see that warm grin of yours that he’s come to adore- not that he’d ever admit that to you. “oh?” you quip. “why, i’m flattered that you deem me worthy to keep around, master diluc, but i ought to get going now.”

“it’s still cold outside, your attire is far too little for this weather.”

“a little bit of cold never hurt me.”

“you’ll get sick.”

“i’ll refuse.”

“you’ll… refuse?” he snorts.

“i will!” you declare brazenly.

“you are not leaving the manor when it’s cold and dark outside.”

you ignore the fluttering of your heart at the obvious care he is showcasing. “i feel awful taking up space in your home, diluc.”

“my decision is final, you shouldn’t risk your safety because of silly assumptions believing that you’re ‘bothering’ me.”  

as if sensing leftover threads of hesitance in your resolve, he adds, “adelinde was looking forward to having you here tonight as well. if you want to leave at some point, can’t you let it be after dinner? i’d hate to disappoint adelinde by telling her of your departure.”

as if the universe had timed it, it was after his sentence that you began to smell an aromatic scent wafting into the room, one so delicious that it was getting harder for you to resist diluc’s invitations. 

“you’re just guilt-tripping me now!” you accuse, a glimmer of amusement settling in his red eyes.

“and you are stalling. stay for dinner at least, i’ll feel better knowing that you leave with a full stomach.”

“what are you two bickering about?” comes a third voice- adelinde, who peeks around the doorway with an affectionate smile. at her appearance, you straighten your spine and crowd away from the young winery owner.

“nothing,” diluc explains, “apologies if we were too loud.”

“please, save your conversations for dinner. the plates are ready if you wish to eat, master diluc.” 

“thank you, adelinde.” the redhead turns to you. “so, what will it be?” 

home could wait, you decide. “it’d be impolite of me to decline. i’ll stay.” 

he smiles in satisfaction at your surrender, seeming proud of himself for getting you to stay a little longer. you can’t see it, but the head maid can very clearly identify the warm bits of affection settling in the young master’s eyes, rolling off him in waves as you declare that you’ll return his hospitality next time. 

(you stay the night because shortly after dinner, the rain returned. this time, with thunder and lightning.)

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[talesofesther]

keeper of my heart

Neve Gallus x Rook

Summary: She never did gave up easily, that much Rook had learned on the first few days of knowing Neve. But sometimes, Rook wonders when was the last time that Neve brought herself in before the cold reached her.

A/N: Neve Gallus has bewitched my heart, I wasn't expecting it, but she's just so incredibly lovable.

Masterlist

The rain falls heavier in Dock Town. There's a grey mist on the horizon; little besides the glowing store signs can be seen past the raindrops, which only grow thicker. The stray cats have taken shelter under store roofs and market stands, and the streets are steadily growing deserted. People are used to rain falling in Dock Town, it's easier to count the days when it doesn't rain, than the ones when it does. But even the locals can only take so much before the cold of the raindrops seeps through their clothing.

And yet Rook watches, from under a precarious awning, as Neve continuously shifts through the many papers pinned to the news board. The detective stands under the increasing rain, not wasting a second before any clue she might find on those papers gets too soaked.

She never did gave up easily, that much Rook had learned on the first few days of knowing Neve. But sometimes, Rook wonders when was the last time that Neve brought herself in before the cold reached her.

"Neve," she calls, loudly enough to be heard over the downpour, but there's no response. The rain has caused Neve's hair to stick to her forehead, the green round Fascinator she wears doesn't do much to cover her face anyway. It makes Rook smile for a brief moment.

Neve is holding two papers in her hands—reports of missing people, no doubt—a little hunched over, trying to shield them from rain. From the small distance separating them, Rook can see her squinting her eyes, having difficulty reading the words.

"Let's get inside." Rook tries again, taking a step forward and feeling how the wind carries tiny drops of rain against her already. "Neve, the rain is only getting heavier, we can come back later."

"I'll catch up," Neve calls to her, without looking up, "You can go, Rook, I need to finish this."

Rook sighs, there's a mix of fondness and indignation to the tilt of her brows as she looks at Neve. She shakes her head and curses her heart, before walking forward and under the rain, her feet splashing puddles as they carry her to the ice mage. "You know I am not leaving you here alone." The words fall easily from Rook's lips, it's a truth she's said a couple of times already—and she's willing to say many more, until Neve believes her.

There's a shiver that travels through Neve's body when the softness of Rook's voice cuts through the rain. Neve looks up at last, and she's standing so close. Rook gazes at her through her lashes, raindrops increasingly rolling down her skin; one in particular, Neve can't help but follow, her eyes trace its path until it reaches Rook's lips, stopping right at the corner.

Neve clears her throat to steel herself, mouth dry. She blinks away the rain from her eyes. "Rook I mean it, there's no reason for us both to get soaked."

"There's no reason for any of us to get soaked," Rook is quick to counter, raising a brow. "Come on, Neve. We can pick the trail back up as soon as the rain lets up."

Neve shakes her head even before Rook finishes talking. The detective purses her lips; there's a tightness growing in her throat that she hates. She clutches at the papers in her hands, so much so that her finger pokes a hole through the damp, fragile material. "No, I need… I need to solve this." Something heavy hangs onto Neve's words. It's choked and sounds a lot like desperation.

For a long moment, the only sound comes from the rain hitting the cobblestone streets. Rook observes how Neve refuses to meet her gaze, how her lip wobbles, and how the tears slowly but steadily gather on the lower lid of her eyes. As gently as she can, Rook reaches out, her hands finding Neve's. The mage doesn't fight it when Rook takes the soaked papers from her hands—it's not like she'll be reading them anyway, the ink has already started to blur and smudge.

The skin of Neve's hands is cold, too cold. Rook holds her tight, her thumb drawing tender patterns over the other woman's palms.

A trembling breath escapes Neve. She turns her head to the side, seemingly conflicted, trying to create a distance that she herself despises. Her brows are deeply furrowed but wet tracks are running down her cheeks, and Rook knows they don't come only from the rain. She pretends not to notice though, allowing Neve to believe the rain hides her vulnerability.

"I need answers, Rook." Neve holds her voice steady, despite the clench of her jaw. Rook wonders just how practiced she is at dismissing her own pain. "Aelia's back in town, people have started going missing, who knows what else she might-" The mage turns to Rook, her eyes are sharp but tremble at the corners. "She's my problem."

Rook's heart bleeds, she can't help but shift closer to Neve. Her hands find Neve's arms, brushing up and down in a sorry attempt at bringing warmth and comfort where there hasn't been any for way too long. The rain only grows colder, it falls heavily around them, soaks through their clothes and Rook can taste the fresh raindrops on her lips.

"And you…" Neve continues and then hesitates, there are raindrops or tears clinging to her eyelashes. "You won't leave," it's nothing but a breath past Neve's lips, teetering on the edge of being a whimper—a realization that tastes incredibly bittersweet. She lowers her head, hands finding purchase on Rook's coat and gripping tightly. Rook. Her Rook. Her Trouble. Neve could hate her. For insisting on staying, on showing her time and time again that maybe she's someone worth mending.

Neve could hate her, if she didn't love her so much. And the mere thought of the heavy word sends a chill down her back.

"And it's my fault that Aelia knows how much I-… That you matter to me, Rook. I have to make this right." The fear, the grief coating Neve's words is raw; a wound that's been poorly stitched again and again and bleeds anew.

The detective sinks deeper into guilt, into the hard truth that anyone who shows up for her pays the price sooner or later. She's doomed, and if Rook goes down with her because of it…

Soft hands cup Neve's cheeks. The touch steals her breath away in a gasp and brings fresh tears to cloud her vision. But the world around seems to fade, if only a little, as Rook holds her with something akin to reverence. Her thumbs brush over Neve's freckled skin, wiping away tears and raindrops alike.

Perhaps selfishly, Neve melts against the touch, burying her nose into the warmth of the other woman.

"You're right. I won't leave." Rook's emotions slip through her fingers when she speaks. Her gaze goes over Neve's lips, they're parted and with a faded blue hue from the cold. "So stay with me, too," Rook speaks quietly and tentatively, but she's so close that Neve feels more than hears the words.

There's a sudden sound in the distance, cats jumping between wooden boxes and running from the rain. At the same time, Neve's hand comes up to close around Rook's wrist, her thumb pressing against the pulse point there, feeling a steady and reassuring rhythm underneath. She counts the beats; one, two, three, and the fourth comes a little quicker, just before Rook pushes stray strands of Neve's wet hair behind her ear. The touch is all tender and calm, a contrast to the rapid beating that Neve feels under Rook's skin.

Her hand lingers, Rook's fingers mapping the shape of Neve's jaw, her lips. She leans closer before her courage escapes her, placing a soft kiss on the corner of Neve's mouth. It feels a lot like a promise.

When a sheepish, small smile pushes its way to the detective's lips and her cheeks grow a little warmer under Rook's fingers, she lowers her hands, but doesn't let go of Neve.

"Come on, let's get away from this cold."

Rook tugs on her hand, holding tight enough so no raindrops slip between them. And Neve lets her.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[voxslays]

Singing in the Rain

Featuring >>> Vox x Reader; In which, during a rainstorm, you have no choice but to huddle under a bus sign and wait for it to pass…until your fiancé Vox comes to their rescue.

You were standing in the pouring rain. Only half an hour ago, you had left the Vee’s tower to go shopping for an anniversary gift for Vox, your fiancé. You had forgotten an umbrella, and were forced to take cover from the heavy downpour under a bus sign. The streets were deserted, sinners opting to stay indoors rather than deal with the hellish storm. A smart decision. Instantaneously, you see a figure running across the street, towards you. Should you run? Probably, yet you decided to stay. You could always fight the demon off. Right? As the figure got closer, you noticed a flickering blue screen; Vox. 

“Vox?” You yell out, cupping your hands together. “What are you doing out in this rain?! You’ll catch a cold!” He hisses, pulling you close, his head flickering from the torrent of water. “I was trying to wait it out. What are you doing here?” Vox rolls his eyes, uncrossing his previously crossed arms. “Looking for you, obviously. Now come on, let’s get out of this rain before you turn into a drowned rat.” You grab his hand, as he takes off his jacket, holding it over both of your heads. He leads you down the empty street, his expensive shoes splashing in the puddles. After a few moments, he stops and turns to face you. “You know, it's moments like these that I wish I could just...escape. Leave everything behind.” His eyes look distant, almost haunted.

“What do you mean?” You ask with wide eyes. “All the expectations, the pressures of being me. Sometimes I just want to be a normal person. No fame, no fortune, no power. Just you and me.” His gaze softens as he looks at you, his hand reaching up to gently wipe rainwater from your face. “What about Voxtek? Or the Vees? You spent years to get where you are!” You say, thinking of his career. “I know and I wouldn't trade it for the world. But sometimes, I wish I could have both. The power, the success, and you.” He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I love you, you know.” He murmurs softly, his breath warm against your ear. “And I promise, I'll make it up to you. For all the times I've been too busy, too distracted. I promise.”

“Vox it’s okay, I understand-“ Vox interrupts you, gently pressing a finger to your lips while his eyes blaze with intensity. “No, it's not okay. I've taken you for granted far too often.” He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Wise men say~” He sings in a gentle, low croon. “Only fools rush in~” He pauses, his gaze burning into yours. “But I can’t help~” You join in, your voices singing together in harmony. “Falling in love with you~” Vox gently grabs your hands, and holds them in his. “Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?~” Vox twirls you around in the middle of the street, unafraid of the hellish landscape that surrounds. “If I can’t help…falling in love with you~”

He pulls you close, his hands resting on your lower back. The rain has almost completely stopped, the sound of your voices echoing through the empty street. “For I can’t help~” He sings softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Falling in love with you~” The two of you splash through puddles as you dance through the damp and dimly illuminated streets. ​​“Like a river flows, surely to the sea~” He spins you out, then back in, holding you close. “Darling, so it goes~” His voice is low and smooth, filled with emotion. “Some things are meant to be~” He dips you dramatically, his screen only inches from your face. 

“Take my hand~” Your eyes are filled with nothing but the loving gaze you hold for Vox, while you gently hold out your hand. His hand intertwines with yours, his other hand on your back, pulling you up slowly. His voice is barely a whisper. “Take my whole life too~ For I can’t help~” His head glitches briefly, his eyes filled with raw emotion. “Falling in love with you.” You finish together, embracing eachother in a loving kiss. As you break the kiss, Vox looks at you with a genuine, loving smile.  “I love you so much,” He whispers, his voice shaking. “More than anything in this world.” He pulls you into another hug, holding you tightly against his chest. “Never leave me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He buries his face in your neck, his body relaxing against yours. “Good.” He murmurs softly. “Because I couldn't bear to lose you.” He takes a deep breath, shuddering at the thought as his arms tighten around you. “Let's go home.” You hold his hand, as you get into the back of his limo. The car starts, as the chauffeur drives through the hellish red landscape of the pride ring. He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you close. “I meant what I said earlier, okay? I'm going to make it up to you. All those missed anniversaries, birthdays...” He sighs, nuzzling his face against your shoulder.

“You make it up to me everyday.” You coo, kissing the corner of his screen. You look out the window, at the dirty streets of hell, before looking back up at him. He kisses your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I know...but I will do more. I promise.” He murmurs softly, his hands gently caressing your body, as you gently lean into him. “I love you.” He coos, rubbing circles on your arm as you lean into him. “I love you too.” You smile.

[p1hypen]

y(ours) — P1HARMONY!hyung line

wherein the members have become acquainted with your personal belongings. ft. non-idol!p1h hyung line x gn!reader. fluff.

a/n: it’s like almost 3am as i’m posting this while also recovering from a cold. enjoy <3

keeho

your shirt.

during the walk to your apartment an abrupt downpour of rain came crashing down on keeho, catching him by surprise. when he reached your unit and knocked on the door, you crooned at the unfortunate state that your boyfriend was in. soaking wet, cold, and shivering. you urged him to take a warm shower and tossed his clothes into the dryer for the time being.

the cycle was still ongoing when keeho hollered from the bathroom that he was finished. with no other option you opted to give him one of your oversized shirts you use to sleep in and a pair of sweatpants that originally belonged to him. how you managed to steal that is beyond his acknowledgment.

when he finally dried himself off and slipped into the articles of clothing you lent him, he bunched the material of your shirt and brought it close to his nose to sniff at it. you always had a nice scent that was a mix of vanilla with a hint of minty freshness. is this how other couple’s feel when they use their partner’s clothings?

keeho stepped into the kitchen where you finished plating both of your guys’ food.

“you look really cute!” you chirped, and he pulled you in for a warm hug.

“you smell really good…” he mumbled into your hair to which you laughed and turned the compliment back to him. commenting on how much you liked the cologne he wears occasionally.

by the time that keeho’s clothes finished drying right after cleaning up the table from dinner, he refused to give back your shirt and declared he would “live in it” until your smell wore off. you weren’t one to oppose, secretly finding it adorable that your boyfriend reminded you quite literally of yourself whenever you’d rummage through his closet for a hoodie or two to melt in.

theo

your tote bag.

more often than not— actually, scratch that. theo always makes you carry his belongings in your tote bag wherever you guys go. sure, you’ve gotten used to it but sometimes you sneak in a little sarcastic eye roll when he asks you to “hold onto his things” (not without giving you a guilty smile of course).

the beach? he’ll find a way to stuff his towel in with yours, only contributing more to the bulkiness of your bag.

the mall? his wallet, lip balm (that he actually stole from you), sunglasses, and other personal trinkets get mixed with yours.

when it’s too hot out? his jacket will find its way into the safe haven of your tote bag.

in the end, you don’t mind carrying his things in addition to your stuff; it’s the least you can do as his partner without making a big fuss over something that isn’t trivial. besides, theo’s a great help when he notices that he may have overloaded your bag with his possessions, and is more than willing to take it off your shoulders to let it dangle on his own.

“it’s only fair that i do this, too.” he once said, as the two of you walked hand-in-hand together, enjoying a brief stroll in the park after getting brunch with a couple of other friends. you giggled, surveying the way he so naturally held onto the straps of your tote bag with his free hand.

little did he know that you were planning on buying one of his own, although, he might just end up leaving that at home and still relying on you as his carrier.

jiung

your jewelry.

jiung is a big fan of your accessories and constantly finds himself digging through your jewelry dish and organizers for some bling to spice up his outfit.

this new habit of his happened one day when he noticed the vintage vivienne westwood necklace looped around your neck. the signature pendant caught his eye, he was quick to compliment the piece of jewelry and said that it looked “really nice.” there was some kind of hinting notion in his voice that egged you on. with a knowing grin, you let jiung have a go at trying it on to see how it looked on him. needless to say, you’re pretty sure he’s worn that very necklace more than you have.

and that’s how his obsession with your collection of silver and gold pieces spurred.

over time, you began to collect more jewelry. purely for you and jiung to share— but mainly for your boyfriend. whenever you’d do your daily online window shopping or in-person window shopping, you would always have jiung’s taste in the front of your mind when considering what to buy next. a lot of what he liked overlapped with you, so things worked out perfectly with every new purchase.

when you came home sporting a pair of earrings he’s never seen you wear before today, jiung rushed to your side to examine it.

“actually, i got one for you too.” you said, revealing his own set. not missing the twinkle in his eyes and big smile.

[thisisarcanereverie]

Welcome to Westview

A/N: Hey! it's been a while since I've written anything (writers block on top of various other concerns) and with AAA coming out I've been wanting to write another Wanda fic and I've had this idea for a while now. I've actually written 3 chapters in this series in advance so the updates on this should be pretty consistent.

Link to Series Masterlist

Link to Marvel Masterlist

Summary: in 1980's Westview, you move into town and are quickly meet your new neighbors.

Warnings: Slight Cussing, Loki x Reader x Wanda love triangle

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, they are property of Marvel I do however own the banner down below.

‘This is good,” you told yourself, ‘this will be the new start I need.”  

You count the raindrops that glide down the window pane of your seat on the bus, you still have quite a ways to go yet to your destination and your mind refuses to be quiet enough for you to catch a few minutes of rest. You silently cursed yourself for not bringing your book onto the bus with you instead of leaving it snug within your suitcase. So to entertain yourself you’ve been counting the raindrops as Billy Joel plays softly in the background. In between counting and cursing you’ve been giving yourself small pep talks about how this ‘fresh start’ was going to change everything and be everything you hoped–no– everything you needed it to be. 

Westview had to be everything you hoped it would be. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain was still coming down as the bus arrived at your stop, while annoying, you were just thankful it wasn’t a torrential downpour. The walk from the stop to your new home while unpleasant, at least wasn’t far, you wore sensible shoes for this very reason. You were the only one that filed out along with two other passengers, a regular looking woman with a blonde bob and the other was someone you hadn’t even noticed before. He had been tall, with dark gelled hair and green eyes that adorned a well sculpted face. He had this aura of refinement that didn’t fit someone who had taken a greyhound bus to get off at a stop in a town that no one has even heard of, in New Jersey of all places. Nevertheless you tore your eyes away from this enigma and continued on your small quest to gather your luggage before starting on your journey to your new home. 

You thanked the driver as he handed you your two suitcases, heavy with clothes and other personal belongings that you had taken with you rather than shipped. Your hands gripped the handles tightly as you took a deep breath, ready to face the journey. However before you even stepped five steps away from the stop you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around. 

“I’m sorry,” it was the refined man from earlier,  “but do you have a ride?” His voice had a nice timber to it that was attached to a subtle english accent. 

“No I don’t,” You said, “but it’s alright, where I’m heading isn’t far from here.” 

“Let me drive you,” he said, pointing to a sleek black car just two steps away, “my car is right there, there should be enough room for your luggage in the back seat.”

“I’ll be alright,” you tried to assure him but he shook his head. 

“My mother raised a gentleman,” he explained, “if I let a lady walk in the freezing rain she would string me up by the hair on my head.”

“We’re strangers,” you start, “how do I know you’re not some murderer?” You see him smile at that and chuckle slightly before pointing towards the shop close to his car. 

“I’m Loki Laufeyson, I run the Westview Gazette,” he reached out his hand toward you, “and I assure you, as someone whose job is to report the news, Westview is a poor place to commit any crime–especially murder. Everyone and their great Aunts cousin will know the second it happens and know exactly who did it in five. Word travels faster in a small town than the speed of light, it sometimes seems.” You shake his hand, which almost engulfed your own, “and now that we’re strangers no more, may I please take your bags to the car and get out of the rain.” 

You hesitate for a minute as you weigh your options, you either walk for 20 minutes in the rain or you take a chance and trust Loki Laufeyson…

Well, to hell with caution. 

“Ok,” you relented, handing off one of the bags to the dark haired man, “I’m going to trust that you’re not going to dismember and scatter my remains throughout rural New Jersey.”

“I’m honored,” he snags the other one as well, a mischievous smile on his lips, “shall we?” Before you could insist on carrying at least one of your two suitcases of luggage he swiftly grabbed both and made his way to the car. Hastily you followed him, opening the door to the backseat so that he could place the luggage inside. Once done you barely register him moving past. He opens the door to the passenger seat and you hopped in, your hand doesn’t get the chance to reach for the handle before he closes the door for you. You guess he wasn’t kidding when he said that he was a gentleman. 

“Where to?” He asks once in the driver's seat, brushing his dark and wet hair back and putting the keys in the ignition. 

“2803 Sherwood Drive,” you replied as the engine of the vehicle roared to life, “it should only be a few minutes from here.”

“That it should,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot, a moment of silence passed before he spoke again, “so what brings you to Westview, it can’t be for sightseeing, not that there’s much to see. Visiting family or friends perhaps?”

“No,” you respond, “nothing like that. I’m actually moving here.” 

“Why would anyone move here?”

“A new start,” you say absently as you watch the storefronts and townspeople with umbrella’s passing by.

“Alone?” 

You look over to your new acquaintance and see a curious expression, “yeah,” you say, offering a smile, “but that’s not a bad thing, sometimes the best start to a new life is one where you start alone.” 

 “You are a curious person.” You hear him remark as he turns the corner, you see his eyes glance over at you momentarily before turning them back on the road. 

“And you ask a lot of questions.” 

“Part of the job I’m afraid,” 

You see your street come into view, “Pull over to the house with the blue flowers in the front,” you unbuckle your seatbelt as he pulls over and turn to him, “Thank you for the ride Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Call me Loki,” He says as you were about to exit you hear him speak, “you never did tell me your name.” 

You smile and introduce yourself before finally exiting the car fully, quickly you grab your two suitcases and close the door before he has the chance to do it for you. You get a few steps in before you hear him again, you turn and see he’s rolled the window down. 

“By the way,” you could barely hear him, the rain getting heavier now, “I like your name.” You smile and wave him goodbye, as he does the same. You turn and walk the rest of the way to the front door where you set one case down the fish the keys from your jacket and then enter. You close the door as you hear Loki driving off, you then lean your back against it as you turn on the lights. 

The home you’ve bought for yourself wasn’t large, two bedrooms, one to serve as your office and the other as a bedroom. It was a little outdated in terms of style, but it had a sunken living room that you couldn’t help but love and exposed brick. The walls were a kind of orange yellow that you were sure were because of cigarette smoke, but once you’ve washed the walls you’ll decide on what color to paint them. White was timeless and versatile but something like a burnt orange or muted brown was calling out to you. You would probably head to the hardware store this weekend and check it out, either way despite the shag carpeting and nicotine stained walls, this home of yours had great bones. For some reason the thought of the renovations and hard work on making this place your own filled you with both dread and anticipation. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The movers had arrived not long after you did. You hadn’t brought much from your old home, having sold most of it, just the couch, tv, and a few other necessities like your desk and bedroom set had survived the great purge along with a few photo and record albums. You’ll buy another record player and picture frames at a later date, along with other decorations like vases and end tables and other necessities like pots and pans and basically everything else. You sold enough at a decent enough price to afford to do that without dipping into the money you’ve earned writing freelance. 

It hadn’t taken long to get settled in, maybe two hours at the most with the most difficult part being getting the bed upstairs and into the bedroom. But once that was done the rest went smoothly, you paid the movers for their services and went about making a list of necessities for your new home with the top ones to be bought immediately like cleaners and alike along with purchasing a vehicle of your own. Most immediate errands can be run on foot but the others required a vehicle–specifically–a vehicle with a large trunk. 

You drew back the thin curtains that the place came with and let the sunlight bleed through, the previous storm having passed a little bit ago and as you looked at the sky and assumed that the worst had passed and doubted it would rain again for the rest of the day. So you grabbed your suitcases from the kitchen and made your way upstairs to quickly change into a different outfit, not particularly wanting to wear the still slightly damp clothing you’ve traveled in to run to the store. You changed into a plain shirt with jeans and a jean jacket, you slipped on your shoes from earlier and grabbed your house keys before exiting. 

You no sooner reached the end of your walkway when you heard someone calling out. At first you weren’t sure if it was for you until you saw the mess of light auburn curls attached to a–frankly–beautiful woman. You waited until the woman caught up with you, which wasn’t long. 

“Hello there,” She said, extending her hand, “I’m Wanda, your neighbor, I would’ve come out sooner but you seemed busy and I didn’t want to bother.” 

“Oh,” you shook her hand, “it wouldn’t have been a bother.” 

“Yes it would’ve,” she smiled, “I get how hectic moving can be, I moved to this slice of heaven a few years ago and I’m still rummaging through a few boxes.” She retracts her hand, “anyways you probably have somewhere to be and I’ve got to get back inside before my boys decide to burn down the house, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood and if you need anything just holler.” Wanda reaches out to you with her other hand which you only just notice holds a scrap of paper with a series of numbers written elegantly in red ink. “This is my number and again, if you need anything like a cup of sugar or just someone to talk to I’ll answer.” 

“Thank you,” you said, carefully tucking the number safely into your jean pocket, “I’ll definitely call, I don’t really know anyone here so I hope we can be friendly.” 

“I hope so too,” she smiles, “well I don’t want to keep you too long, if you have time tomorrow I have the day off so drop by and we can talk.” 

“That sounds good,” you smile, somehow already excited for tomorrow, “I’ll see you then!” 

“See you!” 

And with that you both parted ways, with you glancing back momentarily before continuing on your errand, less than twenty four hours in and you’ve already made some progress in building a new and better life than the one you’ve had before. 

You glance momentarily at your hands and swear that this time it will be different, no one will know here, and news of you will not travel this far. You will have a better life, you swear it. 

[pikapitou]

⛈️ for buddie!!! wee <3

I got... a little carried away. enjoy 1k of thunderstorms and - since it's october - coming back wrong yayyy

As a kid, Eddie loved thunderstorms. The heavy layer of ozone, dark clouds rolling in the distance, the way the wind picked up and made him feel like something stagnant inside of him was finally moving. He used to sit on the front step out of the rain and count the seconds; always wishing it was closer, right on top of him.

That's probably why what happened happened.

The thunder rumbles so loud Eddie almost misses the pounding on the door. It's the first thunderstorm since—well, but for some reason he's still surprised to find Buck on his doorstep, not-yet drenched. 

"Hey—" Eddie starts, but Buck steps right across the threshold and crashes into him hard enough to send them both stumbling back, Eddie's hand flying out to catch their balance against the wall. Buck is a long line of cool heat against him, his wet clothes soaking into Eddie's sleep-shirt as he pants in huge hot breaths against Eddie's neck. Crisis response is muscle memory; Eddie gets his bearings right away and runs a hand down Buck's shivering back, firm but gentle pressure.

"Hey," he says again, quieter. "I'm here. What's going on?" When he tries to shift back to get a look at him, Buck squeezes him hard enough for it to hurt. 

"Eddie," he whines into Eddie's shoulder, the most wounded sound Eddie's ever heard, wiping all the thoughts clean from his head other than Jesus fucking Christ.

Since what happened, Buck's been—weird isn't the right word. Off? Sometimes over-overexcited, sometimes drawing into himself in a way he never has before. Eddie can recognise it as him trying to be a version of himself that atrophied over the course of three minutes and seventeen seconds, and maybe this is what Buck's been hiding, this raw, aching nerve desperate for—something. 

"Alright," Eddie says. "Alright." He shifts so he can kick the front door closed, the downpour muffling into white noise. He takes a step backwards, careful to keep up contact as he leads them to the couch. Buck follows easier than he expected, or maybe just easy. 

He settles down and Buck immediately clambers into his lap, which—they've never done that before. But they're not—this isn't—that's not what's happening here. It's the first thunderstorm, of course Buck is freaking out. 

"Eddie, I—" Buck starts, still tucked into Eddie's neck, his fingers digging into Eddie's arms. He's actually talking, which is good. "I think something's really wrong," his voice shakes, pitching with fear. Outside another crack of thunder. 

"What is it?" Eddie asks gently, and Buck just shakes his head and shivers against him. "I can help you, alright? Just," he smooths a hand through Buck's curls, tugging so gently, "Can you look at me?"

For all his protests earlier Buck listens right away, pulling back so their eyes meet. Buck's eyes are, fuck, have they always been this blue? Even in the dark Eddie can see the colour. Buck is staring at him like—Eddie can't even describe it. A tingle goes up his spine, like getting shocked from faulty wiring. 

Eddie swallows that down, keeps his voice steady, "What do you need—" 

And Buck is kissing him. Desperate, immediately intense, wet in a way that makes Eddie forget where they are and what led up to this and why he should probably, definitely stop this. He makes a sound in pure surprise and Buck takes advantage, licking into Eddie's mouth and across his tongue and the points of his teeth; distantly Eddie is aware he can taste blood. 

"Buck—" he manages, but Buck shuts him up, kissing him like mouth-to-mouth, like CPR, like he can't breathe air that didn't go through Eddie's lungs first. He's gasping in a way that makes Eddie worried, although Eddie is plenty fucking worried already. Eddie pulls Buck back rougher this time, ignoring the heart-wrenching pang when Buck whimpers pitifully and tries to grab for him again. He takes that hand and plasters it over his chest instead, taking a deliberate, slow breath despite his own panting. "Breathe, Buck." 

Buck takes a huge, heaving inhale and—stops. Just like that, staring at his palm on Eddie's chest. He shifts his fingers to the left until they're splayed over Eddie's racing heart. Buck's next exhale takes all the desperation out of his expression, leaving behind only this air of—awe. Like he's entranced. That's... good, Eddie tries to tell himself, though he can't really believe it. He's calm. At least he's calm.

Then Buck looks up at him, and his eyes are so intense that the feeling comes back, tingling in all of Eddie's nerves as he fights not to look away. "You restarted my heart," Buck says breathlessly, "You brought me back."

Eddie's heart clenches, and Buck's fingers twitch in his shirt like he felt it. Eddie doesn't—think about that. The wet slide of his hands across Buck's still chest, the rain beating down his back, the storm right over top of him as Eddie prayed without praying—Please. Please. Please. Oh, God. Please.

He exhales slowly, and Buck sways forward before he catches himself, blinking hard. 

"Yeah," Eddie says. "I did." 

Desperation lights in Buck's eyes again, gleaming with sudden tears, his words all stumbling together as he grabs at Eddie with shaking hands—"So—so—so that means you want me, right? 'Cause if you didn't, you would've—but you didn't, so you have to—you have to want me, Eddie, 'cause I can't even, Eddie, I can't even fucking breathe without you anymore—"

Lightning flashes through the windows, bright and blinding; one frozen second where Eddie thinks, oh, something is definitely wrong.

Then thunder crashes as he pulls Buck back into a kiss. 

[vifilms]

i think some skin to skin with cowgirl abby could and would fix me :P

❝ IM IN LOVE WITH YOU ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON!

an. nonnie, thank you for the request. it's more angst than i planned so i hope that's okay! i also wanna credit the cuntress queen @astralnymphh for this concept. so, so good. y'all need to check it out asap.

Since she could feel it, from very early on, she’s liked women and never enjoyed the company of men other than to have an occasional beer with. Most of the girls around her worried about settling down, finding a perfect man, one who is respectable, stable, loving. Pleasing the wishes of their parents who are ever so demanding with a downpour of insured judgements. 

It’s all left to be found here, the bellows from a man and a woman living unhappily together, telling others how to live their life. Yet, Abby from a young age yearns for someone else, the piece she believes is missin’. 

The sought after, happily ever after. 

Not a soul she had met for her bill so she keeps her head down. Late night escapades are tight lipped, hidden from spectator’s eyes, ones they would throw slurs her way without a second thought if they knew. Just like they had when she hadn’t kept it a secret.

 Sometimes, it burns. Other times when she was buried in between a woman’s thighs as they cried for mercy in her ear, it didn’t. 

Underneath the midnight sky, her fingertips dance on the white wood — the one she shouldn’t be stepping her boots back on. 

Despite how she tells herself, this will be the last time, it never really is. It’s a quiet night in the small town tucked away in a small town in South Texas, the stars shine bright in the countryside, moonlight shining brighter than it has all month long. 

Abby steps up to your front porch, the pearly white picket fence, the home your dad built with his two bare hands and a dream. When she’s met with your shining smile, the doubt is evident, barely visible but it’s there. 

Is this what you want? Or were you just too kind of a woman to say no? 

Nothing is said between the two of you as you pull her into your home, a senseless wonder swirls in your eyes, getting lost in impenetrable blues. Maybe, it’s what pulls you in and keeps you there like the failed dreams in a dying town. Perhaps it’s when you dream of the sound of her voice at night when she decides not to come, leaving you alone to think of not a single thing but her. 

Once the door closes, it’s just the two of you. Abby’s musk is overwhelming, she tends to be, but you seem to welcome it with open arms. There's a pot roast you made for her, devouring it silently at the round dining room table, her muscular thigh touching yours, reminding you of the feelings which never seem to wither. 

Her brown, weathered stetson hat sits on the empty chair, her fingertips picking at the frayed edge, the nagging thought in her brain shouts at her to say something, anything, but you beat her to it. 

“You don’t have to stay, Abby. You’ve got an early morning, so do I.” You pick up the emptied plates, washing them at the sink when you feel strong, protective, arms wrap around your waist, her chin resting against your shoulder. 

“Why are you putting words in my mouth, darling?” Pink lips decorate deliberate kisses along the side of your neck, “I’m right where I wanna be. M’here with you, not going anywhere.” 

With her pointer finger, she tilts your head to her, dominant lips catching hers, Abby’s hold keeping you in place as she reminds you of what it feels like to be held by the person you call home. The quivering feeling shoots a shiver up your spine, her hands don’t stop moving as they caress your body. 

“C’mon now, you need some sleep.” Her southern drawl is strong as ever as she leads you up the stairs into your bedroom. “S’late, can’t have you not gettin’ sleep because of little ‘ole me.” 

You know what she wants and you know you’ll do it too. 

Anything for her. Right? 

A freshly showered Abby emerges as naked as the day she was born. Porcelain skin tanned by the radiance of the sun from a hard day’s work, a constellation of freckles cover her body. There’s an abundance collecting at her shoulders, across her collarbones as they dust her strong nose and spread across perfectly sculpted cheeks. 

The time you have with each other is few and far in between, occupied by the responsibilities of managing a ranch with her father commands most of the hours of the day, keeping her effectively away from you.

Plus, the feeling swarming in her heart she refuses to see yet she’s here a few times a week, wanting this. If Abby wants more, she’s good at hiding it, but the thought alone is dangerous. You can allow yourself to want more, not when she gives you nothing in return. 

“Are you gonna come over here, gorgeous?” She slides in between your legs, some of her weight soothingly collapses onto you. “Patience darling, m’right here, not going anywhere.” 

With a sigh of content, she grabs you by the waist as she pulls you on top of her with ease. Abby’s golden waves kiss your face as she hides her face in the crook of her neck. Meticulously, the blunt of her fingertips draw patterns on your skin, playing with the hem on your lace undergarment, the only piece of clothing left in your body. 

“You will go somewhere. In the morning, you’ll leave without saying goodbye. Jus’ like you do after every night.” Abby tightens her hold, thinking if she keeps you close you won't slip through but truth be told? She’d be the first to drop you, even if it wasn't her intention. 

“Sorry, m’not strong like you.” 

“I think you’re a lot stronger than you think, y’know?” Her lips find yours as her skin smothers you in the body wash she keeps in the cabinet. Soft breasts melt against her own, calming her in a way Abby can’t quite comprehend. 

This was more than just sex. If that’s all this was, she would be the nearest bar picking up the closeted women who fawn over her before she even steps her foot in the front door. The most sought after woman in town, yet it’s her tongue in your mouth, claiming in a way words fail her. 

“Abby—” The moan vibrates through her, she falls into the sensation of your heavenly skin, smooth against her calloused hands. Every inch of your body feels golden to her. It’s what she craves, the intimacy without having to be, so good, a delicate sigh leaves her puffy lips. “I—” 

With a loving look in her wondrous pools of deep sea blues, with a hint of gray stowed away beneath the light, she inquires for you to continue as she looks up at you. 

Your hands gently touch her face, thumb lovingly soothing over the apples of her cheeks and the scar decorating one of them. There’s nothing she despises more than it, makes her look far too damaged, but you’ve always thought it makes her the person she is. 

Strong, loving, imperfectly perfect. 

The first time you did it, she flinched as she gripped your wrist, pulling your fingers away from marking. Now, she closes her eyes and lets you. 

“When can I tell you without you running? When are you gonna stay?” Abby wants to tell you, say it. I won’t leave. I’ll always be here, right with you, forever. 

She doesn’t. She can’t. 

The words die on her tongue, the three little ones she feels but can’t let through. The past hurts haunt her as it disgusts itself as a never ending hangover which she holds it against you. It’s not meant to be cruel, it certainly isn’t fair, but it’s all she can do until time heals the festering wound. 

“I don’t have an answer for you—” Her blue eyes open, her lips ghosting over your again. “But, this, you? It’s just you and me. No one else, darling.” 

For now, it’s enough, but Abby stresses over the day where you’ve had enough cursing at the wind and whatever god sits above. 

One day, somewhere in the near future, she won’t be.

taglist: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @nybueckers @tlouloser

wanna be tagged?

[isa-ah]

so heres my pitch for what happens before dimple shows up in the icmhwau:

teruki and mob are hanging out in the middle of one of black vinegars soccer fields. its after school and the sky is heavy and grey, but it hasnt started to rain just yet. mob snuck a milk carton on his way out so he could come see one of the stray cats that sometimes wander onto the school grounds. this one he knows from sitting by for terukis soccer practice over the last few months.

while hes bent down, making soft sounds and petting it, teruki is standing behind him, hands jammed in his pockets and sneering bc he doesnt do. exactly great. not being the center of attention. hes tapping his toe and waiting for mob to get it over with so they can go when theres this big crack of thunder overhead and the cat goes skittering off toward the trees- just as the sky opens up and theres one of those heavy late spring downpours.

teruki is taken offguard, bracing for the rain, when he realizes hes still stood there dry. mobs got a hand up, having thrown a barrier over them reflexively, and humming his disappointment. he stands, dusting his knees off, and when he turns around teruki tries to look like he hasnt just been standing there watching the whole time.

"can we go now?" rude. but no more rude than he usually is, so mob doesnt really mind. he hums his affirmation but pauses, and then shakes his head. teruki frowns and turns fully toward him in response.

mob kinda stands there, hands flexing and unflexing cause hes really not good at putting things into words in this au. it drags on long enough that teruki is just starting to pull away with a scoff when he is stopped cold like he took a stone to the head.

"teru."

that gets his attention in a big way that makes his stomach roil. mobs never addressed him like this before- maybe a soft hanazawa-kun when he needed to, but the nickname cuts straight to the core and he is on guard immediately.

"i.. was thinking."

and now he is feeling outright defensive. a thousand scenarios playing out right like is mob sick of this? is this going to be bad news? is he trying to sugar coat it? and then, worst case scenario; mob steps forward, and starts to reach for him. his hands are small and bruised, little scars and bandages wrapped around his fingers. teruki put those there, and it feels like an intimacy too sacred and mortifying to be broached.

so teruki panics.

"DONT TOUCH ME!" slapping his hands aside. "you just laid hands on that disgusting vermin, its probably diseased."

and mob stands there looking so shocked teruki feels a thrill of success. derailed. whatever was about to happen has been successfully derailed. he preens, starting to turn to pull the lead before mob can recover, but mob speaks before he can get very far.

"cats are actually very good at grooming." tone flat, dry. it gets under terukis skin. mob never objects.

"yeah right. like im going to hear about hygiene from a brute like you." baseless, and mean, the kind of cutting comment he throws around easy but it seems to catch mob off guard this time.

hes frowning, brows turned down and his hair ruffled by a wind that cant reach them through his barrier. teruki sneers and mob shoves him, hands splayed into his ribs in frustrated defiance. teruki scoffs and pushes him tumbling back onto his ass, standing over him.

& its just instinct tbh, at this point, learned experience from watching teruki get backed into corners with his mouth, when mob mutters, "youre mean." and when teruki looks surprised, he continues. "youre a very mean person."

which teruki is taken aback by. "oh, as if! you dont have a high horse, not when youre just some commoner who happens to listen to instruction better than the rest of them. like you havent picked plenty of your own fights, too." that sort of thing. "its embarrassing that youd even try to come after me when youre just some- some nobody."

& its clearly reaching its mark bc as teruki talks, mobs curling his fingers into the grass and bits of dirt and torn blades are starting to curl up into the stagnant, humid air around them. his hairs started to lift and he looks unhappy.

"oh dont look so surprised. you knew what this was. and beyond that- you dont scare me, kageyama. i could kick your ass and still-"

hes cut off by this dizzying woosh, this spike of energy that makes his head spin, and the vertigo only intensifies as he looks around and realizes the barrier is gone; its not that the rain isnt landing on them, its that the rain isnt landing at all.

mob was definitely not radiating unadulterated power like this last time. he may have.. miscalculated his approach.

& you can imagine it from there. teruki panics and lashes out first, which pushes mob over the edge and suddenly theyre fighting and its UGLY. it makes their initial fight look like a joke. it makes the soccer field look like a battleground. it knocks teru half conscious, held by the throat in mobs sweaty, burning grip with blood dripping into his eyes when hes got an abrupt sense of nausea and something eye piercingly green shoots out his nose with an unceremonious, "oh jesus, kid."

im not like, a writer, but you get the idea. fill it in to be better than i could do it LOLOL mob tried to finally put into words, somewhat, what he feels about teruki, which made teruki FREAK because he doesnt know how to be vulnerable like that, he lashes out at mob, mob lashes out back, the autistic immovable object vs the unstoppable adhd force leading into an rsd death spiral. messy. awful. mob knocks the snot (dimple) out of him lololol

[jolalibrary]

memories are fresh

cod soap mactavish x f!reader (callsign: squid)

thank you to voldie asking for happy angst — apparently the genre of what I write hahaha (voldie because they asked to not be named) warnings: angst. brief past mention of bickering. tense situations, with emotional convo. fluff. squid/mar is the nickname (from the miniseries) ends happy, promise. wordcount: 1.4k

soap masterlist

It’s quiet. Silent.

Has been for several minutes, which have ticked past on your watch. Not that you move—nor him. Not even as the long grass stems tickle your wrists and the weeds groan around the two of you.

The rain still patters against the leaves above, the branches swinging in the wind—the downpour smothering any oncoming footsteps, even in the bogginess of the countryside.

He’s breathing heavily next to you, catching his breath. His eyes focused elsewhere, as though he can’t bear to look your way, something you know isn't true, but just your mind playing tricks on you.

The remnants of the earlier bickering, still living and pulsing between the two of you. Or, at least, it is for you.

It had begun petty, but they always did. The two of you never really argued, just light bickering. Just this time, with the truth unwilling to be spoken, it had gotten close to personal before you both stopped it. Throwing apologies like blankets, hoping it would snuff out the smoke.

Jealousy had been an ingredient, a factor. Another had been a need to protect. Memories were the spices, still fresh—that former longing still clinging to bones, even if it’s him you choose, over and over.

None of that matters when a poor choice of words is made, when they fall from lips carelessly and greet ears cruelly.

Hear y'asked Price to go with LT. I enquired— Y'not fancy me goin' wit yer, hen? We told Price we wouldn't let this get in the way. And I'm not. Let it go, Soap. Aye, seems it. It’s not that I refuse to be partnered with you. I'm just choosing not to be. That so, Mar? I... I didn't mean—

The moment the words kissed the air, it changed things. You felt it, snapping your head in his direction to watch how he stilled his expression. Tried to keep all the pieces stationary. The words still shifted in the air, like your lips were poison, you watched the air turn black, rotting and eroding all the previous smiles or laughter.

Soap knew you were his, like you knew he was yours. It is all a fact, not a myth.

If anything, it was obvious it had been that way for longer than you both felt the need to acknowledge. Your sleeping pattern revolves around him, your calmness determined by his current location and physicality.

Yet, sometimes, memories from when you were friends needled past the bubble the two of you had formed. The one which grew with I need you’s and solidified with future plans. It wasn’t impenetrable, but close.

That’s how it got in. The jealousy. It slithered through the gaps which were still left. It lit the match, which illuminated the gas and the fire spread before the two of you landed in the European countryside. It engulfed and choked the air as you travelled closer to the place marked X by Price. It only silenced, stemmed under the quick apologies and I love yous, but then a new sound alerted you both to worry.

A bullet, one which whirred past your ear. You're thrown back, landing in mud, his weight on top of yours—for reasons different than a day ago.

Then it was shouting, both from the two of you, and some from them. It was bullets and boots meeting mud, it was legs sliding down banks, and his hand trying to find yours.

Now, it was silent for other reasons.

The rocks and trees doing well to hide the two of you, an explanation for the catalyst of the childish bickering sitting on your tongue. Evidenced by today—words which wouldn’t be said with bitterness, but rather with hope for real respite.

It’s been fifteen minutes of silence. No shouts in foreign languages, no bullets—nothing but the rain. It’s why you shuffle, boot almost sliding down the grassy hill—his hand grasping your upper arm without so much as looking.

It’s then you decide to let honesty out, rather than keeping it caged. Decided to abandon stubbornness, and let him in—a thing you grow close to being used to, until you find yourself stepping back into old patterns.

“Johnny…”

He hums, still looking, listening—ever the protector.

“I don’t wanna be with you out here because I can’t think straight,” you whisper.

The confession bursts the tension. Watching it fall like glitter and paper, flecks of it in his eyes when he turns his face to you.

Streaks of mud across his cheek, hair all at odd angles—beads of rain and sweat muddled together on his brow and nose.

Even covered in the earth, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen someone more handsome.

You offer a smile. “It’s one thing to hear that the person you love has…” you swallow, shifting your weight, “It’s another to see it. And we're both... stupid, stubborn—”

“Mar…”

Shaking your head, you hear the rest of his words die on his tongue. The two of you sigh, perfectly in time, in tune with the other.

Smiling, you should suggest moving—to try and make it back to the place you were to radio from, but he looks at you. Instead, you let it all unfurl—the cards you’ve been keeping close to your chest.

The ones held there by fear, that feeling which puts you on edge, waiting for him to realise he deserves better.

“I told you before, Johnny,” you whisper, almost afraid of saying it any louder, “I’d be lost without you, I meant it then, but I mean it more now.”

His eyes flash, dancing with the memory. One from another night in the rain, outside a pub then, rather than a large tree—an oak, maybe—with leaves which were hammered above by unfortunate weather.

And then, he’s giving you a look. Not his usual look, and not the one he gives you when he’s worried. The softer one, the one which comes out when you’re curled around one another under sheets; the one which lived, half-cloaked, in his eyes before the two of you were honest about your feelings.

Slowly, almost cautiously, his fingers, besmear with mud and dirt, slide across your cheek, eyes ablaze with something more than adrenaline, gratitude and righteousness.

“Y’not gonna lose me, Mar…”

You curl into his touch, having craved it. “You can’t promise me that.”

He drops his eyes, lips spreading into a line, before he flicks them back up. “I love—“

“—I know,” you say, too quickly.

Soap half-smiles, thumb stroking your jaw. “No, Mar. Y’don’t. You wanna partner wit someone else, worrying what you’ll see. I wanna partner with y’, so I can make sure nothing happens t’ you.”

Eyes brimming, you take a low breath. “You haven’t got to always save me.”

He smiles, mirroring the one you slowly let free over your lips. Hearing it, without him saying it, 'Gonna keep tryin', hen', even if the two of you know that not a lot stops bullets meeting flesh.

It's what scares you about partnering with him—what he's willing to do for the cause, and more what he's willing to do to keep you alive.

Not that you can blame him, you'd take a thousand for him too.

You watch him, how he leans closer, smiling as you say, “You can’t kiss me.”

“Why not?”

Smirking, you lose yourself in the pools of his eyes. Tell yourself the reason your hair is stuck to your skin is because you’ve dived in them.

“Because, I’ll kiss you back.”

“Aye? The horror.”

Shaking your head, he strokes a line across your jaw.

“And then I’ll want to take your vest off, and then your top, and then—because you hate being the only topless one when I’m around—we’ll both be topless, distracted, and likely be shot.”

Snorting, he taps your jaw lightly, before dropping his hand. “Y’have a point.”

“It’s why you love me.”

“That and you got a nice arse.”

Letting your head roll back, you fight a snigger.

“Mar…” he whispers, rolling your head to meet his eyes. “Y’dont have to partner wit’ me, when it’s just two o’ us. I get it, alright. Scares me t’.”

And you nod, a silent thank you, taking his hand in yours as you squeeze it—before drawing a heart on the back of it.

Him shuffling, slowly managing to stand without slipping, holding his hand out to you. Taking it with ease, knowing you won’t fall—won’t slip.

Johnny would never let you.

The two of you finding even footing before you glance at him, taking him all in. The mud over his vest, the way his wet top clings to his arms.

"Who'd you rather I partner with, after you?"

He pauses, adjusting the tightness of his vest, checking his gun.

"Ghost?" you ask, biting your bottom lip as you try not to smile.

"Y'pushing yer luck, Mar."

i don't do tag lists, but voldie said i can do this, so i'm gifting this flangsty little numbers to @brewed-pangolin because i adore them, and they love squid, they love angst, and more so love soap.