#white washed beamed ceiling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherryslyce · 2 years ago

Text

Amalfi Coast | Theodore Nott

Synopsis: The end of your years at Hogwarts brings about stirring changes: the unveiling of your betrothal to Theodore Nott and an all-expense getaway to Italy for alone time with your husband-to-be.

PAIRING: Theodore Nott x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT + NOTES: 4.5k. I am so weak for Theodore.

The shards of glimmering light that dance across the soft peaks of water distances away seem to speak to you as you drift into your thoughts. Crowded between cliff-hanging abodes and the frothing shore, you’ve never felt so insignificant until that moment.

Your hand absentmindedly brushes against the fine grains of sand below you, the microscopic beads emanating a pleasant warmth against your palm. You hear a soft thud from beside you just as a comforting presence graces you, the uncomfortable stir of disorientation washing away with the drag of the waves.

“The unit should be prepped soon. We can grab some food after Mitzy brings over our luggage.” Theodore’s smooth voice hums out, eyes clambering to drink in the sight of the sea as well.

You smile softly at the mention of the boy’s house-elf, remembering how she had been keen to help you pack for the trip. Nodding, you unconsciously shift closer to the boy as you glance at him, “Sounds like a plan.”

Theodore looks completely serene much to your confusion. A large part of you was grateful that Theodore was chosen to be your betrothed, but another chunk of your heart twinged painfully at the thought. It was no secret that Nott Sr. was a strict man, and you couldn’t help but spiral into a web of thoughts about how Theodore was likely forced into being with you.

It had only been a few months since you both graduated from Hogwarts, but you distinctly recall how close Theodore was to Millicent Bulstrode. Your brain sifted through your memories of the girl, remembering her calculative eyes and pin-straight posture.

You just hoped the girl wouldn’t hex you for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend.

You and Theodore weren’t exactly close friends, but you both sought out each other’s company during exam season, enjoying the comfortable routine of silence that you both fell into during those days. Outside of the library, interactions with the boy dwindled into nods and occasional smiles. Despite the distance between you both during school, you held onto hope that your familiarity with one another would serve as a stepping stone towards a smooth relationship.

Conversation with Theodore is sparse for the hours that follow, the both of you mulling over thoughts of pleasantries and faltering topics of chatter. The fervid wind settles the farther you trek from the shoreline, now teetering past assortments of clustered buildings, all mottled with bright colors.

Your wand presses stiffly against your side as you tuck it into the waistband of your bottoms, concealing it from view as you both approach a swarm of people. Theodore keeps beside you, donning black sunglasses that keeps his searching gaze hidden as you both bask in the foreign environment.

It was lively and bright, the antithesis to the perpetual gloom and blisters of humming that was encroached in every stone of Britain. White verandas and endless shrubbery adorned the collection of shops around you, catching your eyes every so often.

“Here we are.” Theodore mutters, throwing you a small smile as your mouth drops into a vague o-shape.

The restaurant is stretched open with white beams of wood streaming upward to a flat wooden ceiling, the entirety of the seating area is squared away by the side banisters instead of proper walls, letting in the cool wind and seaside view. Theodore steps forward to speak with the hostess, hand lifting up to tug off his sunglasses as a blanket of shade envelopes you both.

You’re entranced by Theodore’s rapid-fire speaking, wondering if he had chosen Italian for his language lessons in order to strengthen his friendship with Blaise. With Theodore’s fluency and the restaurant’s expansive array of tables, you’re both seated in a matter of minutes.

The speckless table cloth drapes past your legs like a waterfall, effectively providing a shield against the breeze as you take your spot across from Theodore. The boy plucks his menu up and shoots you an indecipherable look from above the booklet as you remain motionless, seeing as your elementary understanding of Italian begins and ends at Ciao and Grazie.

Theodore’s lips flicker up momentarily before he lays his menu down and shuffles it over to you, “Do you want pasta? Or salad? They also have pizza, if you prefer that.”

Your lips split into a small smile of relief, a warmth blossoming in your chest as the stiff atmosphere around you both seems to wash away. Theodore reads off of the entire menu for you, eyes occasionally shifting to your concentrated face as you pedal between a few options.

When you finally decide on a dish, Theodore offers you a light hum and shining eyes, paralyzing you for a few moments. Perhaps, and to your relief, your relationship could work out after all. You just needed to clear the air between you both first.

The meal continues on without a hitch, but you have to make a conscious effort to not stare at the boy in front of you when the sun begins to sink behind the basin of sea water.

The swirls of orange and pink of the sky illuminate his sharp features, complementing his already striking complexion. A tamed buzzing of conversation wafts through the air, spurring you to word-vomit the thoughts that were plaguing you since your first joint dinner with Theodore and his father weeks before.

“I’m sorry,” You begin, looking away from Theodore when he meets your gaze with furrowed eyebrows, “about our marriage.”

Silence ensues after your vague words, and when you finally work up the courage to glance back at Theodore, confusion settles into the etches of your mind as you see his frown and penitent gaze. You had expected false platitudes of reassurance, or bitter resignation—hell, maybe anger—but certainly not the look he was giving you right now.

Clearing your throat, you sit up and lean forward, “I mean, I know that you would rather not be betrothed to me, so I’m sorry. My parents are quite lenient people, so I should have fought against it since I know your heart belongs to someone else already.”

“What?” Theodore wheezes out, reeling back to process your words.

Feeling heat creep up your neck, you falter back with quiet words, “Maybe, if I had refused vehemently, my parents could have convinced your father to not force you. I just wanted to apologize because I don’t want any lingering awkwardness or expectations for each other.”

Before Theodore can respond, your waiter paces over, giving you a polite smile before turning to address Theodore. The boy in front of you distractedly answers the waiter, eyes flickering back to your rigid figure amidst his words.

Once the waiter parts from your tableside, leaving behind a quaint black tray for your sum, Theodore seems to fall into a silent daze as he robotically composes himself and leaves the money on the tray. When he pushes his chair back, you follow suit, ready to play catch up if he swept away and down into the streets without you.

To your muted surprise, Theodore stops by your side and holds out his hand for you to take. Hesitantly clasping his calloused hand in yours, you are only able to await his words with bated breath, distracting yourself by focusing on the feeling of his rings against your fingers.

Theodore leads you yards away from the restaurant, only falling to a halt once you both reach a secluded area beside a blocked-off cliffside. The sound of crashing waves tangles into the air as Theodore’s eyes run around your face for a few moments.

“Do you want to call this off?” Theodore whispers, eyes steely with resolution as his other hand moves to lightly grip your arm.

You gape at his blunt words, swallowing thickly as your gaze falls to the ground, “If that’s what you want.”

“But what do you want?” He mumbles, stepping closer to you as another chilly gust of wind flies around your unguarded figures.

Peering back up to him, you frown before divulging, “I don’t want to call it off.”

“Good. Me neither.” Theodore nods, eyes softening at your honesty.

“But what about Millicent?” You mutter, head tilting with visible perplexion. The poignant reminder of her existence evokes a storm of doubts in your veins, and your head starts spinning with the culmination of the day’s events.

Theodore cranes his head back to assess you as he plainly responds, “What about her?”

This time, it’s your turn to survey his confused face with a mirrored look, “What? She’s your girlfriend? I can’t in good conscience do that to someone, arranged or not.”

Theodore’s mouth parts as he stares at you, and for a moment you’re disconcerted by the thought that he perhaps only just remembered her, but then, the most remarkable thing happens—Theodore starts to chuckle. His shoulders quake faintly with every muffled sound, and after a few moments, he throws his head back to let it out toward the darkening sky.

Before you have a moment to question the boy’s sanity, he turns back to you with a wide grin, “Is that what you were talking about earlier? You caught me from left field. I was worried that you were displeased because your heart belonged to someone already.”

Seeing your inquiring eyes, he shuffles closer and shakes his head, “I’m not dating Millicent, silly one. Where’d you get that grand idea from?”

“You guys were always together, and all the rumors–” Your words come out borderline defensive, neck blazing from embarrassment.

Theodore huffs and squeezes your arm, softly cutting you off from your spiel, “Just rumors. I wouldn’t have agreed to any sort of arrangement if I was with someone else, my father knows that much.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” You nod, scratching at your neck to dispel the humiliation that would live on in your head until your last moments on Earth.

“Silly.” Theodore hums, letting go of your arm to tap at your forehead, “Let’s head to our place before we freeze, yeah?”

Your rental unit was quite spacious to your surprise, and you were almost too enraptured with touching every inch of furniture to notice that there was only one bed in the entire space. Almost.

Theodore is cognizant of the same dilemma, clicking his tongue dryly as he murmurs quietly under his breath.

“I can take the floor.” You speak up almost zealously, easily masking how the prospect of waking with a sore back was killing you on the inside. Theodore and you had barely started building a thin understanding for your relationship, and you’d be damned if a single bed would stir up tension again.

Theodore swivels to look at you, “No need, we can share the bed. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take the floor.” His voice leaves little room for argument, and he runs a hand through his locks as he nods reassuringly at you. You’re touched by his consideration and understanding, glad that you weren’t in such a position with someone like Crabbe or Goyle, both of whom would likely grunt inaudibly and leave you to your ministrations.

“Let’s share, then.” You concede, heart thrumming fervently in your chest.

Theodore smiles softly at you and beckons you closer as he sits down on the bed, hand reaching out for you as you slowly tread forward. When you gently place your hand in his, he gives a faint tug, eyes darting down to the empty spot beside him.

Once you’re snug on the plush mattress, you turn to him with a wry grin, “We’ve skipped pretty much every single conventional step to get here. From study partners to life partners.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the corner of his mouth slants up, “from barely knowing my name to taking my surname, hm? Quite unorthodox.”

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, keenly aware of how Theodore tightens his hold on your hand as it begins to slip away. Peering up at him, you raise an eyebrow, “Who said I’m taking your last name, Nott? You’re taking mine.”

“Hyphenating, it is.” He murmurs as his eyes trail toward the balcony ways off across the room.

You chuckle and stare into the abyss of the dim ceiling, “Any excuse to have a ridiculously extensive name.”

“Never as ridiculous as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” He muses, slowly lowering himself to lay beside you.

A few tantalizing beats pass before your jumbled mind seems to take away any semblance of restraint from your mouth, “I never thought it would be you, to be frank.”

“Yeah?” Theodore hums, head now turned towards you.

Nodding, you run your free hand along the edge of the bed as you continue, “My parents had been considering Crabbe for a while. I mean, they know nothing about him, but I can just imagine how that dinner would have gone once they realized just who they were shipping me off to.”

Theodore continues to study you, hand squeezing yours again before he mumbles, “I knew it’d be you.”

Snapping your head to the side, your eyes widen at his hooded gaze, “Really?”

“My father knew it too. That I wouldn’t have anyone but you.” His admission knocks the wind from your lungs, and you almost want to throttle yourself off the bed to ensure that you weren’t dreaming.

“Yeah?” You ask dumbly, heart stuttering against your ribs.

Theodore shifts to lean on his elbow, bringing his face closer to yours as he whispers, “Want to know a secret?”

All you can do is nod, trying to blink away the dizziness coiling around your head from the close proximity.

He hums and slowly retracts his hand, bringing a finger to trail the bedding beside your shoulder, “I was the one to ask your parents for permission to court you. Now, I’m going to wash up first, I promise I won’t be long.”

Without a hitch, Theodore swiftly clambers off of the bed, leaving the mattress to gently recoil against your back as it expands to its original form. You’re only able to grapple for a coherent thought once the bathroom door shuts with a click, barring you from staring at Theodore in wonder.

Once you hear the stream of the shower head emit from the bathroom, you slowly prop yourself up and trudge towards the balcony, swinging the glass doors open and allowing the whistling wind to zip through the newly exposed aperture. The biting breeze nips at your cheeks as you stare into the sky, surveying all the twinkling stars as you recount the day’s events.

You aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to say to Theodore, or if you’re even going to be able to look him in the eyes once he emerges from the bathroom, but you supposed that the turn of events unfolded more pleasantly than you could have hoped.

The distant clamoring of partygoers ways away from the balcony lulls you into a loop of idle daydreams, and you aren’t sure how many minutes have passed since Theodore’s departure from your side, but the whirlwind of your elusive thoughts dissipates when a warm hand grazes your arm.

“You alright? I’ve been calling your name for a bit now.” Theodore mumbles, eyes glazed with worry as he searches your blank expression.

Blinking slowly, you nod and offer a faint smile, “Fine, just lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s a bit chilly out here,” He glances to his right, evidently hearing the faint pulsing of music as well, “why don’t we head in?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling at him, “I’ll try not to wake you when I get out of the shower.”

As you make your way to weave around the boy, body feeling weightless despite the fatigue drenching your muscles, you can feel his eyes following you until you’re swallowed by the shadows of the room.

The numbing balm of the night’s wind melts away from your face as you peer up into the shower head. The swath of steam that swirls around your body, cloaking the mirrors and walls, seems to inhibit the taunts of your overactive brain.

Your getaway would continue for another week before you’d begin wedding arrangements, already feeling the splintering headache emerging at the thought of sitting down and picking between a plethora of cloth samples. Unions between pureblood families were a big deal for the elite circle of families as the event would serve as the perfect opportunity for pretense and business transactions between different houses.

When you crack the bathroom door open with a muffled pop, dismissing the rush of steam that flees hurriedly into the cool room, you vaguely make out the figure of Theodore propped up against the headboard. The hues of moonlight peek through the bare panes of your window, curtains swept aside, faintly illuminating the silhouette of the furniture.

“Still up?” You whisper, padding over to delicately arrange yourself beside the boy.

As you shuffle under the plush covers, dragging the edges under your arms, you turn to peer at Theodore’s profile, watching as his throat bobs down as he slowly turns to you.

“Didn’t want to sleep without you.” He mutters, slowly sinking to lay down beside you.

You suppress the tender smile threatening to peel across your face and nod, “I see. You’re not a restless sleeper, are you?”

“Are you?” He quietly intones, voice growing fainter as sleep begins to grip at his consciousness.

“No, I’m not.” You hum, resisting the urge to sweep your fingers forward in search of his, “Goodnight, Theodore.”

“Goodnight.”

You both fall asleep facing one another, inches apart as the glow of the moonlight chases away the gulfs of darkness that slink in the corners of your room. It is in this position that your slumber is torn away from you mere hours later, moonlight now dispersing into small shards that nearly blend away against the white covers.

The foggy film that clouds your senses and sight reel away as you hear a small grunt from beside you followed by incessant shifting. Blinking away your drowsiness, you slowly shift up to survey Theodore, slowly comprehending his distress.

Theodore huffs out, a muffled groan blooming into the quiet atmosphere around you. Carefully reaching over, you shake the boy’s arm, eyebrows furrowing when he simply shifts again.

“Theodore, hey,” You feebly call out, shaking his arm more frantically as he remains trapped in the desolate rapids of unconsciousness.

Leaning down you bring your other hand to softly pat his cheek, you wait with bated breath as his ministrations quell before ceasing entirely. Eyes now accustomed to the veil of midnight darkness, you see his eyes slowly blink open, a light sigh escaping his lips as he begins to claw back into reality.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” You softly murmur, bringing your fingers up to gently card back his waves, any semblance of fatigue evaporating from your bones as you focus on comforting the boy.

Theodore brings his hand up to yours, eyes beginning to sluggishly droop again, “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You hum out, readjusting your position as sickly soreness jolts up your arm.

“I guess I am a restless sleeper.” He mumbles, nudging against his pillow before he emits another sigh. His voice rumbles lethargically, and you sense that he is about to slip away into slumber again when he tightens his hold on your hand.

“Hm. What’s up?” You whisper, moving to lay down as well.

Theodore is silent for a few seconds before he tersely whispers back, voice nearly drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears, “Can I hold you?”

You shift closer to the cocoon of warmth batting off of him, steadily bringing your arm to wrap around him, “Of course.”

Theodore wraps his arms around you and drags you towards him, a content hum buzzing from his throat as he tucks you under his chin. For the few grand moments that pass afterward, you are left to contemplate the consequences your position would entail for when the sun rose, and you fervently hoped that no awkwardness would ensue.

Your close proximity to Theodore allows you to hear the faint thumping of his heartbeat, now undeviating in its rhythm. Bringing your free hand forward, you tuck it in the nestle of warmth between your bodies, trying to conjure inklings of sleep as a dense pressure burrowed itself in your eyes.

The lull of concentration fades into blind navigation in the crevices of your mind, and when your pulsing thoughts dwindle to incomprehensible echoes, slumber greets you once again.

When your mind blisters into stark clarity, it is with recognition of the orange hues flashing in your vision and the traces of aimless lines on your back. Your body instinctively pines for the cushion of bliss that mutely calls for you: a mixture of aftershave and pear.

For a few moments, it is completely tranquil. Until you realize that your pillow had a heartbeat.

The revelation is enough to jumpstart the discombobulated wires of your brain. Your eyes crack open to greet the rays of light that crowd your vision, an unpleasant stinging causing you to squint as you huff out.

“Good morning.” Theodore’s voice is gravelly, barely above a whisper.

“Hi Theodore.” You mumble out, remaining motionless against him.

His chest vaguely rumbles and you feel him splay one his hands against your back, “Theo. Only my father and Blaise call me Theodore.”

“Blaise?” You tiredly repeat, cheek squishing against his shirt.

“At his insistence, honestly. He thinks it’s fun.” Theodore hums, and that reminder has your hazy brain blinking with a sudden memory.

“Wait. Theodora, right?” You raise your head up, a wide grin plastered on your face as you remember the one night when Blaise dragged him away from your study routine using that nickname.

Theodore blinks before he groans into the air, bringing one of his arms up to throw over his eyes as he grumbles, “Merlin, I was hoping you’d forget or even mishear that.”

“Oh, I almost did, but Blaise’s ruckus was far more interesting than a Potions essay.” Theodore hums tiredly at the mention, and his reaction only spurs you on, “So, does he make it a habit to say Theodora, or is Dora better?” You say cheekily, shrugging innocently when Theodore peers down at you with a playful glare.

“Enough about Blaise,” Theodore mumbles, poking your ribs with his fingers as he maneuvers to sit up, dragging you to lean into his side as he did so, “I have something planned for today.”

“You’re being frighteningly vague, should I be worried?” You hum, muffling a low yawn.

Theodore shakes his head and dryly huffs , “Actually, I was planning on testing a few levitating charms on you.” His fingers dance lightly against your back as his voice drops into a feathery tone, “Have some faith in me.”

“I trust you.” You murmur, exhaling through your nose in amusement before you grow serious, “Anyway, did you sleep okay?”

Theodore doesn’t answer you, and you slowly raise your eyes to meet his face in confusion, “Theo?”

“Hm?” He hums distractedly, face craning closer to yours as he seems to almost stare through you.

Your heart collapses into the void of your ribcage for a split second before it begins to thrust violently against your chest, spurring a sea of warmth up your neck and ears. Theodore’s eyes flicker across your face as his hands begin to absentmindedly draw patterns against your sides.

You aren’t sure you’re breathing properly. Or at all.

One of his hands trails up to your arm, sliding to rest on the junction between your neck and shoulder as he muses, “Before we get up and go on about our day, I have something for you.”

Your eyebrows wrinkle at his words, eyes not straying away from his unwavering gaze. This time, it’s you who gives a small hum, patiently waiting for his next words.

“Just a small gift,” He whispers, slowly slotting his other hand on the small of your back, “It’s been a long time coming, really.”

His eyes drop down to your lips and that’s all you really need before you’re leaning towards him with anticipation, hands steadying themselves on his chest. Theodore’s lips part and he gazes at you for confirmation, jaw clenching imperceptibly as words become lost between you both.

When you remain resolute, he swiftly connects his lips to yours, mouth moving feverishly against yours. His hands press against your body, keeping you grounded as he begins to lean over you, lips never ceasing in their frenzied dance against yours.

Grasping the sides of his neck, you tug him impossibly closer to you as he hovers over you, one of his hands moving to run soothingly along your waist.

A few more heated moments pass before the tug for air becomes too great to ignore, causing you to break away from him, head tilting to the side as your lungs tinge with a faint tightness. Theodore grunts at your escape, chasing after you as he tries to satiate his desire, only opting to leave heavy kisses against your cheek and jaw when you tap his neck.

Closing your eyes, you bring your fingers to card through his hair as you attempt to halt the dizzying stars spinning across your eyelids. Amidst your fruitless efforts, a sudden tug has your eyes flying open, a bemused hum echoing through the air once you realize Theodore is guiding you to sit up.

He remains silent as he glides down from the side of the bed, hand drifting to lace with yours as he pulls you to sit at the edge of the mattress. Reaching towards the bottom drawer of the white dresser, Theodore only briefly glances away as he fishes out a small velvet box.

“Theo?” You mumble, eyes widening as he drops down on both of his knees.

“Ring.” He answers quietly, deftly opening the box and pulling out a thin silver band.

He drops kisses to your knees as he gazes up towards you, bringing one of his hands forward in muted questioning. Smiling softly, you place your left hand in his outstretched one, holding your breath when he slips the ring onto your ring finger with ease.

His hand continues to hold yours, thumb rubbing against your skin as he stares at the band.

“Thank you.” He finally says, lifting his face up to survey yours, his position leaving him at your complete mercy.

Your hands instinctively reach out to cup his face, bringing him in for another kiss as a newfound contentment curls into your chest. Theodore remains on his knees as he leans forwards, hands chancing a light slide against your hips as he reciprocates your affection.

“Fuck, how mad do you think everyone will be if we just eloped?” He grunts out before diving forward again to meet your lips.

Pulling back with a small laugh, you shake your head, “My parents would have your head.”

“I’m willing to pay that price, love.” He grins against your lips, nose nudging against yours.

Patting his cheek, you narrow your eyes playfully, “Well I’m not, so behave.”

“Yes, dear.”

masterlist

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott imagines

1K notes · View notes

pastel-greene · 3 months ago

Text

The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 - Anger | Chapter 5

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment your request on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), cannibalism (no I don’t support it but it is true to his character), and more to be added as story progresses

Word count: 7.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

When the sun started drooping in the sky, Sukuna finally pulled out of your cum engorged holes, and streams of white gushed free. You let out a slight sigh of relief as it all drained from you. Your belly had grown a slight bulge from trying to contain all of it. You both lost track of the amount of times he came in you, but it had to be a lot given the pool of white that spread within the red. He watched in amazement as your holes healed and went from gaping to normal. Both still slightly twitched from all the stimulation they had gone through.

Sukuna never thought he would be able to fuck someone like that without them tearing apart. He had always either broken or held back with his concubines, never getting to do all the things he wanted. And there was still plenty he wanted to do, but he knew you would be there to take it. He was in no rush. He looked down as your blood soaked body started to get up and stretch. No sign of the mindless, shaking mess that was beneath him just minutes ago.

“Where are you going”, he asked, back to his usual authoritative tone.

“Uhm, probably to my room to bathe. What were you wanting a cuddle”, you asked with a smile as you teased him.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “You are coming to my room tonight, we will wash there”, he said while getting up and coming over to you.

You crossed your arms, “What if I don’t want to?”

“Don’t care,” he said as he reached out and touched you, teleporting both of you to his chambers.

Why wouldn’t you want to come with him? Most people would be tripping over the opportunity to go to his chambers. Hell, not even Uruame has seen the inside of them. You were his and you would stay with him.

You let your eyes wander around his chambers. They were not what you had expected. You had kind of expected a villain’s lair. Dead corpses and bones scattered about. Ominous lighting showcasing the horrors within. Instead, you were standing in a room that had a ceiling lined with light, natural colored wood, tucked away by black support beams. The walls were a dark charcoal gray adorned with black trim pieces partially hidden by large paper sliding doors. In front of you stood a wide circle archway that led to a private bathing area complete with a hot spring.

“It’s pretty in here, completely different from the rest of the palace”, you said as you continued to look around.

He looked at you and scoffed a little while pulling you towards the water. “So the rest of the palace is not pretty, then”, he asked as he led you down into the bath water. The bath was filled with the overflow from the hot spring, making it perpetually warm.

You smiled while looking up at him, “Yes. It’s hideous and should be torn down. Not to mention egotistical. I mean, when I look up all I see are your past glories”.

He quirked an eyebrow up while joining you in the reddening water. “Should I have them put new conquests up there? Perhaps, your naked body submitting to me, squirting out my cum, sucking on my finger”, he asked as he ran his fingers over your body. He didn’t know why but he loved touching you. He wanted you to always be there for him to touch, never leaving his grasp.

You laughed at his comment before you kicked his legs out from under him and watched as he fell fully into the water, dodging his hands when they reached out for you. Did he really have you? Were you really his? He didn’t and you would show him that. His head ripped up from the water with confusion and anger etched on his features. He grabbed for you again and again, but you kept yourself just beyond his reach. He was about to teleport to you when you disappeared and reappeared behind him, holding him. You ran your hands in opposite directions along his abdomen. One landed upon his hip bone, nails grazing over the slight protrusion. The other landed between his pecs, your thumb petting the skin gently. He reached to touch you, but again you disappeared.

He looked around for you but you weren’t reappearing. He started worrying that you had actually left when you emerged from under the water, your hair draping over your form as water flew through it. “Was it you who conquered me, my King,” you said, turning to look at him, diluted blood tracing down your body. You walked back towards him, turning the water beneath your feet into steps. You were slightly above his eye level as your hand slipped under his chin to tilt it up. “I may have been on the bottom but it was you who fulfilled all my commands without hesitation. You wanted to please me, I could feel it. So who conquered who”, you teased.

He grabbed your throat, “You think you could conquer me”, he laughed as he squeezed your throat harder. “Just because I fucked you and brought you here to bathe you think you hold power over me”, his grip started to crush your windpipe and make your eyes bulge.

You were just playing around, but of course he couldn’t take a joke when his fucking ego was at stake. You just laughed at him, “I hold power over you because you let me. I don’t even have to use real magic to get you to submit to me. It shows in your eyes every time you look at me, even when you hurt me,” you said through gurgles. You had figured he would resort to hurting you instead of owning up to his own emotions.

Pissed. He was seething. He was going to have a nice bath with you, fuck you again in the water. Make you feel good, special even. All you had to do was be good. Now, he was snapping your neck. He felt blood trickle down his hand as bone shards splintered through your arteries and skin. You were still fucking smiling. He clenched his hand further and your head popped off and into the water below, your body following it. That you had not expected. You anticipated him hurting you, making you bleed, but killing you? You didn’t think he would take it that far. He stood there for a few minutes still panting with anger. He conquered you, not the other way around. He couldn’t be conquered, couldn’t be owned.

Your body floated up, red pouring from the base of your neck. He stared at you waiting for you to reattach yourself but you weren’t. Surely you weren’t dead, right? He waited several agonizingly long minutes before panic started to set in. This wasn’t right. You weren’t supposed to be able to break. You were supposed to be able to take all of his strength, all of his anger.

“(Y/N)”, he called out while pulling your body over to him. All of your energy was gone. Inside you was completely stagnant, empty. He started breathing quicker as he held your headless corpse. No, no, no this isn’t right. Why weren’t you coming back? You needed to come back to him, you weren’t allowed to leave him. He had never felt a negative emotion about death, but he was quickly being swallowed by them. The water around him started boiling as his energy ran rampant in it.

“(Y/N)”, he shouted over and over while shaking your cadaver.

“Yes, my King,” you said laying on the edge of the tub, feet dangling in the air and arms propped under you.

His face snapped to look at you before looking back to your “corpse”. It slowly turned back into water and slipped through his fingers. You hadn’t come out of the in between before. The figure he saw emerge from the water, was only that— water. You didn’t feel like being hurt, so you let it take the brunt for you. You were playing with him and it was making him seethe. He appeared on top of you, knees on either side of your body, cocks grazing your upper back as he pulled your hair back, forcing you to look up at him.

“Why do you hurt me? You are so sweet to me until I stop playing your game. You even went as far as killing me over a silly debate”, you say, your smile falling as the words come out. He was so sweet in earlier hours. Kissing up and down your body as if he worshiped you. Caressing your skin so softly it was like he was scared you would break. And now he was breaking you on purpose. You knew his intentions. He would hurt you over and over until you became the perfect doll for him. Now that you made him feel the way he did, he wanted to put you in a cage for only him to enjoy. You didn’t want that. You wanted to be an equal if you were going to be in a relationship, and you didn’t even know if you wanted him that way. You had just wanted sex and now he was making it more.

“Because you need to learn how to be good for me”, he said as he tightened his grip on your hair, pulling your head further back till it forced your lips to part. He used the hole as a receptacle for his spit before kissing you. Why couldn’t you just be good? He could give you everything, more than anyone else ever could if you would just behave.

“I don’t want this.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“What if I ran away”, you asked, watching as his face grew dark.

“I would hunt you down and break your limbs until they didn’t regenerate. And if I couldn’t find you, I’d go after Nanami or Shoko. I’d make them scream until you appeared”, he replied while kissing your hair line.

You teleported beside him, rushing him into a grapple. Two arms reached up to grab you but fell to the ground as they disconnected from his body. Tentacles of black shot through the bones in his legs and held them down. A dark mirage of wings contorted themselves from your back, the talons on the ends slamming down through his wrists and into the stone below. Your face was right above his and your scleras were darkening, teeth turning pointed, saliva turning black. Inhuman noises that sounded like strangled growls rang out everytime you breathed. Your energy was consuming you and he could feel it. Like a bomb waiting to go off.

“Don’t you ever. threaten. them. Or I will show you a world where you live as a human, not a lick of cursed energy in your veins. I will beat you over and over until you’re just a pile of viscera. And then, I’ll turn you into a curse and you’ll be forced to bow before me. The once terrifying King Sukuna turned into a mindless dog on a leash”, you say spitting black liquid onto his face.

The black tentacles continued to spiral up his legs to his abdomen. Poking him full of holes and binding him to the stone. Your consciousness was fading, you knew you needed to calm down before you went ballistic.

Sukuna had never seen you like this. Even your energy felt completely different. It was dark and cold like death, but also chaotic and fiery like hell. The longer it lasted, the less of your energy remained and the more the new one replaced it. He started to get the feeling that he might actually die if it took you over.

“Get off me, brat.”

You hated him. Every inch. He was so fucking up his own ass that he couldn’t interact with others in any intimate capacity. “This, whatever this is, is over. You will not fucking touch me again. I am not yours, you are not mine. I will work as planned and that is where our relationship will end”, you said giving him one last hateful look before disappearing.

“I’m sorry.” He said after you had disappeared. He hated himself for feeling the need to say it, hated himself even more for not being able to say it. He could have just killed you again and put you in your place. But he could feel the pain that radiated from you when you had watched him kill what he thought was you. It wasn’t physical, but emotional. It was supposed to feed his sadistic pleasures, instead it felt like he stabbed his own heart. He never wanted to feel that again. Never wanted you to feel that again. He knew you didn’t want to be chained down like he was now. He even knew it was selfish of him to force shackles on you. You were powerful in every sense of the word. You knew more about curses than anyone he had met, could do more than anyone. He should be proud to have someone he didn’t need to coddle. He was very old, but you were showing him things he had never seen before. Making him feel things he had always looked down upon. He could feel the feelings you had for him too. They were healing him in ways he never knew he needed. He didn’t want to lose them to hate.

Sukuna laid there for a while after his restraints dissipated, gaping wounds left in their place. He kept thinking of the look in your eyes. The hate in them was deeper than when he tore apart your hand. He wondered if the damage he had done was beyond repair, if you would look at him the way you used to again.

You had returned to your room still naked and partially covered in blood. You put a robe over you before peeking your head outside your door and asking your attending to start you a bath. They looked at you with mild horror from your appearance before hurriedly getting to work. Once it was ready, you sat and tried to relax but ended up angrily scrubbing your skin. Asshole. Dickhead. Dumbass. You wanted to hit him in the balls so hard he would sneeze cum. But through all the anger you were crying. You couldn’t believe he threatened them. You hadn’t really felt trapped here until he said that. You could always get there first and run away with them, but that wasn’t fair to them. They had people they cared about too and you knew Sukuna would wipe your whole town off the map if you ran. You could kill him, but you also couldn’t. You didn’t know why, but the thought of doing so made your whole body shake with grief. He killed you so easily, though. Without a second thought. You were stupid for getting close to him, letting him fuck you.

You got out of the bath and dried yourself off before putting on a nightgown. It was a long black dress made up of sheer layers. You tied a robe over it and sat on your bed. You were sitting there stuck in your thoughts when a knock rang out on your door. You could feel it was Geto but asked who it was all the same.

“It’s Suguru, I brought you dinner. I didn’t know if you had gotten the chance to eat.”

Your stomach growled at the thought. The last thing you had eaten was Sukuna’s finger and you wouldn’t even call that a meal. “Come in.”

When he entered he saw you on the bed, hair still wet and eyes slightly red. “Do you want to eat there or at the table”, he asked with what you noticed were two servings of food in his hand.

“Are you eating with me?”

He shrugged, “If you want me to. If not, I’ll eat in my room.”

You shook your head. Having his company would probably make you feel better, clear your head and give you perspective. You moved over to the table where you motioned for him to sit.

“Do you want me to move it back so you can sit across from me or?”

“Sitting beside you is fine. You’re not too smelly”, he said with a soft smile while sitting down, waiting for you to join him.

“I was asking out of hopes you would move given that you’re the smelly one. But I guess I can put up with it, since you come bearing food.” You sat down next to him and started eating. The food was delicious as always and warmed your body, but noticed he kept looking over at you and the way you sat while you both ate. “What is it?”

He just smiled and shook his head before putting an elbow on the table and propping a leg up just like you, “Nothing.”

“Asshole”, you said while shaking your head and smiling.

Silence grew between the two of you as you finished your food. Awkward tension bloomed within the air, you knew he had questions about what happened at the training grounds. You didn’t want to talk about it and he wouldn’t ask, but then the awkwardness would stay. So you gave in.

“You look like you have questions, it’s okay to ask.”

He looked at you with a sad look, “What happened when we left? Are you okay?”

You didn’t realize it, but tears started falling when he asked that. You weren’t okay. You felt like your whole world had shrunk to this tiny room and it was suffocating. You didn’t want to see Sukuna ever again but knew you would inevitably have to, and have to speak with honor when you did. You hated it. Hated it here. Hated him.

Suguru wiped your tears with his thumb before slowly pulling you into him. He smelled like cedar and jasmine. You wrapped your arms around him and let it all out. It had only been a few days and everything was already so messy and fucked up. You hated yourself for letting it get to the point it was at. Hated Sukuna for treating you like an object. Hated Uruame for attacking you when you hadn’t done anything. Hated the human part of you that felt these weak emotions. The emotions that kept you from just killing Sukuna and solving all your problems. You didn’t love him, but fuck you couldn’t deny the way he lit you on fire. The way your energies curled into one another until you felt like one. You were weak. You thought of the dagger the mother gave you, thought of your promise. You decided you would be human tonight and only for tonight. Tomorrow you would go back to being a monster. Tonight you were just a woman that hated herself.

You awoke to the sound of your servants knocking on your door. You faintly remembered Suguru laying you into the bed after crying into him for at least an hour. You stuck your palms into your eyes as you cringed from how you cried into him. You rolled around in your bed as you tried to fight off the memory before letting out a very long sigh. You told your servants to come in while sitting up in your bed.

“Good morning, ma’am. The King has sent for you. He said your training will start in an hour and you’re not to be late”, they relayed while bringing in your breakfast.

You dropped your head back and let out a groan. He was the last person you wanted to see. But you told yourself that you wouldn’t be dictated by feelings today. You would do your job, keep your head down, and act like nothing had happened between the two of you. You ate your breakfast and got ready, repeating that in your head like it was some sort of life-fixing mantra.

You were told to meet the King in the throne room instead of the training grounds. You weren’t sure if that was because of what happened yesterday or if it was preplanned. You approached the throne room and took a moment to collect yourself just like the last time you were here. Do your job, keep your head down, act like nothing happened. Servants swung the door open and you could feel Sukuna looking down on you from his throne while you entered.

He looked you up and down. You wore a black button up crop top, adorned with gold buttons, red trim, and his sigil on the back. He had requested it be put there when he looked over your clothes order, so that everyone could see you belonged to him. Under it, sat a black, fitted bodice that sank below the waistline of your pants. Your pants sat towards the tops of your hips and were loose around your curves. The slack bunched around where they were tucked into your steel toed boots. Beautiful girl.

“I heard you had summoned me, my King”, you said, keeping your voice professional.

“I did. Your training is going to begin today, or well not so much training as your first day on the job. I have a meeting with a few generals, at least one of which I am sure is plotting against me. I want you to get into their minds and write down who the traitor is and their plan. At the end, I will read it and gauge the others' reactions. Should they quickly condemn them, they will live. If they hesitate or defend him, they will die”, he explained.

The concept was easy enough. Get into their minds, find the traitor, discover the plan. “Are any of them sorcerers?”

He let out a little chuckle. “Gods no, they’re all weak little humans. I only keep them around because it keeps their troops in line. However, with you being here, the loss of some troops is not a big deal”, he said, trying his best to show you that he acknowledged your power. Acknowledged you.

Realistically he could cut down most of his troops and replace them with your curses if it was that much of a hassle. What better army than one that couldn’t be detected by most of the population? One that had powers overshadowing any human capabilities. You contemplated telling him about that option.

“Is there something on your mind?”

You looked up at him before shooting your eyes back down to the ground. “Well, I am not against your plan. I think it is good to make an example of the traitor, but it can also put contempt in the other generals’ hearts. I think it might be good to have a curse shadow the remaining ones. I would give them the ability to see it and tell them it was there to keep an eye on them. That only they could see it and wouldn’t be able to tell any of the troops about it. I think it would keep them in line with minimal effort on your part.”

“My, my, maybe you are meaner than me”, he said with a proud tone. He wanted to see you smile from his joke, but you didn’t. In fact, it felt more like you grimaced. But with your head down he couldn’t tell for sure. “Where do we get said curses?”

You twiddled your thumbs a little bit, something to look at and remind yourself to keep your head down. “I can summon them and order them to watch the generals”, you said flatly.

“You can summon curses? How will they know what they’re looking for? The curses I have seen haven’t had much of a brain”, he questioned while two of his arms crossed and the others rested on his chin and knee, pointer fingers tapping in contemplation.

You sighed not really wanting to go through all the details but going through with it anyway since you brought it up. “I can create curses from cursed energy. If there is a fear of something, I can use the energy and craft a curse that embodies that fear. Previously, I would use my magic to create hysteria around things I wanted as curses. Like zombies for instance. I wanted one so I used my energy to make it look like people’s loved ones had risen from the grave and were attacking the town. The word of flesh eating, undying creatures that should have already been dead spread to surrounding towns and thus energy for a curse was created. I took it and put it in a doctor that had been hung for experimenting on his patients. He was intelligent and knew about anatomy so he was the perfect vessel to put it into.”

He just stared down at you for a minute, processing the fact that you just said you created a zombie. Does that mean vampires could be real? Tch, he couldn’t believe you joked with him about that and made him feel so stupid. “So, to be clear, you can create curses. And you were behind the fall of Nanmoku? And the zombie hysteria? All because you wanted a pet zombie.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

He just laughed. You were fucking crazy. He rubbed his hand over his face, still slightly chuckling, his tongue feeling the inside of his cheek. “Show me him.”

“Okay, but you should know he is not exactly all there. I mean he is intelligent but crazy as hell. Like we will look sane next to him”, you said while summoning him. Black smoke pooled on the ground as hands with long overgrown nails reached around the edge and started tapping.

“Enough with the theatrics Miro”, you said while tapping your foot.

He pulled on the ground, shooting up and landing on the floor as the portal closed. “Yes my Lady, my apologies. I humbly offer my body to beat for my transgressions”, he said while crawling down in front of you. His back offered up to you in an arch, head shaking in anticipation as suppressed giggles fell through his teeth. His hair was stringy and white like a spider’s web and fell over his eyes. Eyes of light blue and dark brown that he had confiscated from his victims. His skin was pale with multiple holes carved between his neck and collar bones, making the the edges look like a connection of veins. His lips were pink and curved higher than they should up his cheeks revealing a perfect set of teeth, teeth that all seemed a little different. His abdomen was scrawny, the skin pulled taut across his muscles and dipping where his stomach was. Burn marks that resembled X’s went across each of his nipples and an O was scorched over his heart. A taunt for enemies to hit him there. He wore bandages that reached halfway up his abdomen and baggy pants that hung low over them.

The King looked down at him with lips curled in disgust. “So, what does he do?”

Miro looked up at the King as if just realizing they weren’t alone and sneered. “I can do anything my Lady asks of me. I can gut others, I can gut myself. I can bring people’s loved ones back from the dead and play house all day with them. Ooo I just love the way the little ones shake and sniffle and how the older ones comfort them and put on a brave front. None of them wanting to upset their returned family member. I play with my toys until they bore me and then I get rid of them all to make room for new ones. Some toys I keep, those that are strong. I keep them in my collection and use them to fight for my Lady. To keep her safe. To make her happy”, he said, getting more and more excited with each word. His whole body vibrated as he laughed.

You kicked him in the gut, his body rolling from the impact. “He didn’t ask you which meant you didn’t have permission to talk. Now pick yourself up and quietly sit beside me on your knees with your head down”, you said as your annoyance with him grew. You had always wanted a zombie but this one became crazier than you expected. Begged you to beat him, to experiment on him like you and Ieiri used to. The only upside of the crazy was that he was fully devoted to you.

He moaned out a laugh as he crawled next to you, tucking his knees under him, head down. You rubbed your face in slight embarrassment as you halfheartedly said, “Ta daa”.

You weren’t lying when you had said he wasn’t all there. Sukuna wondered if you had done something to make him that way or if that was just how he came. Crazy aside, Sukuna could feel a good amount of energy coming off of him, your energy mixed with another. It was undeniably stronger than any other curse he had ran into, and with intelligence he was all the more lethal. If you could really create and control curses on that level, he wondered just how many you had stored away. And how many people had died for your pleasure.

“You have more like him”, he asked.

You chuckled and shook your head, “Like him? No. Intelligent and strong? Yes.”

Sukuna sighed while looking up. “Who would you send with the generals?”

“It would depend on what they feared most. I would give them a curse born from their greatest fear, makes my curse stronger and them more obedient. Plus, watching a human consumed by terror is always fun.”

Little monster. “We will try it, but you will replace the army with curses if it ends with me having to slaughter the troops.”

You had already considered that an option so you had no qualms with that idea. “Works for me, my King.”

He hated that you weren’t letting him hear you say his name. Such a simple yet effective way to punish him. He got up from his throne and started descending down to you. Miro looked up at him before you smacked the back of his head, making him look back down. “You can dismiss him. He is not needed for the meeting”, he said now standing a few feet in front of you.

You looked down at Miro and he began to sink through the floor, back where he came from. Now that it was just you and Sukuna, the room felt awkward. Each step he took to close the gap made you feel like you were suffocating. You could see his black socks and sandals stop in front of your boots.

“Look up at me”, he said softly. Hand moving to touch you but not completing the motion.

You looked up at him, his eyes looked like they were withholding endless words that his mouth would not let out. “I shouldn’t have killed you”, was all he said before walking away and motioning you to follow.

In the war room, you sat beside the King, paper and quill in hand. The generals filtered in with their heads down greeting Sukuna with utmost respect. There were eight of them in total, four sat on each side of a long table with you and Sukuna at the head. They talked about various matters in politics that made you want to shove the quill through your ears. You were thankful you didn’t really have to listen and started poking about in the general’s head closest to you. He was a large man, not like Sukuna, but larger than most humans. He had a daughter and wife back home that he seemed to dote on. You could tell he did not like the King, but would never rebel for the sake of his family. You looked at memories of how his daughter ran into his arms when he returned home, just like the woman who contracted you. They both had wrapped their arms around their children with such care, hearts warm and full. You hated it.

The next man’s head was so bald it hurt your eyes to look at. It was like a mirror that refracted light right into your eyes, a very sweaty mirror. He had a wife that abused him regularly. Calling him names, hitting and throwing objects at him, sleeping with other men. He liked it though, got off on the abuse. A well respected general secretly a masochistic cuckhold. What a cliche, you thought. He had no thoughts on Sukuna. He was used to serving people and didn’t seem to care much about who as long as he had money to give his wife.

The man after him had long blue hair tied into a low ponytail. It looked better than yours and had you curious about what he used to get it so soft looking. You found out that he was one dark ass motherfucker when you went looking for the answer. He kept a haram of younger men at his mansion and tortured them regularly. Sometimes he even made them torture each other or themselves. His hair was so soft because he soaked it in a blend of his discarded servant’s organs and cum. He had heard hair needed protein to look nice and that was his solution. Cleaner methods existed but to each their own you figured. He liked Sukuna more than he should. He wanted to be chained up by him and used. He would follow him off a cliff as long as he continued to meet his gorey ideals. If Sukuna slipped up, his thoughts would shift to owning him instead. Sukuna not being a monster didn’t seem like an issue, though.

Next in line was a very buff yet very small man. He had a long red beard that showcased intricate braids. The hair on his head was also tied up in various styles and bright red. He hated Sukuna. You didn’t even have to really dig to feel the hatred he felt. Apparently, he had gifted Sukuna his daughter when she turned 18 and hadn’t been allowed to see her since. Ιt seemed he owned a massive farming setup that provided most of the food for the region. He had given up his daughter as an offering so that the King didn’t destroy the operation and condemn the region to starvation. He wanted to kill Sukuna, but would never make a move for the sake of his daughter and people. Pathetic. Not like you could really judge, though.

The fifth man had black hair that was cut close to his scalp and a scar that interrupted his hairline. It was him. You could hear all of his thoughts so loudly. Sukuna had murdered his daughter and son after his wife spoke out against him at a festival. You remembered hearing about it. He had strung the woman up by her own intestines for the whole festival to see. When her children saw it they cursed the King and exploded where they stood, a warning for all other viewers. He had lost his whole family that day and had to sit there quietly like a coward while they were killed. He planned to team up with the 8th man sat down. He had also lost his family to Sukuna because his baby would not stop crying at a different festival. Sukuna took the baby from the woman’s hands and bit its head off before throwing the corpse back in the mother’s lap. Ιt was then mother who wouldn’t shut up, so he silenced her too. Her head fell off without any movement from Sukuna. He turned to look at the general with his baby’s blood still flowing down from his mouth, challenging him to look up at him or step out of line. He even spat what was left of his son’s skull in front of him, but was met with no reaction. Pleased, he walked back to his seat.

Their plan was to poison the King at the next festival by dosing their newborns with poison as well as their new wives in hopes he would repeat his previous actions and ingest their blood. Sukuna may have been a monster, but they were no better using others as bait to be sacrificed for their petty vengeance. You wrote down what you learned and Sukuna’s lower left eye watched as you wrote. You slid the paper before him on the table. The generals eyeing it with curiosity. You sat there, bored and disgusted with the men before you, casually doodling on the leftover paper as you waited for the meeting to end.

When it came to an end and the generals were paying their respects Sukuna spoke. “So, what kind of poison did you plan to use, General Sho and General Ayato?”

The color drained from their faces as they froze. The others sat in confusion, but completely still as they noticed the air change.

“King Sukuna, whatever do you mean”, Sho, the man with short black hair asked with a clearly shaky voice.

The King smiled as he read out their plan and reasoning, their bodies shaking as they realized they were screwed. Sukuna looked to the other generals, “What do you guys think we should do about this little problem, hmm?”

Some closed their eyes, others smiled, but they all said “Punishment for treason against the King is death for the guilty and their family.”

Sukuna smiled as he looked at the other two, their heads finally raising to look at him, “Then I guess we have a decision gentleman”. Lines of blood appeared on their bodies before they fell into piles of pieces. “And before the rest of you go, my assistant has a gift for each and every one of you. You may look up.”

The remaining men looked up at you as you smiled, then they saw the monsters within the room with them. Weaponless, some of them started swinging before their assigned curses restrained them. “Now, I don’t think that is anyway to receive a gift from the King’s palace”, you said. “You’re supposed to smile and say thank you.”

Some of your curses pushed the men’s faces up into a smile and whispered the words in their ear, instructing them to say it. Fear filled the room until the air was thick. Some of the men saw what happened and immediately started thanking you profusely with wide smiles. The mother’s smile.

“You’re very welcome. They will accompany you every hour of the day to ensure no other coupes are designed. They will not interfere with your lives in any way. Only you and your fellow generals will be able to see them. Once you leave this room, you are to never mention them again. This is an order from the King. Failure to comply will be considered treason and death will be carried out immediately by your new friends.”

Their eyes were all wide, thoughts erratic and viciously mean, hands shaky, breathing short, but heads nodding in understanding. Sukuna told them they were dismissed and they all left trying their best to not acknowledge their gift’s presence.

Once the door closed, you let out a sigh and stretched your back. The meeting was boring, but the end was fun. Different from the work you used to do, but not entirely.

“That was excellent”, Sukuna said while looking at you. You peeked a look back before looking back down. “You can look at me”, he said hoping you would.

“I am okay my King”, you replied. You were still upset with him for killing you, even if he apologized.

“It wasn’t a question”, his patience with you was growing thin. He knew you were mad, and he guessed you had a right to be, but he was getting tired of it. He didn’t like the way you were making him feel. He would’ve just hit you until you acted better, but that approach was what got him here. He didn’t really know any other way to approach it, though. Never had a need to, never had feelings to hurt.

You looked at him, irked with the way he ordered you, “Yes, my King?”

“Stop calling me that”, he said as he scooted closer to you.

He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You didn’t want to, but part of you just wanted to give in and lean against him. “What would you liked to be called then? Huh? Lord Spooky?”

He just stared at you. Repeating the name a few times before he laughed. “I will let you call me Lord Spooky if you forgive me for killing you.”

“Did you hear the words that just came out of your mouth? You think letting me call you a pet name makes up for taking my head off?”

He pursed his lips together and shrugged, “I mean if you think about it, I technically didn’t kill you, I killed something that looked like you.”

You raised your eyebrows, lips twitching in anger as you slapped him across the face. He didn’t move much but blood did trickle from his cheekbone. From the look in your eyes, he knew he said the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I was trying to make a joke. I just wanted to see you smile. I don’t like you being mad at me. It makes me feel weird and I don’t know how to deal with it without hitting you. But if I hit you, you just become more mad at me and I am starting to think you might go ballistic on me if I continue. I don’t want to fight you. Which is also weird for me”, he said. It was the first time you had heard it talk so candidly. It was hard to be spiteful towards him when he was being so open, made you feel like a child. So you rubbed your hand over your mouth and decided to be just as honest.

“I don’t like it when you hit me. Most people don’t appreciate being hit just saying. I also don’t like how hot and cold you are. One minute you are telling me sweet things and the next you’re literally killing me. I don’t want to be owned either. I know you think I am yours because you enjoy the way I make you feel, but I am no one’s. Not ever again will I be owned. Threatening me is whatever, but if you threaten my friends again, I will make good on the threat I made. I know you’re the King and have to keep up appearances, and if I actually did something majorly wrong, then I would understand hurting me the way you do. But don’t say you care about me and want me to open up and play around with you and then punish me for it. It isn’t fair and I won’t tolerate it. I don’t want to fight you either, but I will if it comes to it”, you told him while making eye contact. He sat quietly for a few minutes while processing what you said.

“I won’t hit you, unless you commit a great offense. I want you to joke around with me, but you may only do it when we are alone like this. Otherwise you need to respect me as a King and follow the rules”, he hesitated, whatever he was about to say proving difficult for him, “I am- I feel-… I regret threatening your friends and killing you, truly. I want you to be mine, and me to be yours. I can’t promise I won’t be possessive, but I will try my best to not control you. I want you to be happy when you see me, not full of hatred. I do care about you and I want you to enjoy your life here. As pathetic as it sounds, I would like you by my side. Today, you were phenomenal. The way you asserted yourself over them, toyed with them, it was so attractive.”

You could tell he wasn’t lying or speaking in half truths. These was his thoughts laid bare. You reached out and grabbed his hand, fingers holding it from both sides as your thumbs ran up and down his palm. “So where does that leave us, then?”

He didn’t really know. He had never been close to someone like he was you. You weren’t an enemy, or a toy to play with, you were you. An anomaly he never saw coming. “Wherever you want us to be”, he said as he moved one of his hands to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I want to go slow. Everything up until now has felt so chaotic, so rushed and messy. And I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were good parts. Some very good parts”, you smirked at him, “but we need more. We need to figure out how to be around each other without any hidden intentions, how to relax in each other, before asking for more.”

He caressed your face looking at your lips but holding back, “Okay.”

Notes: hehe this chapter was a pain to write. Hopefully it comes off clear and not confusing to read :0 Extras v v

- Miro would 100% fight Sukuna for the reader. Miro loves the reader unconditionally and has an arsenal with some faces we all know that will be revealed later, making him quite the pain to fight. He is also hard as hell to kill, because his whole existence is made from being undead and “unkillable”. Sukuna could do it, but it’d definitely take some effort.

- Poor bb Geto. He doesn’t know the King and reader fucked. He thinks that any screaming he heard was from you two fighting/you being tortured and that you started crying because it was too hard to relive. He regrets being the one that brought you here.

- Sukuna is finally learning how to use his words. He would never let anyone else know, he would tell them he beats you because that’s somehow more acceptable than talking to you. He will still have outbursts in the future and there will still be more hateful sex to come, but he is trying. When he thought you were actually dead it felt like his whole world stopped. The breath left his lungs, gravity felt too heavy, his body felt weak and hot, he hated that feeling. He hated how you felt looking at him holding your fake corpse too. He doesn’t want to ever feel that again. He is fr being forced to learn empathy.

Taglist: @missroro @roxytheimmortal

84 notes · View notes

zialltops · 7 months ago

Text

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

a/n: howdy folks! I’m pulling my head out of my ass and getting back into writing. These last few weeks have been leveling put for me and I’ve been feeling a lot better compared to how my life HAS been. These two were the perfect break even though this took my two whole months for only a few thousand words. I’ll be back sooner than last time with an update, but you’ll see me before then for another wip. Much love, hayhay 🤍

Chapter 8: What Was I Thinkin?

Three hours ago, if you asked Joel how the night would come to its end, he’d tell you he’d probably be in the cabin, laying in his cold bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, alone—with his right hand working his dick to the tune of the farmer’s daughter. In fact, three hours ago, he’d told Tommy something similar.

��Joel, man—I promise It looks fine.”

He adjusts the buttons on his shirt another time, stuck between leaving one undone and letting the opening linger down his chest. “Fine ain’t gonna cover it, Tom—ain’t no way in hell I’m walkin’ up to her lookin jus’ fine.” Tommy huffs from behind him and starts to go through the closet beside Joel while he stares at himself in the body length mirror behind the door.

“What about this one?” Tommy beams, He’s holding up a black shirt on a hanger, slight dust on the shoulders from it’s lack of use. He’s half surprised the moths haven’t gotten to it yet. Its buttons are made of iridescent pearls that snap in place, labyrinthian embroidery adorning the breast pockets. “Ain’t worn it since before the accident.” He lifts one of the sleeves in his hands, lingering on the fitted cuff.

His mind takes him back to half forgotten nights under neon lights, long neck bottles and ropers calluses on his rodeo-worn hands. To money wasted on buckle bunnies and broncs, to years taken off his life under the sharp hooves of a one ton animal—years he’ll never get back. Years he wishes he’d never taken for granted.

He was a more confident man then, not cocky—but proud of his abilities in the arena, proud enough to walk tall, speak surly. He was a master in his sport because he trained religiously, fully immersed in the idea that this was his only shot at making it. He still believes that, even now. He wishes you could have met him then, when he was that Joel—Rodeo buckles and spurs, cowboy hats and stadium lights. When he was a white straw hat and chaps, an unsullied grin with a thirst for adrenaline and belt buckles.

He holds the black cotton between his well worked fingers and longs to be that man again—if only for one night. Would you like him? A cowboy in his prime with worked muscles, before his beer belly and the softness in his chest really set in? “This one’s good,” he huffs, brushing the dust off the shoulders before unbuttoning it enough to remove it from the hanger. “Lemme help you.” His brother offers. Joel’s not naive, he knows the fear is visible atop the surface of his flushed skin, in the deepened frown lines and the shake in his hands.

Tommy is a lot of things, but once in a while he softens around his selfish edges and he bends a little, reaching out for the weeping limbs of his brother, struggling with all his might to keep himself standing up straight in the storm, a resilient and irrepressible figure to look up to. Tommy sees the way the longing shines through the perforations in his irises, the way his shoulders slump with oppressive burden—and he takes pity on the older man. “I’ll wash it real quick while you shower. It’ll be good as new, fresh outta the dryer by the time you're done.” He looks up at Joel, who’s still transfixed in the forgotten token of his former youth, of the man who he used to be. Items he’d left in storage down in Austin that Hank had so graciously shipped to Jackson.

He almost wishes he’d never gotten it all back, it was easier then—to hide from who he was when he wasn’t reminded of his past every single day, but once in a while—that reckless, spotlight chasing cowboy grasps for the surface. And tonight? Tonight is your birthday, the town dance, where you’re going to be, probably looking like something Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with. It’s your damn birthday and he wants to ask you to dance but he’s not sure the fee quick dance lessons he got will suffice. What if he stumbles? Steps on your pretty little feet? Drops you?

“Joel—“ there's a snap in front of his face and he pulls himself out of the chaos inside of his mind. “Man, you are loosin’ it. I’ve never seen you this wound up over some girl—“ his eyes snap up to his brothers and he huffs lowly. “She ain’t just—some girl. She’s Hank and Lou’s daughter, people I think of as family. She’s smart and resourceful, sometimes a little reckless but she makes me feel like…like I’m alive for once.” Tommy sets the black shirt down and sit on the side of Joel's bed. Beside him, Joel's weight sinks onto the mattress. “M’gettin’ old, Tom. I don’t have a lot of good years left in me and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a opportunity like this again.”

Tommy takes a glance over at the distant look in his brothers eyes. “Opportunity?” Joel's eyes flick over and he sighs. He wishes Tommy had a little bit of what he had built inside of him, the innate goal of settling down, finding where he belongs and who he belongs with.

“At bein’ happy. Good memories for my restless nights.” If he fucked this up and missed his chance, he’s not sure he’ll have it in him again, if it will ever feel like this with anyone else. He thinks he’s done, thinks you’re it. He thinks he could give you forever if you’d let him.

“S’that why you’re so messed up in the head? What, do you think she’s going to shoot you down?” Tommy’s voice picks up in pitch, offense used like a weapon to get his point across and Joel appreciates the gusto. “Think I’m gonna go home alone tonight. Think it’s just gonna be me and the crickets and this damn hand again, dreamin’ bout how damn sweet she is.”

Tommy’s hand reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and he retrieves a silver flask, offering it to his older brother who takes it with unsure fingers. “Just be yourself, man. Walk up to her like you belong there. Just need a little bit of confidence, don’t let her think you’re second guessing yourself. I don’t know her like you do—but I know that girl is more than willing when it comes to you.”

Joel takes a long swig of rot-gut whiskey, lets is sink into his bones and find the will to drag himself into the shower and wash away the saw dust lingering on his skin from the floor of the dance hall, ease some of the soreness in his knees and back from learning how to dance.

When he’s finished, there's a clean shirt and a flask laying on his bed. Joel finishes off the whiskey before he fastens the first button.

Liquid courage is the only thing that gets him to town.

He’s everywhere—everywhere. His hands burn on your thigh, on your hip where they dig in just a little too roughly when he pins you to the wall beside the back door. The second it closed behind you, there was a desperation clinging to the early spring air, perforating the slight chill until it shimmied beneath it and took life in the form of heat dripping across your exposed flesh. It was sticky and hot, sucking you in like a vortex straight to the center of what your world revolved around—Joel Miller and his touch that feels like fire.

He tastes like alcohol and tooth paste and part of you wonders if that’s what's changed about him, why he was so willing to let go of his reservations in-front of half of the town. He’s been drinking, drowning his insecurities enough to throw himself at you bravely.

Will he still be this Joel when you open your eyes in the morning? Will he regret it?

His teeth dig into your bottom lip and your brain goes fuzzy, stars forming behind your closed eyes. Insecurities can wait until tomorrow, you decide. His hips press forward ever so slightly and the outline of his cock can’t go unnoticed, not with the way it makes the fabric of your panties drag against your clit tantalizingly. Behind your closed eyes, the stars morph into crackles of fireworks, filling your senses with bright pleasure and desperate desire to chase those lights into the night.

You hike your legs higher, trying to drag him into the delicious delirium with you. The movement pulls a guttural groan out of the broad cowboy. “Joel—Joel,” you need his hands to leave brands on your skin where they’ve touched you, setting fire to your soul. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” Is he crumbling like you, throwing himself into this very moment right here? Is he as desperate as you are? Does it feel like a travesty and a triumph? The yearning you’ve endured, for the victory of finally knowing what he feels like when he kisses the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than you know how to articulate—more devastating than you anticipated and yet—it’s still not enough. It won't be enough until his heart beats in time with your own and you feel him wrapped up in your body

His teeth dig into your jaw and your body reacts before you tell it to, searching for the release only he can bring you.

“Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

And suddenly, in the time it takes to flip on a light switch, he’s gluttonous, insatiable and voracious—a wild predator set loose just to turn on its careful handler. The only thing that comes to mind, in comparison, is a pack of wolves frenzied to sink their teeth into the supple flesh of their prey.

In your case—Joel is the starved pack—and you? You are but an unsuspecting doe, practically sacrificing yourself to his uncontrollable famine.

Those thick digits, adorned with callouses earned from laborious work, hastily push aside the fabric of your dress in search of your covered center. He feels so fucking good when those digits push their way past the hem of your panties and he gasps against the shell of your ear. Like it feels just as good to him, letting the pads of his index and middle finger tease the seam of your lips before slipping between and dragging those rough digits over your hardened clit. It’s all the built up want, longing, needing that makes him feel so other-worldly, you’ll never experience something like this, the rush of relief to finally be his.

His fingers dip lower, searching for the source of all this slick adorning his knuckles, when his thumb drags idly over your already sensitive clit. Its like an electric shock straight to your sternum, arching you forward in search of anchorage to this reality altering interaction. There's a hint of alcohol swimming behind your fluttering eyelids, but his shuddering groan is sickeningly sobering. You want to say something, tell him how good he makes you feel, but the words bubble up in your chest and hang in your throat in the form of a silent sob, your mouth hanging open and your toes curling against your shoes.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” Where the hell has this Joel been hiding? He’s never been so vulgar, so vocal and confident in himself. His fingers tease the soft ring at your opening, smearing slick around on his fingers when he leans against your front to press his face against your heaving chest and neck. His fingers plunge in—and your body jerks against his solid form. He lets you shudder and tighten up against him while his thumb moves steadily, never coming off the peak of your nerve—locked on it with such perfected percussion that there is no jerky catch, just steady—drowning pleasure. His rough pant of breath paints your shoulder in sticky warmth and your thighs tighten around him, begging to draw him into your desperation.

“She’s just cryin’ for me, ain’t she, Honey?” His drawl sounds like sweet tea on a hot summer afternoon, like your sight set on the Austin sunset from the seat of an old saddle, driving cattle through tall grass and endless horizons.

Being touched by Joel Miller feels like coming home.

He finds a steady pace, working his fingers in and out, each drag punctuated by the ridges of his knuckles and the rough pads of his finger tips. Just faintly, you can make out the wet sound your sex makes every time he fucks his fingers into you intentionally. Its instantaneous the way heat blooms in your pelvis, knotting up in your stomach until you’re so overwhelmed, you’re trembling in his grip. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy, pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed, don’t she? G’damn, you’re quiverin’—you gonna cum f’me already?” His words are like a dirty secret, never meant to be revealed—knowing exactly what kind of storm that truth would bring. Let the rain pour down, let the thunder crack and the gusts rip the apprehension from your bones—because Joel Miller wants you and you’ve been waiting for this moment for two years.

You’ve imagined this a million times, slipped your fingers between your legs to the mere idea of this revered and dignified southern gentleman—more once you’d put a face to the elusive cowboy. No matter how deeply you lost yourself to your imagination, none of it will ever amount to the way cold brick feels against your exposed back, the way denim jeans ruffs up the insides of your smooth thighs, the way a felt Stetson bumps against your temple when his fingers curl against a spot inside of you no man has ever found, dragging the air from your lungs, robbing your vocal cords of their melody. With your eyes rolled back and your desire strung tight, you manage to string together enough sound to produce words.

“Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum! Please!”

A third, assured finger slips in right beside the other two and slam forward, sending you spiraling down that one way path towards pure ecstasy. His fingers curl again and his thumb quickens, pushing you up and up until you’re sure you’re about to melt through his finger tips, a weeping puddle at his feet. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.”

His command is your saving grace, the final twist that undoes the well wound rope holding you together. A variation of his name rips from your throat and consumes the space around you, invoking a bright euphoria that shrouds every nerve ending you possess. He doesn’t even know what he’s just subjected your body to—a life altering experience that you will never be able to recreate with another person. “S…s’the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” is the only thing your mind conjures up once you’ve come down enough to speak. He’s still holding onto you, slowly slipping his fingers out and letting you down with a satisfied chuckle.

“Wunna taste you,”

How will you handle another assault from that honed attention? How will you ever unsee that unruly tousle of curls between your thighs?

He doesn’t give you long enough to form a protest before he’s rushing you through the parking lot, a determination in his step that you’ve never seen. He’s surpassed the point of antsy when he yanks open the passenger door and finds leverage on your hips to hoist you up, then toss you down on the torn upholstery. You should say something—tell him to slow down before you pass out from the burn of his hands—but fuck you don’t want him to stop, consciousness be damned.

Instead, you watch him set his cowboy hat on the dusty dashboard, the silver trim of the band shimmering with luster in the golden street lamps. He drinks your body in visibly, relishing in every curve and inhale of breath. When his vision finds yours, they are nearly black with desire—his pupils having consumed every inch of bourbony brown. When his big hands find your thighs again, the resistance bleeds away and gives way to insurmountable, greedy hunger.

“C’mere, girl.” The hands on your thighs dig into the flesh, leaving finger shaped dimples in your sensitive skin. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.” Jesus christ.

If your friends could see you now, they’d all laugh at how easy you are, but right now—it’s just you and your cowboy—you’ll never be anything but easy for him.

His hands move with fever, hastily pushing your dress up your hips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” That same ferocious want consumes you, possessing your hands to work on their own accord, helping Joel shimmy your panties down your thighs and over your heels.

You have enough time to register the way he stuffs the black lace into the front pocket of his wranglers before that head of his is forcing its way under your dress. He spreads your legs easily, pushes and pulls with his hands until his mouth seals over your clit, drenching your nervous system in blinding heat.

He’s good, so good at this. His tongue slides through your dripping folds with a tedious, monotonous rhythm. He’s licking for a taste, for his own glutinous thirst based on the way he groans and sighs against the softness of your lips. His eyes flick up at the same time your body starts to quiver, trying to adjust to so much honed desire narrowed in on you. “J-Joel, please don’t st-top.” Your eyes start to leave his in favor of rolling back in your head when your chest arches out, searching for a breath of sobering air, for something to hold onto so you don’t crumble apart. “Feels so good—you feel so good.”

His mouth closes over you and he sucks, pulling your clit against the smoothness of his tongue as he flicks it over and over, soothing the sensitive bud, while actively robbing you of any coherent train of thought. The only sounds that leave your lungs are sharp gasps and whines, fueled by the low groaning sound he’s muffling between your thighs. He releases you and your body reels, drawing in breath after breath to catch up with your racing heart.

“Wunna split this little pussy open on me,”

Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck—fuck.

You have long enough to gaze down at him, watching as he slides the flat of his tongue through your lips, over the sensitive bud, before your head is dipping back again.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” you heave and he pulls away completely, shocking you into a mewling, whining mess. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body bares down on nothing, /wish he would just give it up already, unbuckle that belt, push down those wranglers and fuck you like you deserve. Joel grunts while he watches, letting it rumble through his whole body. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

His whole demeanor shifts, alternating from this brazen, confident cowboy to the man suddenly lost between your thighs, sucking and slurping, licking and moaning to himself. He’s gutless, starving and desperate, he whimpers when you squeeze your thighs and cry his name, holding on tight until the flash of blue and red and the sound of a loud voice rips him from his mission.

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

Joel rips himself away from your body before you even have a chance to cover yourself. “Fuck-fuck,” he looks around sharply, eying the lone officer in a tan blazer with flashing lights fastened to its hard top. The sheriff has a light in their hand, leaning over the side of the blazer. You manage to pull your dress down and scoot back, trying to hide yourself from the light shining on the two of you.

Joel's gaze falls away from the officer, parked behind the truck, blocking it in. Instead, he looks forward, into the clearing in front of the parking lot, half lit by the street lamp. His jaw clicks and he looks set on whatever is going through that big brain of his. “Put a seat belt on.”

What?

Joel grabs his hat and slides across the bench seat quickly, slamming the door behind him. He makes it across you and throws himself in front of the steering wheel, finding the ignition quickly to turn the keys in the shaft.

The chevy roars to life at the same time that he slams the gear shifter into drive and plows over the parking block. Before you have a chance to register what's happening, the blue pickup is sliding through mud and grass, leaving tire tracks in the field as he cuts through it towards the highway.

“Joel, what in the—fuck!“ you shout, reaching up for the oh-shit handle, while the other hand reaches for the solid form beside you, grasping him by the bicep as he snorts nervously. “Just—calm down for a second, we’ll lose ‘em.”

Your heart races and your nerves radiate through your entire body. You’re a good kid, you’ve never ran from the cops before, never been in trouble for crying out loud. You did your best in school, tried to make your parents proud despite your small side of rebellion. And yet, here you are—trying your best to hang on while he cuts corners and runs stop signs, old alleyways and back roads through the thickets. The truck roars past speed limit signs, loosing rodeo flyers pinned to telephone poles when he slams the gears—orange papers fluttering in the settling dust.

He snorts, taking another random left and speeding down the street. “Ain’t gonna get arrested, honey. Just trust me.”

Trust him? How could he even ask you that, like that wasn’t what this was all along. You trusted him like you trusted the sun to set and rise again, like you trusted the birds to sing and the rivers to run—you’d trusted Joel with your family’s dream and he never let you down.

Somewhere along the way, you lose the ability to fight off your grin, Joel manages to leave flashing red and blue in a cloud of dust. He cuts through a group of trees leading into a clearing and shuts off the lights. He drives by moonlight, effectively covering his tracks and making his way onto another road, leading up the mountain towards the ranch. He pulls off another dirt road that is cut out along the side of the hill, but he isn’t in as much of a hurry as he was before. He takes a last left, bringing the truck to the edge of the hillside that overlooks the entire town of jackson—from the dance hall—to the bar—to the red and blue set of lights on the south side of town, still looking for you and your cowboy.

The world grants you a few silent moments to catch your breath, before it completely robs you of tingling in your muscles, the conscious connection between the two of you. The reality of being truly alone with him is sobering, with nothing but the trees and the wildlife to offer a distraction.

Now that the air has cooled and your heart has finished pounding in your ears, you can make out the faint hum of the stereo, the FM dial lit up by the soft glow behind it. The station is still the same as it was when you were a girl, riding in your daddy’s pickup, playing old country music like it did in the days of your youth.

Now, it rings in your ears with the nerves seeping into your bones, settling into an uncomfortable dust. Right now, of all times? Anxiety has to claw up your chest and wrap around your throat while his saliva is still drying on the inside of your thighs?

Fuck, his beard is still glistening in the green-glow of the stereo.

“You’re starin’ at me.” He says almost quietly. You expected him to tease and flirt, maybe boast, but his voice waivers halfway through and you start to pick up on his slight nerve. Under all that charm and intensity is starting to give way to a much more vulnerable Joel—a man you know all too well.

“You’re just, uh—“ you swallow thickly and try to find the courage to meet his deep brown eyes. “Your beard is…wet.” When you do find his irises, his mouth picks up in a half smirk. If he’s as scared as you are right now, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He’s giving it everything he’s got to hide it from you.

It’s been so long and you need this. Need to be touched, appreciated, worshipped.

The look in his eyes tells you that he’s eager to kneel.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” That sweet, sultry accent drags you in, sliding closer on the seat until you're nearly tucked into his side, leaned back against the seat while he looms over you. He’s still nervous, you can see it floating around in his dark eyes, but his jaw clicks like he’s trying to rein something in.

Silence falls upon you once more, but unbeknownst to the cicadas and the crickets, your dancing gazes say everything you need to hear. His eyes drop to your lips and yours to his. His tongue peaks out unconsciously, wetting his bottom lip ever so slightly—like he’s tasting you there.

His mouth clicks shut and it's then that you glance up. His eyes are back on yours, suddenly so much softer with a lulled arch to his eyebrows. In the depths of his eyes you find renewed hunger, fire burning in those pools of smooth chocolate. Your body relaxes, succumbs to the form of his plains of muscles adorning his body. When you tilt your head up to him in offering, you sink so deeply into those dark pools you can nearly taste the sweetness of him like velvety candy melting against your taste buds.

“Joel—“ you choke out, deciding then that if he waits a second longer you’ll suffocate.

There's things about this life that can never be stopped, inexorable phenomenons that are unavoidable. The seasons will always change. The storms will always come, lightning will always strike. The days will always end and the sun will rise again on the next.

And Joel Miller will always, always break when you say his name like that.

He falls into you with a sharp intake of breath, crashing his mouth against yours with surprising accuracy. It’s so easy to let him take over with the perfect combination of rush and savor he puts into the way he envelops you. His mouth is soft, but persistent, wrapping around your bottom lip when he sucks it between his teeth for a soft bite that makes you want to live in this moment forever.

You nearly do because you get absolutely lost in kissing him, you don’t protest when he leans you back on the bench seat, you don’t put up any sort of fight when he spreads your thighs with his wide hips. When his hands grip your knees, you know you’re completely done for.

He pulls away from your mouth and his eyes find yours in the low green glow and there, you find everything you’ve ever longed for.

“I…I think,” Joel shifts, looking down at his hands like he’s just woken up from sleep walking straight into your heart and soul. “I think I should get you home, s’gettin late.”

Late? Your poor muddled brain cannot keep up with how quickly he fades in and out of doing anything to have you, to be terrified to touch you. How quickly he slips into a starved desire to shaking in his boots.

Not for the first time, you wish you could reach right into his brain and pull out whatever it is that makes him think you don’t want those rough hands all over your bare body. He’s already had a taste of you, already kissed you—what more could be standing in his way?

“Home? Joel, we were just getting started—“ he clears his throat and sits up, trying to slide away from you but your heels dig into his tailbone and drag him back. “Started down a road we both know only leads to nothing but trouble and regret.”

What, the, fuck?

“I’m—you think this is a bad idea?”

The uncomfortable air settles back in between you and your legs around him loosen. “Think you're going to realize really quickly this ain’t what you want and this—I’ve got…too much on the line.”

He has too much on the line? What about the ranch? Your childhood home about to be lost to the bank? What about the dance hall where he’s built a new floor to make you smile? Does it all wash away with his assumed doom?

“What are you saying? This…this was a mistake? Joel I still have your fucking spit drying on my pussy and you—you regretted it already?” The realization feels like a dull blade straight to your gut, forcing it way in and twisting you from the inside out. It burns with shame and agony and you pull yourself out from under his sturdy build.

“I didn’t mean—I regret anything, fuck knows I don’t—“ no, no. You’ve given this man so much of yourself, committed so much to be thrown around and have your feelings stomped on.

“Then what the fuck does it mean, Joel! You—you made me cum while telling me you wanted to stuff my cunt but now you think this is…” you have a realization then, that maybe—just maybe, he does actually regret it. What does he think, you’d turn around and throw him out on his ass? If he truly thinks that low of you then maybe…

“This was a big fucking mistake.” You say coldly, making up your mind as you right your bunched up dress and adjust your fixed gaze on the passenger side window.

“Take me home.” It’s not a request.

It’s not an invitation, either, Joel understands as he watches you close the front door behind you later that night, settling his made up mind.

He presses his palm to his crotch twice and comes in his pants right there in the driveway, just like he knew he was going to.

And he feels like a fucking fool.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel tlou #archive of our own #cowboy!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut

87 notes · View notes

deansdelicate · 16 days ago

Text

I CAN SEE YOU

CHAPTER V: IF THEY NEVER FOUND US OUT

seth rollins x fem!writer+producer reader

word count: [13.9K]

warnings: no use of y/n, two idiots dancing around their feelings, no angst besides reader and seth doubting themselves, basically a fluffy domestic chapter ;)

🎧 the soundtrack

summary: half asleep, taking your time in the early mornings of Chicago, you finally come to realize seth was the one who made sure you were safe and sound. despite knowing good and well you shouldn’t become so attached to him, it just happens...something you and seth cannot avoid. a morning spent together turns into an entire day, and never in your wildest dreams did you know how it was going to end.

The sun beamed down on the town and the bustle of the outside world could be heard past the hotel windows where you still slept soundly before your senses began to rouse.

Your body twisted against the sheets, a groan falling from your chapped lips, and your limbs stretching themselves out, and suddenly the ringing of your cellphone was finally something you comprehended—the real culprit of your wake up.

You blindlessly slapped the vicinity around you until you felt the familiar screen against your fingertips. Disconnecting it from the charger with a stiff tug, you answered the phone and planted it against your ear without checking who was calling to begin with.

“H-Hello?” You croaked, eyes pinching shut, curling deeper into the blankets not wanting to lose the warmth just yet.

There was a heavy huff on the other end, before a striking voice cut in.

“Young lady, your father and I have been trying to reach you for hours! Where are you?”

The voice belonged to none other than your mother and she sounded worried sick, the kind you hadn’t heard since you were a teenager.

You immediately snapped your eyes open, realization washing over you that you had, in fact made it to Chicago, but with little recollection of how you got up to your room.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to remember while reassured your mom, guilty over the fact that she and your dad were probably up all night thinking something bad must have happened to you.

“I’m fine, mom. I must have fallen asleep after I checked in and forgot to text.” You rubbed at your eyes, silently trying to retrace your footsteps.

The last thing you recalled was dozing off as you stared out the window through the drive. Seth had mentioned something about stopping for food somewhere, but you hadn’t paid it much attention, too busy slipping into sleep to the white noise of the car ride and his voice alone.

“So you did get to the next town?” She let out a sigh of relief as you hummed, confirming, “Thank god.”

You yawned, listening as she passed down the message to your dad who you assumed was somewhere near her.

The ceiling above you blurred the more you rubbed at your eyes, trying to rid them of slumber before you finally got the strength to push the covers off and get the day started.

“I actually ended up catching a ride with Seth.” You told her, going to open the curtains and letting the sunshine of the city into the room.

“Oh,” she sounded surprised, clearing her throat before speaking again, “That was nice of him.” ultimately grateful that you made it safe and sound to your destination.

“Very.” You replied, spotting your luggage near the accordion closet doors and heading towards it.

Balancing the phone against your shoulders, you laid it down on the floor with a soft thud, unzipping it to grab some fresh clothes and your toiletries. You desperately needed a shower not only to wake yourself up, but to rid yourself of yesterday, wanting to start the day without feeling the extra weight of the stress you’d gone through.

“I’m gonna go get ready for the day,” you told her, hugging your items to your chest and heading for the bathroom.

“I have to film with Xavier then I’m gonna try to find Seth to thank him.”

“Sounds good sweetie, have a good off day okay?” She said lovingly, delighted that you were keeping yourself busy on the road and making friends.

“Thanks mom, tell the girls I miss and love them.”

“Will do, bye-bye.”

While the water warmed up, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. The bags under your eyes weren’t as prominent as they were hours ago thanks to the sleep you managed to catch, soothing them halfway gone. Your hair was surprisingly not as chaotic as you thought it would be, manageable enough for you to comb through it with your fingers before tossing your locks up in a bun so it wouldn’t get drenched.

You still sported Seth’s zip-up, loose around your body basically swallowing you whole, and it still smelled like him despite you tossing and turning in it. Stripping it off, you abandoned his your clothing in a heap on the floor, stepping into the steamy shower and getting ready for the day ahead, hoping you’d run into Seth at some point.

The hotel gym didn’t have the fanciest equipment, but it made do for the three men who almost always got their morning workout in even on their rare day off.

Sweat dribbled down Seth’s neck and there was an enjoyable ache in his limbs as the barbell weight rested on his shoulders and he continued lifting his heavy set.

“You dragged her through the hotel lobby up to your room?” He asked incredulously, drowning back a laugh at the mere fact that he missed seeing it for himself.

“Let me get this straight,” Dean spoke from behind, taking a break and gulping down his water.

Seth grunted, finishing the set and dropping the weight against the padded floor with a heavy sigh. He looked over his shoulder irate, shooting Dean and Roman a pointed glare for bringing the situation up again.

He hadn’t planned on telling anyone what had happened, but with Roman bearing witness to the whole thing, it was only a matter of time before the story was passed down to Dean, and now the whole morning had been spent with a million burning questions being thrown his way.

“Okay, you’re making it sound bad. She was dead asleep, and I needed to get her into an actually bed.” Seth shook his head, swiping the sweat off his forehead.

“And for your information, I did not drag her. I carried her up there.” He corrected, insulted that Dean would think he would act less than a gentleman no matter how odd the situation was.

Roman snorted, replaying the scene in his head that was damn near ironic at that point.

Your limbs and Seth’s were practically tied together in the cramped elevator where they had nowhere else to look besides at you both. If they hadn’t known any better, they would have all suspected you two were seeing each other, but that was exactly the funniest part of the entire ordeal.

You saw each other all the time.

Whether you both were keeping track or not, it was blatantly obvious you two had more than just on-screen chemistry. It didn’t matter if you or Seth were nowhere to be found at each other’s side, at some point you both would find a way to be next to each other, lingering or not. Everyone else had caught onto it, and it was strange that neither of you hadn’t realized it yet.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that you both went into the same hotel room and you let her sleep in your bed,” Roman reasoned, looking over at Dean who agreed with a plain nod.

If anyone else would have caught Seth in the innocent act of making sure you made it safely into the hotel room, they might have assumed something else was going on.

Paul’s phone would have been ringing nonstop with the notion of them believing you two were really seeing other and that couldn’t have ended well for Seth especially.

“What would you have done?”

Seth accused defensively, resting his hands on his hips, waiting for their response. He knew damn well they wouldn’t have let you sleep in the hotel lobby or worse left you to fend for yourself.

His friends looked at each other with a knowing glance silently communicating that they had successfully gotten under Seth’s skin without even trying too hard. It was like the two older brothers ganging up on the younger—very reminiscent of the early Shield days, but it was always in good fun.

“Well, for starters, I’d not ask myself for a death wish and termination of my job.” Dean quipped, making the him groan.

Seth waved his hands in the air dismissively.

“Look we’re both adults. She knows just as well as I do that we’re friends, and friends help each other out, especially when she’s new to the scene and needs someone to take her under their wing.”

No matter how much he explained it, Seth knew they wouldn’t be convinced so easily.

Roman just grinned, slapping him on the shoulder, “I give it a week before she’s under you.”

“Or he’s under her.” Dean snorted, adding another on his chest.

The two grown men on either side of him laughing about the matter like it was some teenage love-fest.

“You guys are so bored.” Seth muttered, shrugging them off and going to grab his water bottle to take a drink.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.”

Roman threw his headphones back on to finish his workout while Dean did the same.

Comically enough, Seth did dream of you last night. It was the first time he had ever done so, and he could still picture it vividly in his head—just the two of you, laughing and talking through a car ride that appeared to last forever. It was simple, but enough to get him through to the morning where his eyes instinctively blinked open to reveal the sight of you across the room still fast asleep.

He wanted to blame it on mere exhaustion and the fact that you were the last thing he saw before he dozed off, but it still didn’t change the way his heart battered a little harder in his chest, and the blood that ran hotter through his veins at the simple thought.

The feeling didn’t shake when he went to do his final set, and it certainly didn’t help when the burning questions ended, and he was left alone in the silence of his thoughts—his mind echoing your laughter and smile on a loop, frantic to get back to you.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you slipped into a flowy dress that ended just above your knees, keeping things casual since you still didn’t know what you were going to be up to after filming.

Loosening your hair from the bun, you opted for a sleek, low-effort look, sectioning the crown and clipping it out of your face.

After completing your skincare routine, you applied a light layer of makeup—just some concealer, blush, mascara, and a tinted lip balm to brighten your face.

Gathering your dirty clothes, you tossed them into a separate laundry bag within your suitcase, making a mental note to get a load of laundry done as soon as you made it to the next city. You flipped it closed still keeping it laid on the ground of easy access, before returning to the bathroom to grab a bottle of lotion so you could moisturize your legs.

Propping your foot up on the bedframe, you pumped some product into the palm of your hand, emulsifying the lotion before spreading it over your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, Seth had wrapped up his morning workout, already outside of the hotel door with the room key in hand as he swiped is across the reader and opened the door without thinking anything of it.

The soft creak of the door opening caused you to snap your head in its direction, eyes widening in shock and your limbs freezing as all you could muster was a scream.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, flinching back and dropping the bottle, nearly backing into the bedside table in the frenzy.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” He immediately recoiled, apologizing profusely as he held his arms out, trying to prevent you from stumbling over despite being on the other side of the room.

There was a wave of relief that washed over you the second you realized that it was just Seth and not a total stranger plotting to kill you. But it still didn’t change the fact that you were still in shock at how he managed to get into your room.

“Oh my god,” You caught your breath, brushing your hands over your dress as you stared at him still rattled.

“How did you get in?” You sought, bending down to retrieve the bottle of lotion that toppled onto the floor.

He swallowed thickly, closing the door behind him as he tried his best to explain the situation without making it awkward.

“It’s umm, it’s actually my room.” He confessed, feeling embarrassed that he didn’t knock beforehand.

He completely overlooked the fact that you could’ve woken up while he was gone, but he had just assumed with how tired you were, you would be spending the day catching up on sleep and needing to push your filming with Xavier to a later time. Seth hadn’t even planned on waking you up to get the room to himself. In fact, he was set on letting you stay as long as you needed.

You blinked rapidly, confusion covering your orbs as you furrowed your brows.

“Wait, what?”

“Last night I couldn’t wake you up, and when I tried to check you, the lady at the front desk couldn’t give me your room key, so I just checked us into my room and let you crash here.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck stiffly.

“Are you serious?”

The news hitting you like a ton of bricks.

It was all beginning to come together. The reason why you were so stumped on how you got up to the room that wasn’t even yours was because you did none of it yourself. Seth had taken care of everything, making sure you not only had a room but a comfortable bed to sleep in.

Mistaking your pure shock for horror, he shook his head nervously.

“No, it’s not like that, I gave you the bed and I took the pullout over there,” He pointed to the other wall where the couch was pushed against.

“I swear.” He promised.

You looked in the direction where he pointed, totally oblivious to his bags that were tucked away in the corner, and the folded blankets that rested on the cushions all this time. If it had been anyone else, you’d be freaking out, but for some odd reason you weren’t spooked at all, instead feeling oddly secure knowing he’d never hurt you.

Catching the concern in his voice, you went to shake your head, letting out a small embarrassed laugh.

“No, that’s not what I was worried about,” you sighed, “I’m so sorry I was such a hassle, really I feel terrible.”

Seth had already lent a helping hand more times than you could count, often without you needing to ask to begin with. He was always hyperaware of your wellbeing, and the last thing you wanted him to feel was as if you were his responsibility.

“You weren’t a hassle at all. I know you were just tired and I don’t blame you.” He reassured you with a gentle smile.

You looked at him skeptically, eyes darting to the lumpy couch where he’d slept.

“You had a match last night, and you slept on…that?”

You gestured to the pullout, and he shrugged casually.

“It actually wasn’t too bad. I’ve slept on worse.” He said with a small grin, but you could tell he was downplaying it as a means to not make you feel worse, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

You frowned, reaching for the hotel phone before you plopped down on the edge of the bed, looking at him as you spoke.

“I’ll call the front desk and have them give you my room instead, and I’ll take this one for the night.” You began to dial the number to the concierge.

But before even a single ring could sound, he took a big step over, swiftly removing the phone out of your hands and placing it back onto the receiver with a clack.

“Stop.” Seth laughed, shaking his head.

You stared up at him with a pout, determined to pay him back in this small way for all that he had done for you.

“Seth, it’s the least I could do, please.” You insisted, attempting to pick up the phone once again, but he didn’t budge, firmly planting his hand on top of yours.

He looked at you, eyes full of sincerity, knowing that all you wanted to do was repay him, but he didn’t need you to return the favor at all. Everything he did for you was genuinely out of the goodness of his heart, like an ease that came with his being just wanting to make sure you were in good hands.

“You take your suite and I’ll stay here tonight. It really wasn’t a big deal at all.” He said, watching as guilt still covered your face.

“If it makes you feel better, I had to lug a drunk Roman all the way up six flights of stairs and that was hell.”

You began to giggle, eyes crinkling and your chest deflating as your hand eased up under his.

"Okay," You breathed, staring up at him still laughing, "That makes me feel a lot better."

He grinned, moving his hand away going to set beside you while you started at him warmly.

“Thanks again, for everything.” You said softly, wondering if there was ever a way you could repay him, and even then how he would manage to let you.

“Woods said he’s kicking your ass in Mario Kart today,” Seth teased, nudging your side with his elbow.

You dropped your jaw and gasped dramatically.

“Did he really say that?”

He cackled, shaking his head. “Not entirely, but he is known to be the king of the Grand Prix.”

“Are you gonna come watch?” You wondered, hoping he would just so you had an excuse not to part ways.

“Cleared my schedule and everything just for it.” He announced splaying his arms out as if it was the most important thing in the world to him.

But it mattered to you. Deep down even if it was just some silly video, he had made the time to be there and it made your heart thump like an idiot as you tried not to get too lost in his kindness.

“Have you eaten?” You shook off the feeling, taking note of his work out attire.

“I just had a protein shake before my workout. You wanna order some room service?”

You tapped your temples, grinning at him. “You read my mind.”

Reaching into the bedside drawer you retrieved the room service menu checking out what they had to offer.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower.” Seth stood, heading to the other side of the room to grab some clean clothes for himself.

“What did you want me to order for you?” You looked up, watching him kick off his shoes.

“Surprise me,” He smirked and you nodded contemplating what he would like as he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

You settled for strawberry french toast with a side of hashbrowns while you decided to get Seth something savory—bacon, eggs, and a side of breakfast potatoes. You ordered both of you black coffee with some creams and sugars on the side.

After you hung up the phone, you tidied up the bed–fluffing up the pillows and straightening out the sheets as if they were untouched knowing Seth would be sleeping in your place tonight and the last thing he needed was an unmade messy bed.

In the meantime you took it upon yourself to snap some photos and selfies behind the large window that overlooked the city. Seth’s room faced the westside of Chicago, where a bunch of shops lined the busy streets, and you were hoping you had enough time to check them out before you left town.

After scrolling on social media and checking your emails, a knock sounded on the door.

“Seth food’s here!” You called out, walking over to the door and squinting through the peephole just to be sure.

“Coming!” You heard him shout back.

You undid the deadbolt, sliding the extra lock loose and grinned as you opened the door wide and greeted the hotel service. They rolled in the cart of food towards the small table near the window and you watched as they set up the plates. You were instructed to leave the finished dishes on the cart, and roll it outside of the room where it would be retrieved during their hourly sweeps.

After tipping them, you settled into a chair, eager to fill your empty stomach but holding off until Seth joined you. In the meantime you took a few more photos of the food, wanting to post a photo of how your time in Chicago was going, even if it was just room service.

A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened, and there he stood, dressed in a black graphic tee and shorts. He ruffled a towel through his hair, ridding it of the excess water as you stared on before quickly snapping your eyes back to your phone not wanting to be caught gawking.

“Oh no, you’re the type that lets the camera eat before you.” He tsked as he pulled his towel away, noticing the phone in your hands.

“What can I say? Food porn is my guilty pleasure.” You whistled, snapping a few more overhead shots of the dishes.

“Very explicit.” Seth chuckled, opening the closet to retrieve a hanger, clipping his damp towel onto it to hang dry.

Exiting your camera app, you opened up Instagram, picking one of the shots and letting the app crop the image into a square ratio as you thought up a caption.

“Savory to my Sweet” You typed followed by a bunch of emojis that were fitting, before clicking post.

“Okay, I’m officially ready to dig in.” You chirped, setting your phone down and glancing up at Seth who took a seat opposite of you, rubbing his hands together as he inspected his plate.

“How’d you know I don’t like sunny side up eggs?” He smiled unwrapping the fork and knife from the clothed napkin roll.

“Wait what?” You asked surprised.

“Yep, can’t do it, or it at least has to be over medium.”

“Aren’t wrestlers supposed to love raw eggs? You guys drink them for fun.” You argued, watching as he made a face funny and stared at you offensively.

“I’m offended you think I would ever do something so deranged.” He retorted, making you laugh.

“Well I’m glad you aren’t.” You quipped, cutting into your french toast and taking your first bite with a hum.

Seth picked up a piece of bacon, taking a single bite before wiping his fingers clean and reaching for the packets of sugars in a small dish.

“Two sugars and two creams right?” He looked at you, remembering how he made your coffee a few days ago, but just checking to be sure.

You chewed, nodding your head as you watched him rip the packets open, pouring the contents into your cup, and grabbing a clean spoon to stir. He repeated the same thing with the creamer cups, mixing your cup, before sliding it over to you.

“Let me know if it’s good.” He said, beginning to work on his cup that he took with one sugar and one cream.

You sipped the liquid, letting the flavor roll over your tastebuds, before scrunching your nose.

“It’s alright, but I feel like hotel coffee always sucks.”

“You would think that because this hotel is so fancy, they would at least have decent caffeine.” Seth shook his head, giving his own cup a taste, only to grimace.

“You need another sugar,” You giggled, reaching over to rip open another packet, pouring it into his mug and hoping it would be enough to wane off the bitter taste.

“I don’t know if this stuff is gonna keep me up all day or if it just tastes disgusting.” He said, shaking his head and going to take a sip of his water to rid himself of the initial taste.

“Probably a little bit of both.” You smiled tightly, nodding him along to eat.

The both of you continued breakfast over conversations revolving around anything and everything. Seth got you caught up on what you had missed the night prior–or as Jey coined it, “Modern Day Stephanie and Triple H circa 1999.”

It was safe to say you were mortified, not because Seth had to carry you through the parking lot all the way up to the room, but because they had witnessed you in such an embarrassing predicament.

But again, as he always did, Seth reassured you that it was nothing to be worried about. He had your back and it was anything less than embarrassing in his eyes.

Eventually the two of you wrapped up with breakfast, loading your empty dishes onto the cart and Seth rolled it outside the room before you both began getting ready to head out to meet with Xavier and the rest of the boys.

You stared indecisively into the full-length mirror, swaying from side to side.

“Are you sure this isn’t too casual for the video?” You said aloud, debating if you should make a last-minute outfit change.

Seth, who was in the bathroom getting his hair sorted, peeked his head out, catching your eyes in the reflection and shaking his head.

“Trust me, UpUpDownDown is very forgiving. Half of Woods’ videos are filmed with us in sweatpants.” He told you, twisting his hair into a low bun.

You let out a breath of relief, allowing your stiff shoulders to fall.

“Maybe I should try that next time.” You half joked, spinning on your heel and strolling to the doorway of the bathroom.

He slicked back the top of his hair with some water, before tossing on his hat and turning to you.

“Does it look alright?” He watched as you tilted your head at him, a grin playing slowly over your lips.

“You’re just missing that blonde streak.” You pouted, letting your finger glide down your cheek as if there were tears coming down.

He shook his head at you, failing to conceal his laughter as he switched the bathroom lights off.

“Come on, you gotta kick Woods’ ass.” He chorused, holding you gently by the shoulders, guiding you backwards out the door as you giggled excessively without letting up.

The New Day stayed in an en suite, a few floors above where you and Seth were. Xavier had already texted you the room number and shot you another one, letting you know you could come up early. A quick elevator ride, and you both were already there.

You knocked firmly, hearing some rustling and talking before the door opened up.

“Hey—oh!” Xavier paused, staring surprised, when he realized you weren’t alone.

Seth could tell he was holding back some slick comments, watching as his friend quickly regained his composure before you could notice anything odd about his demeanor.

“Come in you guys,” He said, stepping aside letting you walk in first, before smirking and widening his eyes towards Seth when he came in behind you.

“Knock it off.” Seth muttered, causing Xavier to chuckle quietly to himself and shut the door closed.

You looked around the room, which was a little more spacious than Seth’s, allowing them more room for the makeshift set up. It was impressive how they managed to make it look so put together, but you couldn’t be too surprised seeing as though they started with empty arena rooms that they brought to life themselves.

“You likey?” Kofi sing-songed, crossing his arms over his chest with a prideful smile.

“A lot. This is so fancy.” You said excitedly.

Big E flexed his muscles, nodding towards the camera that was set up on the tripod.

“Part time wrestlers and part time production crew.” He winked, making you laugh.

“I gotta get you guys on my crew.” You claimed, opening your arms with a smile to give him and Kofi a hug.

Xavier instructed you to take a seat in one of the chairs, checking the camera to make sure it was focused and everything was in frame. He handed you a wireless mic to attach onto your dress so that he could capture crisp audio while you both gamed, and then he went on to prep the Nintendo controllers.

You brushed some of your hair behind your shoulders, getting ready for the camera to roll.

“I don’t have any strawberries in my teeth, right?” You asked, running your tongue over your teeth before smiling wide.

Seth stepped forward, leaning in to get a good look before laughing and holding up a thumbs up. “All good.”

Big E was in charge of making sure the camera was still rolling, while Kofi got to ‘referee’ the game and Seth…he was there for moral support.

“Welcome to UpUpDownDown and today is a very special episode, because we are joined by the one and only princess of WWE.” Xavier gestured over to you with his arms in the air as the guys hooted in the background, making you giggle.

“Hi!” You waved, smiling at the camera as Xavier introduced you to the channel.

As the two of you picked your characters and modified your karts, Xavier asked you a few basic questions just so that the viewers could get to know a little bit about you before he got to the more exciting questions.

Seth sat behind the camera wearing an unwavering smile as he shot you encouraging looks when you would look past the camera lens from time to time, but he was sure you didn’t need it. You were a complete natural in front of the camera, and especially now that you weren’t live playing a character it gave you the chance to be you.

Then the race was on: you found it only fitting to pick Princess Peach and Xavier choose Yoshi. The track was selected by you after you won a game of rock, paper, scissors. Despite the two of you being laser focused on the race, you both managed to keep up the conversation as you went.

“So, growing up with Triple H as your dad, were there any intimidation tactics he used?” He wondered, cursing sharply under his breath when you hit him with a turtle shell to get into the lead.

“On me?” You suspected with a snort, shaking your head, “Never. I don’t think he ever wanted to come off as intimidating, at least not with my sisters and I.”

“Fair, fair, but what about dating? Bullies and stuff like that?” He added curiously.

You sucked in a deep breath mostly because your kart slid off the track.

“You know, I didn’t have many boyfriends, but the few I did have were pretty scared of my dad. They didn’t last very long with me because of it.” You confessed.

“Really, now?” He replied, surprised.

You nodded, attempting to catch up to him, “Yeah, I don’t know many people who would be crazy enough to date me knowing who my dad is.”

“I do.” Kofi hooted from behind the camera, prompting the boys’ eyes to shift towards Seth.

The room went quiet for a second, as Seth stared at all of them sharply, before Kofi continued.

“Probably a lot of people who are watching this video right now.”

You were too immersed in the game to notice what was happening. Celebrating to yourself when you managed to use your mushroom to speed up and pass Xavier who was too busy trying to hold in his laughter along with the boys who were cracking up behind the camera.

Suddenly, a ringing started to echo, prompting the boys to look around while you and Xavier kept your focus on the game.

“Who’s phone is that?!” Xavier screeched.

“Boss Lady.” Seth replied, looking at your screen that laid on the side table lighting up with an incoming phone call from Eddie.

“Pause!” you shrieked anxiously, not wanting to lose your place, and Xavier hit the button on his controller.

You got up, retrieving the phone from where Seth held it out to you.

“I’ll be back,” you spoke, quickly slipping out of the room for some privacy.

“Excuse us while we take a quick intermission. My opponent had to take a very important phone call,” Xavier cleared his throat, gesturing everyone to come into the frame with him.

“If you guys were wondering who’s we have here with us today, it’s none other than the current UpUpDownDown madden champion Seth Freakin’ Rollins, and of course my buddies, E and Kof,”

Seth took a seat in your vacant chair, waving towards the camera with a smirk.

“It’s a very exclusive fan club when it comes to the princess of WWE,” Kofi joked to the audience.

Big E, glanced over at Seth with raised eyebrows, “I don’t know. Do you qualify as a fan of hers?”

Seth puffed out a breath of air, getting into character as he grumbled.

“After what she said to me last week? Man, I’m here to watch her lose, but it turns out Woods’ isn’t as good as the princess after all.” He sucked in sharply, causing them to holler.

You paced the hotel hallway, hearing the clamor coming from inside the room in one ear as the other had your phone pressed up against it while Eddie apologized excessively. He had just woken up to your many messages and missed calls from the night prior and he was panicking, thinking you were still stranded in the last town.

“Eddie, I’m fine. I told you it’s not your fault,” you assured him with a light laugh. “I caught a ride with Seth and we got here just a little after midnight.”

Suddenly he withdrew his relentless apologies and the worry in his voice shifted to surprise.

“Wait—just you and Seth?”

You rolled your eyes, envisioning the look on his face, “Yeah, just me and Seth. Roman ended up riding with his cousins and Naomi.”

“I’ll save my interrogation questions for when we see each other in person.”

“Oh god no,” You shook your head not wanting him to make a big deal out of nothing.

“I’ll let you go, but I’ll forward you all the flight information after I get it done.” He assured you, knowing there was only a day before you’d be on the road again.

“Wait,” you interrupted before he could hang up, “Maybe hold off on that,” your voice a little wavering as you bit down on your lip.

“Why?”

“I uh, I can ask Seth if I can tag along with him for the rest of the week. I kinda like being on the road instead of all the flights.” You explained, trying not to sound too excited despite the fact that you really enjoyed traveling with Seth–even if you weren’t awake for most of it.

“Hmm okay sure,” He said a little teasing, making your cheeks heat up, “just let me know by tonight okay?”

You could tell he wanted to ask more. To get into the nitty-gritty details of what possibly you and Seth could be doing other than talking that could be so fun for you. But he held off, knowing he’d see you on Monday and you’d catch him up then.

“Okay, thanks, Eddie.” You ended the call and headed back inside.

“And she’s back,” Xavier clapped, seeing you walk in, closing the door softly behind you.

“Back to kick your ass,” you joked, shooing Seth out of your seat.

The boys “oh’d” as Seth held his hands up, rising out of the chair. He brushed his palm over the seat cushion for you, as if you were royalty, before extending his arm out for you to take so you could sit down with poise.

“Get out of here, Rollins, before she kicks your ass,” Xavier hooted, wagging a finger in the air.

You picked up your controller, handing off your phone to Seth as you nudged him away.

“Next episode it’s gonna be you versus me.” You declared, narrowing your eyes at him as he pointed at you ready for the challenged.

“Oh, you’re on Boss Lady.” He gloated, peeking his head around towards the camera as he stuck up his fist, before retreating behind it once more.

The video continued on for another half hour, finishing up each track as Xavier asked you more questions. You talked a little bit about your passion for writing and storytelling, and delved a little more into what life was like growing up surrounded by the business.

You ended up placing #1, jumping out of your seat as you shouted and celebrated. Kofi and E joined in, slinging their arms over your shoulders as the three of you hopped in excitement. Seth, standing behind the camera, grinned and discreetly held out his arm for a high-five, careful not to let it get caught on film.

As Xavier closed off the video and you waved goodbye to the viewers, telling them to stay tuned for more to come in the future. You stuck around a little longer, Xavier telling you about how long editing would take before it would be finally uploaded.

“Ready to go?” Seth asked, casually looking over at you.

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded, turning to give each of the guys a hug. “I had so much fun! Thanks for having me.”

“I’ll text you the link when I get it uploaded!” Xavier told you and you nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Seth exchanged handshakes with the guys. “Catch guys all later.”

“Stay out of trouble you two,” Kofi warned, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the both of you stroll towards the door.

You and Seth looked back and waved it off with a smile, heading out of their suite not realizing that they were beginning to notice just about how close you two were getting outside of work.

Strolling down the hallway, Seth pushed the button down for the elevator before turning towards you.

“Important plans for the day?”

You shook your head, sighing, “Actually no. I was just planning on wasting my day away in my hotel room.”

Really, you did plan on just checking into your actual room, and spend the day watching whatever was on the hotel channels and ordering an absurd amount of room service.

“We can’t have that.” Seth frowned as he shook his head disappointingly.

You looked over at him, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

The elevator doors opened, and you both stepped in.

“We could drive around the city? Sightsee? Maybe do some shopping?” He wiggled his brows, knowing you couldn’t waste a day like this on just staying in.

You bit down on your lip, smiling. “That sounds a lot more productive than what I had in mind.”

“Are you up for it?”

“Yeah, why not.”

You two headed back up to your his room, so you could grab your purse.

“Should I change my shoes?” You asked, walking through the door he held open for you.

He took a look at the kitten heels you had on.

“Nah, I think you’re fine. I’m not taking you to trek through mountains, don’t worry.” He joked, shutting the door behind him, and going to sit at the end of the bed as he waited around for you.

“Ha ha ha,” you grabbed a smaller, more casual purse out of your suitcase and transferred the necessities into it.

“I’m so excited. I always wanted to explore Chicago.” You bubbled, looking up at him where he sat and watched you.

“Lucky for you, I’m your guy,” He bragged, gesturing to himself.

“Where are we heading first?” You finally stood up, pulling your purse over your shoulder, nodding to him that you were ready to go.

He followed your lead, patting his pockets to make sure he had his phone, wallet, and room key. “It’s a surprise, but just in case, do you get seasick?”

“Nope.” you shook your head.

He grinned, “Great come on, we need better coffee.”

You sat in the passenger seat as Seth drove a little deeper into the city that way you guys could stroll through town instead of worrying about finding parking at every stop. Luckily for you both, Seth found a decently priced parking garage, leaving the car there.

You walked side by side on the pavement, Seth showing you to one of his favorite coffee spots in town that also had a lot of personality to it. It was a horror themed coffee cafe called The Brewed. You got excited when he told you about it on the walk there, pleased to not only get better quality coffee into your system but see an out of the ordinary shop that wasn’t the typical rustic theme.

“Welcome!” a friendly voice said from behind the counter, exchanging a smile with you and Seth as the bell chimed when you entered.

The floors were black and white, checkerboard style with lilac painted walls that were covered with horror movie posters. The shelves were also decked out with various VHS tapes of said films and other collectables. It really was the most eccentric coffee shop you had ever been in, and Seth, who had been many times before, found himself more intrigued by the way you took everything in.

He talked over the menu with you, deciphering what you’d like based on your taste. You didn’t like your coffee overly sweet, but then again you also didn’t like it as bitter as Seth did. Once you decided what you wanted, you ordered, quickly followed by Seth who then tapped his credit card against the reader before you could protest.

“I told you I would return the favor.” He reminded you, sliding his wallet into his pocket while you grinned faintly and walked off to the side, checking out the rest of the shop while you waited.

“You’re lucky I have bad reflexes.” You retorted, scanning the display cases full of horror memorabilia.

He choked out a laugh, joining you. “Your reflexes aren’t bad. I just couldn’t let you pay again.”

You couldn’t disagree with him, even if you wanted to. Seth was a gentleman inside and out, and he’d be damned if he didn’t go out of his way to repay you or make you feel as safe as he did. There was that selflessness about him that you appreciated and was beginning to become accustom to.

Soon your order was called, and you retrieved your drinks before taking a seat at the empty table in the back of the shop. He encouraged you to snap a few pictures before you dug in, making you giggle at how he let the camera eat before himself, but in his words ‘coffee is an exception’ and you couldn’t object there.

“How would you rate this one?” Seth proposed, sipping his drink slowly and keeping his eyes on you for a reaction.

You swished the iced cold drink around your mouth, smacking your lips together for extra effect causing Seth to chuckle.

“I would say, a good eight and a half out of ten,” You nodded, taking another sip through the straw, “It’s way better than catering coffee and hotel coffee combined.”

Seth agreed, breaking off a piece of the oatmeal cookie he got for the two of you to share, chucking it into his mouth.

“Hate to toot my own horn, but my cafe is gonna blow your socks off.” He dusted his fingers off, sitting back comfortably.

“Do you know when we’ll be in Iowa?” You rose your brow, going to break off a piece of your own.

“I think right after Connecticut. It’s gonna be back-to-back hometowns for us.” He pointed out, making you smile.

The mere thought of being home again in just a few short weeks was something you were looking forward to, but even more so getting to see the place where Seth grew up and his coffee shop that he took a lot of pride in. It was something that you noticed about him—the pride that he carried surrounding everything he did, from wrestling to sticking to his roots. You liked that about him, that he carried it not so much with ego, but like an extension of himself, wearing on his shoulder so freely.

You rubbed your lips together, crossing your legs under the table.

“I unfortunately do not own a coffee shop, but there’s this dive bar near my apartment and I think you’ll like it.” You proposed, hoping he’d be up for it.

He nodded without any hesitancy interested in your favorite spots in your hometown too.

“So it’s a deal. I’ll take you to 392 Davenport and you’ll take me to…”

“Spigots.” You clarified.

You hadn’t been to Spigots in a while, mostly because of your lack of reason to be there. You were, however, there a lot back in your college days, which weren’t all that long ago. The drinks were fairly cheap, not that it mattered, but it often felt lonely especially when your friends and couples alike would flood the place, and leave you wallowing in the corner, nursing a watered down drink. But you this time you wouldn’t be alone. Seth, your friend, would be joining you, and that would make it all worth it.

“I’m not much of a drinker, but I’m down for one good beer on a special occasion.” Seth revealed.

“Bad hangovers?” You suspected, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Hangovers are always crap, but I just was never was a big drinker, even when I was a teen and was supposed to like underage drinking.” He shook his head at himself, smiling at the memories of trying different drinks and spitting them out as his stupid friends made fun of him for it.

“But there was this one time, I was forced to get shitfaced.” He added.

“Forced?” You repeated half confused and concerned, “By who?”

“Some veteran guys when me and the boys came up to the main roster. They didn’t like us too much because we were young and taking up TV time, so we had to prove why we should’ve been hanging with the big dogs.” He said casually, as if it was no big deal.

You, on the other hand, looked rather disturbed, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, and leaning towards him.

“You should’ve told them to eff off, they’re so fragile in their masculinity.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, you were angry, an emotion Seth never saw on you, which sorta surprised him in a way—a good way, nonetheless. But he realized it was more of your protective nature coming out, even if it had been years since the incident took place. You just cared so much that you didn’t fathom the time that had passed, but stayed focus on the feelings he must have had experienced and how you wished he didn’t need to go through that just to fit in.

But back then, Seth didn’t know any better, and the last thing he or his friends needed was to be the rookie targets in the locker room and become potentially buried during matches when they didn’t want to put them over.

“And get our rookie asses kicked?” Seth rebutted lightly, causing you to sputter out a laugh realizing that’s exactly what would’ve happened.

You had heard about it, the ‘culture’ of the locker room back in the day. It was notorious for petty drama and even pettier reasons one would decide to leave the company. Perhaps it changed now that your dad was in charge, but you knew somewhere deep down that had it not been for your dad taking over, you wouldn’t have stepped foot anywhere near the company, and even if you did, that environment would have probably taken everything from you before you got to work with Seth.

Thankfully, time ran its course, and you had gotten so much more than you could have ever imagined…someone more, too.

“There’s a picture out there somewhere.” Seth waved off, hating how permanent the internet was, coming across the photo on his feed now and then.

You held your chin up on your fist, staring at him coolly, “Well, I’m glad you and your liver are alright.”

“Yeah, hopefully I make it out of Spigots alive.” He rubbed his stomach, shooting you a pointed look.

“Oh stop it, of course you will. I won’t leave without you and your liver intact.” You promised with a smile, watching as he looked pleased, sipping his drink.

After coffee, you and Seth strolled the streets, venturing through the different shops that ran up and down the avenue. There were a few stores the two of you had decided to walk into, doing some light window shopping and mostly snapping pictures of the unique things the city had to offer.

Somehow you two ended up walking further out of the main area where the shops were, heading down a back street where one side stood with houses and the other a large brick building. It appeared abandoned, until you and Seth crossed over, getting a closer look at the little sign posted up on the door.

“Beyond Grandma’s House.” You read aloud, puzzled as to what it could be.

Seth stopped for a moment, cupping his hands over his forehead as he squinted through the tinted glass windows.

“It’s an antique shop.”

“Oh!” you squealed, reaching for his arm and tugging him along. “Come on!”

He followed your lead into the store, which was more like a warehouse,d considering how much space there was to offer. It really didn’t have any set decor or theme. The donated items spoke for themselves and made the place come alive. It felt like walking into your grandmother’s basement that had absolutely anything and everything you could ever need.

“This is my heaven.” You buzzed, dropping his arm, and looking around the place that was filled with all things vintage.

An older lady towards the back of the store smiled warmly, greeting you both as you walked around the different sections attempting to take everything in.

“It’s pretty neat…and very dusty.” Seth picked up a photo album from one of the antique wooden tables, which half acted as shelves.

You stood next to him while he flipped through the tattered pages. Photo upon photo was exposed with no traces of whom it could belong to—just a nameless book that held so many memories, yet was at an antique shop being sold. You weren’t going to lie; it was decently priced for strangers’ photographs, but there was that feeling inside you that felt a little wrecked inside for the owners of the book.

“I always wonder how these things end up here. How could someone ever let these memories go?” You murmured wistfully, shaking your head at the continuous photos that came with every flipped page.

Seth passed, peering toward you with a frown that understood where you were coming from, “Probably just no family alive to claim it.” He answered.

“I hope someone finds it someday.” You added, nodding him along as he flipped through the rest of the pages where each picture told a story of its own.

“Awww, this one is so cute.” You pointed to a specific photo on the page, smiling at the scene.

It was a couple standing in the driveway looking snazzy as ever beside a vintage chevy.

“Prom. 1958.” Seth made out the muddled words written in the corner.

“Let me get a picture.” You pulled out your phone, instructing Seth to hold the album still so you could get a good shot.

It seemed as though the photo album was a collective time capsule for the couple in the pictures. Every little memory, such as the purchase of their first home and the welcoming of their children was captured and sealed behind the plastic sheets of the book. It didn’t feel right to take home and make yours no matter how vintage and special it was–you’d hope that some way a stranger would stumble in and return it back to someone, perhaps a great-grandchild who would appreciate the memories of their grandparents.

Eventually, Seth placed the book down, encouraging you to explore the other things the store had to offer. With little to no room in your luggage, you decided to skip over the clothing section not wanting to tempt yourself, so instead you went over to the knick knacks.

You were like a kid in a candy store, and it was an endearing sight to see. Excitedly, you picked up little trinkets, inspecting them closely before pointing out all the details he would have never thought to pay any mind to until you spoke it. The real gold trim on vintage dinner plates, intricate cross stitch patterns slowly fading away in color, and the hidden inscribed initials underneath decorative pots.

He was sure you could spend hours running around the place, talking about every single thing, and he’d listen to every word you had to say. You were talkative when it came to things you were passionate about, just like any other person would be, but Seth found your version to be his favorite. Whether it was vintage items or your writing, he loved hearing you talk about things you cared deeply about. He didn’t know why, he just did.

“Look,” He spotted a section of the store you hadn’t been to yet, pointing to the coat rack used to display vintage cameras.

“No way!” You gasped, making a beeline towards it, as Seth smiled and trailed behind to catch up before you were already picking up one of them to see.

He watched you, carefully sifting through the different types, inspecting the machinery to make sure they weren’t damaged before squinting as you looked through the blurry viewfinder.

“You gotta buy one.” Seth crossed his arms over his chest, staring right back at you through the cloudy lens with a smile on his face.

You lowered the camera, looking at him apprehensively before picking up a different model that had a floral neck strap attached to it.

“You think so?”

He made a sound, nodding his head. “It’s your first time in Chicago and you’ve been wanting one for a while now. It’s the perfect way to commemorate it, if you ask me.”

You did the same thing to the camera, wiping the lens with the fabric of your dress and making sure there was no damage before letting your shoulders fall.

“Okay, I’m convinced.” You grinned, settling on the one in your hands.

You two looked around for a couple more minutes before finally going up to the cash register located at the back of the store. The same older woman who greeted you was there, tidying up behind the counter before she assisted you.

She kindly offered to check out the item herself, wanting to make sure nothing was broken before you purchased it and you happily obliged, letting her wipe down the camera with a clean cloth and check the components.

“How did this place get its name?” You marveled, looking around at the area.

“My grandchildren, funnily enough.” The lady replied warmly with a small laugh.

“No kidding?” Seth spoke, intrigued.

She nodded full of pride, wearing a smile.

“I was a bit of a hoarder back in my day, and my grandchildren told me I oughta have better luck selling things and making some profit, so I said why not? My husband and I opened this store up and I get to collect these beautiful things, but watch them get another life somewhere else.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said softly, placing a hand over your heart.

“I’m a very lucky gal, and you are too, because this camera is in pristine condition.” She revealed as you squealed and clapped your hands together.

“Awesome! You don’t happen to sell any film here either, do you?” You asked, not getting your hopes up too much since it was just an antique shop.

But to your surprise she nodded, walking a short distance to a set of drawers she pulled open. “We sure do. I can get it loaded up for you if you want?” She offered.

You nodded thankfully. “That’d be perfect, and could you show me how?”

She let you come around the counter, instructing you on how to properly load the camera up and get the most out of your film.

Seth leaned against the counter, watching as you followed her instructions carefully, nodding along as she pointed out all the different parts of the camera and how they worked.

“How long does it usually take to get the pictures developed?” He piped in.

The woman looked up, tilting her head from side to side as she pursed her lips, “It depends on the store, but usually for this kind of film it’s two weeks. Are you guys from here?” She asked, probably about to suggest a local photo lab nearby.

“No.” You both replied, shaking your head.

Seth gestured to himself, keeping up the conversation as you loaded in the film roll.

“I’ve visited a few times before, but it’s her first time.” He pointed out.

“Well, you have to make sure the pretty lady sees all the prettiest spots in town.” The lady winked, placing a warm hand over his on the counter, as you were busy away trying not to mess up.

Seth nodded assuringly, patting her hand. “Oh, I intend to, don’t worry.”

You blushed hard from your spot behind the counter, fingers nimbly shutting the door of the film compartment, trying to seem as if you didn’t hear what Seth said. You walked back around, standing next to him as you paid and stayed a little while for small talk with the woman before saying your goodbyes.

She hoped you both would come by again sometime soon to catch up, and you both promised her you would the second you’d be back in town.

“You love birds, take care.” She waved, watching as you two walked on.

Your eyes met Seth’s comically, trying not to laugh as you both didn’t bother correcting her and just returned the wave before exiting the shop.

You moved your hair out of the way, slinging the camera around your neck as you looked around.

You pointed to a fence covered with a slew of flowers growing over it. “Go stand over there.”

Seth stared at you puzzled, eyes skimming to the camera laying against your chest.

“I’m your first shot?”

You nodded with a smile, gesturing to follow you to where you wanted him to be.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, debating on whether you wanted to use your limited film on him of all people.

You looked over your shoulder, sighing as you nodded.

“You’re the perfect subject.” You assured him, eyes dancing over his biceps, a smirk fitting onto your lips playfully.

“I feel objectified.” He feigned stung, before smiling and situating himself where you wanted him to stand.

You took a few steps back, picking up your camera and peeking through the viewfinder to make sure he was in the frame.

“Great, now pretend I’m not even here, and appreciate the flowers.” You spoke, trying to hold back your laughter at his attempt to look as candid as possible.

He fidgeted awkwardly with his hands, looking at the flowers as if they were his mortal enemy—so much for being an actor.

“Hey! Are you making fun of me?” He called out, finally relaxing a little, easing up on his hands and looking offside instead.

You quickly snapped the picture, catching him in a natural state, knowing it would be the perfect shot.

“I totally wasn’t.” You replied, standing up straight and walking towards him.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “I bet I look stupid.”

“No, you don’t,” You poked his side.

“You look like a local Chicagoan who should be showing me around all the prettiest spots.” Staring up at him merrily, wanting to know what else he had up his sleeve for you.

“Come on,” He held his arm out for you to take, “We’re almost to the best part.”

You smiled from ear to ear, hooking your arm in his as you let him lead the way back to the main part of the avenue where you originally started.

“Are you going to give me a hint?” You glanced over at him, pouting as he shook his head.

“Then that would totally spoil the surprise.” He said ridiculously.

“No, it wouldn’t,” you reasoned, lightly leaning into him, “I promise I’ll still be amazed.”

He looked at you skeptically before shaking his head. “I’m still not spoiling it for you.”

“Booo!”

“I’ll tell you what though, it’s going to be beautiful, so try not to use up all your film beforehand.” He warned, straightening out the strap over your shoulder that was slightly twisted.

“I can do with beautiful.” You beamed, relaxing into his side.

“Soon, but we’ve got some time to spare before that.”

You two stumbled upon an Art Alley, deciding to kill time there to check out the vivid murals and graffiti that covered the walls. You were careful with the photos you took on your new camera, deciding on three of your favorite pieces of arts you wanted to capture.

Seth took one of you posing in front of the iconic “Welcome To Chicago” sign and then you took one of him kneeling in front of the dragon mural, acting as if it was breathing fire on him. The last photo was just the art itself: two hands clinking drinks, a woman with a glass of wine and a man with a beer.

Before you knew it, Seth was leading you back to the car and patiently you sat in the passenger seat, wondering what he had planned up his sleeve.

He wasn’t kidding when he said it was going to be beautiful…it was damn near breathtaking.

Your hair rustled in the wind, a slight breeze blowing through the open waters where the boat waded through the lake at a leisurely pace. Seth made sure to get you guys a decent spot near the bow, wanting you to have the best view for your first time in Chicago and your photos.

But you were doing everything but that.

In fact, you were dead silent, eyes busy on the scene in front of you with a smile glued to your face just as you had been in the antique shop hours prior. It was cute, in a lot of ways, in the fact that you were a simple girl who didn’t need anything extravagant to be woo’d in the way you were right then and there.

Seth was sure he could’ve taken you to a mediocre bus tour and you would’ve been just as impressed, but he was glad he went the extra mile for you because you deserved it.

“You haven’t even snapped any photos yet.” Seth finally spoke up, letting his fingers skim against yours that held on tight to the railing beside his.

You tore your eyes away from the skyline, letting your shoulders fall with an awestruck expression.

“It’s just so pretty out here. I don’t want to miss a thing.” You breathed in, shaking your head in amazement.

The sun hadn’t fully set yet, but purples and pinks danced with the clouds, appearing as an ethereal backdrop to the city’s skyscrapers. You had already been over the moon happy when you realized Seth was taking you on a boat tour of the city, but nothing could have prepared you for how scenic it would be.

“It’s way different from the movies, right?” He shifted his eyes around, trying to take in the view he had seen a handful of times already instead of watching you, like he had been doing for most of the day.

You hummed, nodding. “Very. The movies make it seem so hectic, but it’s surprisingly calm.”

“Dang it, I was totally hoping to recreate Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” He groaned, snapping his fingers.

You giggled, tilting your head onto his shoulder while you laughed and shook your head at him.

“Our version was a bit more laid back, and we didn’t wreck a car…not yet at least.” You whispered, looking up toward his past your lashes where he shook his head and turned his attention to the view.

“I’m guessing this is going down as the best part of today?” He speculated.

“This and the antique store.” You added, and he hummed in agreement, happy to know you were able to experience it with the little time frame you all had there.

Slowly but surely, the sun began making its way down, setting on the horizon. You figured it was the perfect time to capture a few pictures. Noticing a woman and her husband snapping selfies together, you tapped her on the shoulder, offering to take some standing pictures of them before she offered to take some for you in exchange.

“Thanks! Could you take one on this camera and a few on my phone?” You asked, slipping off the camera around your neck, to her it along with your phone.

Walking backwards, you caught Seth sliding a few feet away, causing you to furrow your brows and shake your head.

“No, come on, get in the picture.” You insisted, gesturing to him to take his place back beside you, not wanting to leave him out.

And of course, he did so, but not without question.

“You sure you don’t want a solo shot?” He raised his brow, slinging his arms around your back comfortably.

You fixed your hair over your shoulder, smiling as you nodded.

“I wouldn’t be here without you.” You explained softly, letting yourself relax in his hold, not minding at all the lack of space between you.

It was enough assurance to make him grin, feeling your arm wrap around his side and looking towards the camera, smiling widely. The woman encouraged some silly photos, causing you two to laugh, happy to have an assortment to look back on.

She put down your phone, switching to the film camera.

“How about a kiss?” She happily suggested.

You could feel his hand stall around your waist for a brief moment, clearing his throat and stuttering out an answer that never came. He looked at you, wondering how to navigate the situation, despite clearly being able to flat out tell the lady you were just friends…but neither of you did that.

It would be too easy and for whatever reason it was you and Seth didn’t like correcting people who assumed you were a couple, apparently.

“What if I kiss your cheek?” You glanced at him, waiting for permission, hoping he wouldn’t find it weird.

It was going to open up a can of worms, and the two of you were smart enough to know it, but that kind of worrisome feeling didn’t cross either of your minds.

“Yeah, that works.” He agreed, bending his knees a tad to make it easier for you to reach the distance.

You pushed yourself up on your tip-toes, pressing your lips softly against this cheek, brushing over the stubble of his beard just ever so lightly. He smiled wider the second your lips made contact with his skin, probably looking like a lovesick idiot, but he didn’t care whatsoever.

It felt right despite the novelty of your touch. A different one compared to your fingers brushed against each other or the simple action of a hug. There was an ache in his bones, the feeling of already missing you despite still having your lips glued to his skin, knowing it wouldn’t last forever.

“Adorable.” She said from behind the camera, “Now you.” She directed, pointing for Seth to do the same.

Pulling away felt like a burn. You apologized and giggled all in the same breath, reaching your thumb up as you noticed your lip gloss had transferred over.

“No worries,” Seth reassured you, bending down a little more so you could clean his cheek the best you could.

“All better.” You sing-songed, giving his cheek a soft tap.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes dancing over your cheek before meeting your eyes. “Can I?’

You nodded with a smile, “Yes.”

You turned away from him, giving him easy access to mirror your actions, hoping to god he couldn’t feel your skin burning beneath his touch.

His lips came down a little firmer than yours did, arms pulling you closer into him, so much so that he took you off your feet for a brief second. The action alone made your heart skip a beat, uncontrollable giggles exiting your mouth as you closed your eyes and felt like you were floating.

It was too good to be true, and you realized that the second he pulled away and left you falling back down like it was nothing. You snapped out of it, shaking your head and keeping the smile plastered onto your face despite wanting to tell him to make it happen–to make it real already.

“Thank you so much!” You bubbled appreciatively, allowing her to hand you back your things.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy Chicago!” She gave you both a warm smile, her husband waving to you both, as they returned to their spot on the boat as the tour began to finish up.

“I have to get these developed as soon as I get home.” You said, draping the camera back around your neck, biting back all the things you really wanted to say to him.

“Send me a copy will you?” He proposed, letting his arms stay slung over your shoulders.

“Mhm,” you hummed, grabbing hold of his wrist gingerly, “And I swear, the internet won’t see this one.”

“I appreciate it.”

The car ride back to the hotel took a little longer than expected with peak hour traffic happening, but it wasn’t anything your voices could fill. There was laughter and aweing as you scrolled through the photos on your phone and Seth was already planning the next adventures you two would take when you were back in the city.

But like all good things, it had to end.

When you arrived back at the hotel, you finally got checked in, retrieving your room key from the same front-desk attendant who had checked Seth in the night before. She still wore that confused look when he stood beside you, waiting patiently as you smiled sweetly, thanking her.

Seth brought you up to his room so that you could retrieve your things, yet he didn’t want you to leave. He watched from the foot of the bed as you packed your belongings up, wondering if he should speak up to make you stay.

It was wrong to even think about making you stay in a way that would end up with you finding out he felt more than just friendship for you. You had spent so much time together that, of course the feelings would develop eventually, but he just didn’t think it would ever come down to this.

He had spent so much time preaching to his friends that you two were just friends. That you were the forbidden fruit he could never even think about having despite not giving a shit about the rules. If him saying something were to ruin everything, then it would’ve been his biggest regret, and he couldn’t ruin this…not you.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure I got everything.” You huffed, breaking him out of his thoughts as you zipped your suitcase shut and stood it upright.

He blinked quickly, rising from where he sat. “Did you want me to walk you up?”

‘Way to go for not being clingy,’ Seth mentally cursed himself.

You were on the 22nd floor, a suite and a few minute elevator ride up from where he was staying. It wouldn’t have been much of a hassle for him, but he had already done so much for you—the least you could do was get yourself up to your room without his help, even if it was just to steal a few more moments with him. That could wait.

Plus, the last thing you needed was to become too attached to him, but that ship had already sailed. You knew it.

“I think I’m okay.” you shook your head, walking towards the door, glancing over your shoulder where he was trailing behind. “But thank you.”

He nodded understandingly, not wanting to insist though he really wanted to. You stopped, not leaving just yet as you stood there face to face with him.

“And thank you again for today. I had so much fun.” You smiled affectionately, eyes meeting his and holding him there with you.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, shoulders shrugging lightly, “I’m glad I got to take you around. It was fun being your tour guide.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” You suggested hopefully, hating how gummy you were getting inside.

“Yeah, for sure. It’d be fun.”

You suddenly remembered your promise to Eddie about the travel arrangements. You should’ve ended it there, saying your goodbye to Seth and heading back to your hotel room to tell Eddie to book your flights for the remainder of the week. You needed to put space between you and him, or else you’d end up with a dilemma on your hands.

But you didn’t.

“Oh, and before I go, I just wanted to ask you something, and don’t feel pressured into saying yes, alright?” You bit down on your lip, cautioning him.

“Hit me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Is it okay if I travel with you for the rest of the week? I just really like being on the road as opposed to always flying, and I figured I travel with you because Roman is with his cousins, but you can totally tell me if you don’t–”

“Woah, slow down,” He cut you off, bringing his hands up to grasp your arms gently, “Of course you can travel with me. Remember, I said you’d be my best road partner?”

You were fucked.

You took a deep breath nodding with a relieved look. “Thank you, again.”

He nodded, letting his arms fall from your skin. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

“Yeah,” You agreed without thinking twice, “Tomorrow.” you promised, taking a deep breath as you went for the door, letting yourself out.

He shut the door as you walked away towards the elevators, cursing under his breath as he tossed his hat off and closed his eyes tightly. There was no reason at all for him to even think about opening his mouth and messing it all up–it was for the better. He’d just have to swallow his feelings, bury them deep inside, and hope it would die.

He couldn’t have you.

The doors slid open, revealing Kofi, Big, E, and Xavier on the other side.

“Hey,” you greeted, thanking them with a nod as they made space for you.

“Are you going up?” Big E questioned, wondering why you had your bags on a random floor.

“Yeah, 22 please.” You nodded, noticing the confused looks on their faces, “I–I um, got the wrong floor by accident.” You lied, hoping they wouldn’t suspect anything else.

Thankfully they just nodded, Kofi clicking the button for you, as the ride up was filled with comfortable silence until it stopped on your floor. Seriously, you didn’t need to lie, but you figured it would save both yours and Seth’s ass if they hadn’t known you stayed with him last night. Roman and practically his entire family already knew, and the last thing you wanted was for it to get out of proportion.

Finally, the lift stopped on your floor, and you waved goodnight to them, heading to find your room to get settled for the night. Switching on the lights, you locked the door behind you, setting your things down and digging for your cell phone, only to find it dead upon a click.

“Fuck me,” you cursed, going through your purse to find your charger.

Seth had been pacing his room for a good two minutes, the kind of anxiousness that hadn’t loomed over him in so long that he forgot how to act for a moment. That is until he noticed the white cord hanging off the bedside table where he plugged your phone the night prior.

He shouldn’t have done…he knew that if he went up to your room, he’d crack open the can of worms and ruin it all by saying something stupid.

Fuck it.

He plucked it out of the outlet, not caring to check if you had left anything else as he exited his room and headed straight for the elevator. His foot tapped against the carpeted floors, pushing the button incessantly, until it finally opened.

“Oh..hey.” He cleared his throat, noticing his three buddies.

Xavier groaned, pointing down, “Dude this thing is going down, please tell me you’re going down.” He sighed, their second attempt at going down to the lobby being halted.

“Sorry. It’ll be quick I swear,” Seth apologized, fingers pressing the 22nd button, catching all of their attention.

“Wait, where are you going?” Big E raised his brow suspiciously.

Seth shrugged, lifting the charger up to show them, “Roman left his charger with me. He let me borrow it earlier at the gym, but I forgot to return it.”

He turned away, facing the doors tapping his foot impatiently while the three friends exchanged skeptical glances. But before they could question him, the door suddenly opened, and he was out of there like air.

Walking down the halls, he recalled your room number. 2205

“Twenty two, twenty-two, twenty–finally.” He stopped, taking a deep breath in front of your door.

His first came down firmly, knocking three times.

You furrowed your brows, looking where the sound was coming from as you were on the ground, sifting through your luggage still trying to find the cord. Crossing the distance towards the door, you looked through the peephole, surprised at who was standing on the other side.

Your heart felt like it was racing out of your chest, hitting the pavement and opening the door wide before you could even fathom what you expected was going to come out of his mouth.

“Seth–”

“You forgot this,” He blurted, sticking his hand out between your bodies, holding out the item for you to take.

“Oh…” You spoke half surprised, hesitating for a moment before taking it, “T-thanks, my phone literally just died.” You laughed awkwardly, cursing yourself for how weird you were being.

He scratched his neck, nodding along. “Yeah, I uh, just found it and figured a dead phone would really be the last thing you needed to deal with.”

“Lucky me.” You replied, causing you both to laugh, but with a kind of restraint that felt painfully awkward.

He was hesitating, borderline regretting even making his way up there to you because of how pitiful he must have looked.

“I should probably go…” He started.

“Yeah…wait no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You backpedaled embarrassingly, shaking your head with widening eyes, “I just meant like, you’re probably tired so you should go get some rest.”

“No, I know what you meant.” He laughed, reassuring you, the anxiety slowly leaving his bones.

You breathed out a weak laugh, thankful he wasn’t misinterpreting you though you wished he was in front of you for a different reason other than a stupid forgotten charger.

“I’ll uh, let you go now,” you spoke softly, tapping your fingers on the door.

“Yeah, okay,” He nodded, giving you a small smile before turning on his heel.

You frowned, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you went to close the door, hating yourself for thinking anything more was going to happen. He was just a friend, and that’s all he could ever be to you.

He had only walked a short distance before his footsteps stalled, fists clenching and unclenching wondering if he should do it.

“Damnit,” His voice called out, loud enough for you to hear before the door shut fully, “Hold on.”

You pushed against it, sticking your head out as you watched him march back towards you. The look on your face held restraint and you could feel it–the same kind you had twisting in your stomach.

“I like you okay? I know it’s wrong and screw me if I’m messing this crap up, but I had to say it or else it’s going to eat me alive–”

The charger slipped out of your hands, thudding to the ground. Your fingertips reached out and clutched his face gently, bringing him closer to you. Inches left between you turned into nothing when your lips crashed onto his, moving desperately so whilst he caught up with you, hands grasping around your frame.

It was needy, heavy, and delicate wrapped up in one feeling. A kiss that starved off whatever gut wrenching conflict you had stirring inside you. You didn’t know who needed it more, you or Seth, but in the ways in which you two were kissing each other like your lives depended on it, you’d assume it was equally necessary.

You were all-consuming, stealing his breath away, until for his own sake he had to pull away, catching his breath as he rested his forehead against yours, not daring to strip himself from you completely.

“I think you can tell I feel the same.” You panted, searching his eyes that burned through you.

“Yeah,” He nodded, lips brushing against yours and he spoke, “Yeah, I’m about positive now.”

You bit down on your lip, shrugging your shoulders behind you. “How about coming inside?”

“A thousand percent positive about that.” He said without skipping a beat, connecting your lips once again as you threaded your arms around his neck, letting him walk you backwards into the room and kicking the door shut.

The elevator doors opened, finally stopping at the lobby level where the three men were headed out to grab some food for the night. Surprisingly enough, there stood Dean and Roman, waiting for a ride.

“Sup,” Roman and Dean greeted them with a handshake before entering the elevator as the other three exited.

“You weren’t just in your room?” Kofi rose his brow towards Roman who shook his head.

“Nah, we just got back from dinner,” He replied looking over at Dean who lifted a bag of takeout he got for Renee.

“Why?” Dean questioned suspiciously.

Xavier stuck his hand in the doorway, preventing it from closing. “You staying on the 22nd floor?”

Roman shook his head. “No, I’m on the fifteenth.”

“And what about you?” Xavier spoke, looking at Dean wondering if Seth confused him for Roman.

“I’m on the tenth. What the hell is going on?” He asked, beginning to hate the mystery around whatever it was they were talking about.

“Oh shit,” the three said in unison, eyes going wide as they slapped each other on the arm and chest.

Roman grunted, “What? Come on, man, spit it out.”

No words were spoken, as the three men just looked at them. Their eyes holding that same knowing look which could only mean one thing.

“Oh, shit.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: holy shit...yeah...holy shit! it took me forever to try to come up with the perfect kiss scene because i know it couldn't be *simple* thank you for sticking around if you made it this far and i can't wait for you to read next chapter <3

taglist: @ellesmythe @wonderharryy @southerngirl41 @eringobragh420

34 notes · View notes

hh0320 · 2 years ago

Text

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

561 notes · View notes

scribiel · 8 months ago

Text

thank you is also a form of saying i love you

Jujutsu Kaisen! Suguru Geto x fem! reader tags: Suguru Geto x fem! reader, fluff, established relationship, mentions of insecurities (suguru's feeling a little insecure), written in first person (reader's) point of view

Suguru, when you told me, “I have flaws, it’s weird you know … to know that you are okay with that.”

I stopped folding my laundry and took a look at you. “We are human, Suguru. There’s no way we can be an all rounder, no sharp edges kind of thing, Suguru.”

You laughed; I heard the bitterness in the air. “I know, Love. But you understand that sometimes, even if it’s not possible, we want to be perfect for our loved ones?”

I nodded. “I understand, Suguru”—I looked up at the ceiling—”I remember you really loved the mirrorball at our senior prom.”

You answered, “I do recall.”

I shifted my gaze at you. “You said it was so beautiful.”

“I did. Indeed.”

“Mirrorball is a sphere-like object. It’s almost a round thing, but almost. It’s not smooth; it has sharp edges, but it’s beautiful. Whatever it reflects, it’s beautiful. It may not be a perfect thing, but to its surroundings, it’s beautiful.”

You stopped for a while, eyes widened a little, and then a chuckle slipped out and heard in the air. “You remember I love mirrorball. That’s so very sweet.”

And then, there was a wave of delightness washed over me. You smiled as you added, “I only love the mirrorball and thought it was pretty because I saw you in that dress, under the flashy light of mirrorball. You were looking for me. It was beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Suddenly, I felt like the air had escaped my lungs, I choked on my own saliva. Funny. But it caught me off guard. Oh Suguru, now you must know that. I can associate you with many beautiful things to ever exist on earth, but none of them can actually represent and match the beauty you bear; soul, physical, and mind.

Maybe because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but let me tell you something: that you are pretty like sunset. Not the bright sunset, but the soft orange that comes along with gray clouds. And I am only the surface of the sea; for what all I am, is only able to reflect the magnificent view of yours.

You and loving you feel so phenomenal.

Like the rain on a summer day; raindrops under the beaming golden sun. It’s captivating. And when with you, I never not want to dance in the rain. Spinning in my best dress. And later, the golden sunray is scattered from the raindrops, and then comes many colors. Rainbow. Sometimes more; it’s so colorful, that whenever I shift my gaze, the colors are there. All of them at once. Iridescent.

Like seeing roses bloom upon the cold white snow. It’s so distinct that no one on earth can question what lies before their eyes. No one on earth will question the love I have for you.

You were born in February, you are the beginning to the ending of the cold, harsh, and ruthless winter. You bring spring into my life. Melting my frozen heart. You are the beginning of spring. Then, as the ice melts, you can hear the river flowing; you can walk with a light coat with flowers and greens before your eyes; you can feel something so close to home, and then all you know is you are home.

Although I have put you on a pedestal, you put me on something higher, perhaps you put a present on my altar, perhaps you think of me as something so deity when you say, “But you are more beautiful. No, let me correct that”—you make your way to me, putting your arms around my body; making me feel so many things, but the only thing that comes up in my head is home, because I am home, somewhere safe and sound—”you are the most beautiful thing. And I could never thank you enough. So, Love, thank you.”

I kiss your cheek gently, then whisper into your ear, “I love you too.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #Suguru geto #geto suguru #geto fluff #just loving suguru #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #fluff

77 notes · View notes

liz-allyn · 2 years ago

Text

sugar and vice, pt 4 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Honey wakes up to a new life.

words: 5.8 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. drugging. threats of violence. coersion. kidnapping. traumatic flashbacks. violence. blood. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if your parents aren't harboring a several hundred dollars-worth stash of beanie babies that are worth maybe $1 today, then this is not your jam.

Back to Part 3

Part 4

When her eyes cracked open, she was staring at a chandelier made from antlers. She blinked several times, noticing that the ceiling was different from any of Peter’s other rooms. She was gazing up at a vaulted A-frame ceiling with exposed redwood beams. The peak of the frame opened to a glass wall where sunkissed blue-green needles of giant Eastern white pine trees billowed.

She groggily sat upright, realizing she was nowhere near the familiar Boroughs of the city. Her limbs felt heavy. Once again, she was alone and buried in another heavenly-soft bed. She was in a bedroom, but it featured no personal touches. It could’ve been a hotel room, or a vacation rental.

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and her bare feet touched the floor. She shuddered at how warm it was. Heated floors. A very, very expensive vacation rental.

Rubbing her dry eyes, she made her way to a closed door. It opened to a loft balcony, which overlooked the living room of a massive, two-story modern cabin. She gawked at the floor-to-ceiling windows, her breath catching in her throat at the splash of greens, yellows, and oranges from the trees lining the house. Beyond the thick treeline, she could see the smoky blue haze of a mountain range in the distance.

She stood dumbstruck, like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house.

Not in Queens anymore, was all she could think.

“You’re awake,” his voice echoed from the lower level.

She glanced down at Peter, hands in his jean pockets, wearing a thick cable-knit sweater. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, one that made her fret over the state of her bedhead. She felt ridiculous up on the balcony, like someone would start the monologue from Romeo and Juliet.

She bit her lip, pulling her eyes away. No good could come from seeing him as a Romeo. Even if he easily looked the part.

“So...” she began awkwardly, her cheeks flushed by his gaze. “Are we at Disney World or something? Did we check into the Wilderness Lodge?” She studied the rustic-meets-mid-century modern furnishings, idly rubbing the lace sleeves of her blouse. Her leather jacket had been removed and she honestly didn’t know how she felt about that.

“Sorry, Honey,” he said with a soft laugh that made her stomach weak. “No Mouse here. No gators either.”

Her cheeks pinched into a smile, before she remembered how she got there. The previous day’s events— Had it only been a day? How long was she out?— hit her like a truck. Her grin faded as she recalled her kidnapping. Her abduction. Her shameful, subservient soak in a stranger’s bathtub, followed by a dreary, restless slumber in his sheets. She’d been fed and given a good wash, like a stray dog. Dressed in clothes she could never afford. And had been drugged and taken to—

“Where are we?” she sharply questioned, anxiety chilling her tone.

Whatever smile Peter wore faded. “Not in Orlando,” he bit off.

He turned his back to her and crossed the enormous but cozy living room. Returning to his previous task, he crouched down in front of a soapstone, wood-burning stove in the corner of the room. He pulled the logs loose from a small bundle of firewood, and began loading it into the stove’s iron frame.

Frustrated, she huffed, glaring at the back of his head. Wondering what she was supposed to do.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Wherever here is?”

“Well, I’m building a fire,” he gave a haughty reply. “I’ve already tested the fuses, turned everything on, unpacked, changed clothes, and made coffee in the kitchen.”

“So you do know how to make it,” she muttered under her breath, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. It was quiet enough that there was no way he could’ve heard it.

“Lemme know if you want a taste,” he coyly replied, and it made her question whether or not he had.

He hadn’t looked at her when he said it, and she was grateful because the innuendo was making her stomach flip. “I’m good.” She cursed the fact that her voice sounded more like a squeak.

“Well, since you’re wide awake,” he countered, in a teasing way that sounded too much like flirting. “Lemme show you ‘round the house.” He came to a stand, brushing the dirt and wood fibers from his hands. She found herself staring at the way his large palms glided across one another.

It triggered the memory of those hands on her waist as he helped her into the bathtub. As he dressed her wounds. As he cradled her in his arms as he carried her away from her captors. As he cupped her face, wiping away tears, shielding her from the sight of a bloodied man who likely was dead because of her.

A chill went down her spine, her arms hugging herself tighter. “Maybe later,” she frowned, tucking her chin to her chest.

Silence settled for several seconds before she peeked at him from beneath her downturned brows.

He considered her with pursed lips, silently observing. He shoved his hands back in his pockets. She bit her lip, and for a moment, she expected to hear another thinly-veiled insistence.

“Okay,” was his calm reply. It surprised her. “But do me a favor instead. Go put on some hiking boots.”

“Hiking boots? I don’t have any—”

“They’re in the closet of the room you were in,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Grab a coat too. Meet me in the kitchen in five.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strolled away. Once again, she had no room to protest.

When she opened the closet door in the room she assumed was ‘hers,’ she found a decent, walk-in space with rows of clothes hung up. She found a pair of leather hiking boots that looked brand new, in a cubby space next to 18 pairs of other shoes for a variety of occasions and seasons.

Curiously, she checked the size. She was surprised to find that whoever she was borrowing these from had similarly small feet. Looking up, she spotted a lightweight puff jacket— Patagonia, of course— hanging up among the other articles of clothing. With a sigh, she pulled down the coat and checked the size. Another lucky match. She felt odd putting on someone else’s clothes. An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind— how many women had Peter brought to this cabin?

It was a thought she didn’t like.

When she traveled downstairs, fully dressed, she found the kitchen. She could tell he had a particular style, not too far removed from the one in the penthouse she’d observed earlier. A Scandinavian take on rustic. Immaculately organized open shelving. Spotless stainless steel.

Curiously, she opened the fridge. There were a few groceries. Eggs, milk, sliced cheese, lunchmeat, orange and apple juice. It was a lot of empty space save for a few basic condiments in the door. Mustard that had exceeded its “best by” date by several months.

The more she studied the kitchen and its contents, the more information she gathered about the man currently occupying it.

An extravagant house in the mountains with breathtaking views. A kitchen worthy of Thanksgiving Dinner and every holiday celebration of the year.

Barren. Untouched. Lonely.

A few minutes later, Peter approached with the handle of a small cooler in his grip. A backpack thrown over his shoulder. She curled a brow at him.

“Sure you don’t want any coffee before we go?” he asked. “I’ve got a tumbler if you wanna take it to go.”

“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged his shoulders, a half-smile on his face. To her astonishment, he seemed...excited? Like a teenager going on a camping trip.

“Hiking,” he shrugged, like he was keeping a surprise.

She stared at him like he had grown an extra arm.

“You’ll get a chance to break those in,” Peter added, pointing at her shoes. “‘Sides, it’ll be fun.” He reached into his backpack, inspecting the contents, mentally going through a silent checklist. She hadn’t moved a muscle when he looked back up at her.

“We outta get goin,’” he explained, disagreeing with her lack of hustle. “Sun’ll set in a few hours.”

She stared. Unnerved. Swallowed hard. She picked up her boot slowly, as if it was lined with concrete.

He started shuffling towards the door, before pausing and turning back to her. “Oh, one more thing,” he added. He locked eyes with her, smile never fading. “Lose the knife.”

She blinked. Her heart skipped. He watched her, eyes piercing like a hawk.

“Y’know,” he nodded nonchalantly, “the one you took from the butcher’s block?”

Her pulse started racing as she gazed blankly at him, rendered motionless. He jerked his head towards the butcher’s block on the counter, acknowledging that he noticed one of the knives was missing.

With wide guilty eyes, she glanced at the block, then back at him.

“Go on. Put it back.”

She felt like he was staring at her forever. Every second that passed, his eyes got darker. More challenging. More dangerous.

Eyes on the ground, she crept slowly back to the block on the counter. Pulling up her shirt, she retrieved the 8-inch steel butcher’s knife tucked in the waist of her jeans. She slid it back in its proper place, then turned towards him. Trepidatiously, she lifted her eyes off the ground. Peeking up at him, afraid of his wrath.

What she found was his eyes locked on her, a satisfied little smirk on his lips. He gazed at her with an expression that was either affectionate or amused. Either way, he made it clear that she was practically powerless in this situation. She posed no threat.

“Good girl,” he appraised, before turning and heading out of the kitchen door. “Follow me.”

The hike through the woods was quiet, but not tense. At least not on his part. Peter led her on a path through a thick grove of trees. She was still shaken by being confronted about the knife. It was obviously a shock to her, but not to him. She couldn’t know that his observation skills were sharpened by years of people trying to stab him in the back, and not just metaphorically.

The trail was solid with only a few patches of mud. Luckily, the weather had been ideal for his plans. It wasn’t wet, or too terribly cold, especially with the sun positioned where it was. The increased blood circulation from the gradual upward climb helped. There was snow in the forecast but it wouldn’t start until tomorrow morning. They were lucky enough to enjoy one of the last days of fall before the winter would sink its teeth in.

Luck was not something he was used to, but he always seemed to find it with her.

Peter felt his own heart begin to beat faster, but not due to physical exertion. He dragged his hand through his hair. His palms were sweaty. They were getting close.

“Almost there,” he announced, trying to maintain his cool. Or whatever it was he was pretending to be. Many awkward years as a teen and even more awkward conversations with women proved that he was anything but cool. He’d always been a nervous wreck. It was pure luck that he’d undergone the changes in life to be able to talk to a girl, let alone have the confidence to ask them on a date.

And here he was again, feeling like he did in high school. He didn’t really know what he was saying, probably didn’t make any sense, and had no idea how to ask such a pretty girl whatever it was he was asking.

His lack of practice was showing. It had been a long time since he felt this way about anyone.

Not since—

“Are you taking me out to the woods to kill me?” his Honey blurted out.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to her with an incredulous stare.

She stood several feet from him, ramrod straight, shoulders tense.

“Really?” he breathed. More confused than offended. “That’s what you got outta this?”

She shrugged her shoulders, with that adorable anxious look on her face—the one she’d make when the wheels in her brain were spinning, and her mouth was moving a mile a minute, and all he could do was be hypnotized by the way her lips moved. “I mean... you’re you,” she softly replied, in her defense. “What else am I supposed to think?”

He pursed his lips. The sting of her words seized his throat.

'You’re you.' He considered her meaning, heart sinking. A monster, she intended to say. He couldn’t keep the sorrow from filling his eyes and her expression changed. She looked apologetic.

It made him feel even worse. She was apologizing to him. He swallowed hard.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said sincerely. He held his chin a bit higher, and she considered his truthfulness. He turned back towards the path. “C’mon.”

Quietly, she followed.

A couple of minutes later, they arrived at a clearing next to a huge flat rock. It was from an elevated vantage point that offered a beautiful view of the valley through the trees. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the vista. With ease, he scaled the rock, setting down his backpack and the cooler.

She watched him curiously as he pulled a blanket from the backpack and began laying it out on the solid surface. Once it was flat, he began pulling items out of the cooler. She heard the rustling of plastic, staring up at him curiously. He came to a stand and leapt down to her level with surprising agility. He extended his hand to her.

“C’mon,” he beckoned. “I’ll help you up.”

His Honey hesitated, as she always did, looking up at the rock, then back at him. His smile began to falter, worrying that she would refuse. She had no reason to trust him, after all. But slowly, she took his hand. He smiled, feeling his heart soar.

He clenched her body to his, wrapping one arm around her waist. He used the hand to quickly scale up the rock again, in a move so quick and effortless it made her think he was a professional rock climber. Or a mountain goat.

He held onto her tightly when they were at the top of the rock. Like the night before in his bathroom, he found himself not wanting to let go. He stared down at her bright, beautiful eyes—soft, gentle, timid— and breathed in her air. The scent of his body wash on her skin. Mingling together in an aroma that made his heart flutter.

Sheepishly, she glanced away, not able to withstand the heat of his gaze. As if remembering what planet he was on, Peter released his grip and let her stand on her own. She looked down curiously, her eyes widening to the sight at her feet.

Peter had laid out a picnic blanket and a delicious-looking spread complete with sandwiches, fresh fruit, cookies, charcuterie, and empty champagne flutes. The small gasp she let out as she observed the meal made his stomach flip. He was excited and terrified—not sure himself how she would react to his attempted olive branch.

She blinked up at him, astonished.

He felt his tongue go dry as he stammered anxiously. “I, uh... thought we could have a late lunch?” She stared, stunned and silent. “Um,” Peter felt his fingers begin to twitch. He glanced around the space, swallowing hard. “Um, p-please... Sit.” He lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, crossing his legs like a kid. Slowly and hesitantly, she followed, mirroring his position.

He beamed at the gesture. He turned his attention back to the spread. “So, yeah—um, we got sandwiches. Uh, I did turkey, cheese, with tomato, I... I-I sorta forgot the lettuce. We can still get some though. Tomorrow, not now. Because... yeah.”

She gazed at him, her expression softening as he stumbled his way through the menu.

“Some other stuff here—crackers, salami, this sliced cheese I got at a Middle Eastern grocery. I don’t think there’s anything regionally specific about the cheese, though. I think it’s just cheddar and gouda...”

He worked to hide his flustered blush. She looked up at him with a soft gaze. He hoped she found it endearing, maybe even charming—and not like he was a dork. Which is how he felt.

He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Um, cookies—The good kind with the chocolate chip chunks that are really big. There’s also some raisin cookies because I accidentally grabbed them from a place thinkin’ they were chocolate chip, and then I got the chocolate chip cookies, but I had these oatmeal raisin ones, and nobody likes those when you think you’re getting chocolate chip, but maybe if... you had them... in addition to chocolate—”

He cleared his throat. Pictured the way his last serious girlfriend would grin at him when he was babbling. He relished the memory, and glanced up. She looked different. Not just in the obvious way, but not in a bad way. Her expression wasn’t judgmental, or annoyed, and she didn’t make him feel like a dork. She stared at him in silent astonishment, almost like she was marveling at him. Almost like he was worthy of her.

It made his heart flutter. “Anyway... uh... you can have whatever you want, um... I...” He swallowed hard. “Um, there’re also grapes. And, uh—” He glanced down into the cooler, his smile falling. “Shit,” he quietly muttered. “Damn it.”

“What is it?”

“The champagne,” he huffed in defeat, frustrated with himself. “I forgot the goddamn champagne.”

“Oh,” Honey said, gently. “It’s okay.”

He ran his palms down his face. “Nah, s’not okay—”

“No, really, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he groaned. “I didn’t bring anything else to drink. I-I didn’t think—”

“This is—this is great,” she emphatically replied, trying to ease the pain of his embarrassment. It was another one of her kindnesses toward him.

“No, no, no, it’s—look, I got it.” He hopped to his feet and it made her nervously stretch her arms, as if she could somehow catch him if he slipped off the rock. “Don’t worry, I-I-I got it. It’s... it’s right back at the house, I can run back real quick—”

“Seriously?” she replied. “It’s... it’s way back there? I mean, you don’t have to! I promise, I'm not even thirsty. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“No, no, no, I already laid everything out. The food’s out. It’ll just take me 2 minutes. You should dig in.”

“Wha-what? Are you sure? I can wait for you.”

“Have a cookie,” he pleaded, filled with a nervous energy that had him scurrying down the rockface. “Don’t worry, just 2 minutes. Less than! I’m gone. Already gone. Be right back!”

He took off in a frenetic jog, disappearing from her sight. She watched him, curious and confused at how he’d be able to cut down a 10-minute hike into just two.

Honey glanced back down at the appetizing spread and the thought and care that went into each detail. When did he even have time to do this? She picked at a sandwich that was cut into an elegant triangle and wrapped with cellophane. Examined it.

Then, it hit her. She glanced back at the trail, eyes wide. Peter was nowhere in sight.

He was surprised at how fast he could move through the woods, almost as quickly as he could navigate through skyscrapers. His mind was still churning over the picnic, scolding himself for forgetting something so pivotal. He grumbled about his forgetfulness, and about the awkward dissertation he decided to give about the cookies. He also neglected to bring anything else to drink. He should’ve remembered the moment she turned down coffee back at the kitchen—

He froze, dropping to the ground from the canopy. Both feet hit the dirt with a soft thud. His stomach plummeted even further.

He glanced back at the trail behind him. Where he had left his Honey.

Where minutes ago she’d questioned whether he was plotting to murder her, a thought so obscene it made him sick to his stomach.

And just a few hours before that, he’d drugged her and brought her to a location so secluded she wouldn’t even know what state she was in, not having seen a license plate.

He’d left her. Alone.

“Mother Hubbard!” he growled.

What a fucking idiot. A lovesick, bumbling dork.

At once his senses shifted into overdrive. Panic rising within him. An urgency overtook him, like a scream crawling up his throat. He was hurtling back through the air, cursing himself as he broke his body on every branch along the way.

By the time he approached the rock, he landed hard enough to crack the surface. His fears were confirmed. The picnic blanket was abandoned. The young woman was nowhere in sight.

“No, no, no, no, no…” he babbled to himself, pulling at his hair as he scanned the clearing desperately. “Honey!” His voice boomed, a crack of thunder wrapped in frustration and fury.

No reply. Not that he should expect one.

He shouldn’t expect anything.

He shouldn't expect to see her ever again—not alive, anyway.

His stomach lurched. The next time he would see her face, she’d be beaten beyond recognition. Her skull and body broken on the fists of Wilson Fisk, her blood staining the cuffs of one of his dress shirts.

“Honey!”

His second shout came out with more desperation. Breaths exploding in short bursts. The trees were spinning. His heart threatened to break out of his chest. It felt like it already had.

He dashed down the trail, eyes scouring the landscape. Senses were hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig. It was too much information to take in at once.

She was gone, and he wouldn’t find her again until it was too late. Why would he think she’d stay put? Why would he think she’d stay with him a moment longer than she had to? He had her, and he lost her.

She was gone.

—stay with me, Gwen, please—

“Honey!” he screamed with a flayed voice—shrill, broken, terrified.

She had been terrified. Shaking like a leaf when he’d found her on the freezing concrete of the auto body shop. Scared of what had happened and what could happen. Scared of what Fisk’s men would do to her. Scared of what Peter would do to her.

Peter Parker, the monster.

He was trembling. He was about to cry—when had he started to cry what a fuckin’ loser— as he stared at the soft dirt and crushed leaves of the path he was on— Gwen’s broken body, spine smashed to pieces, blood spilling from her nose and eye sockets, about to be interred in the soil—searching desperately for footprints...

Katzenberg had been terrified, sputtering petty excuses through bloody lips. Half-dead, incoherent pleas. Desperate in a futile attempt to save his own life.

“It was nothin’ personal, I swear it.. I-I... It was all Kingpin’s idea—takin’ pictures... I-I-I’m not even into that sick stuff... It’s disgusting, what he wan’ed... Can’t even watch it on the internet, I gotta kid sista, y’know...”

Peter dug his nails into his palms.

Honey had been terrified.

Gwen had been terrified.

Ben had been terrified.

May had been terrified.

He was terrified. He knew Wilson Fisk and what he was capable of. Peter had seen with his own eyes the victims of Kingpin’s wrath. The gender made no difference. He left bodies destroyed.

He was going to be sick. In a fit of panic, terror and rage, he started stalking down the path, roaring out her given name.

“Your hands, Nicky,” Peter sneered as he approached his terrified captive. He was sobbing over his gag, fat tears, snot and blood streaking his face. “You put hands on a woman for the last time...”

Peter gripped the hammer tight, brought it down onto Katzenberg’s knuckles. Then he did it again. And again. And again. One for each knuckle. One for the gash on his Honey’s forehead. Eventually, he quit counting.

Peter was cupping his face, nearly dropping to his knees in the dirt. The sun would set soon. It would be dark, how would he find her in the dark? He could barely breathe. Deep breaths.

“People are so lame sometimes,” Honey gave Peter this weird little face, like she was saying ‘bleh’ and gagging simultaneously. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

They had been in one of those rare, magical moments where it was an odd hour of day and the shop was empty save for the two of them. It felt selfish, having her all to himself. Indulgent. It was an indulgence that made his mouth water.

Bright-eyed, body poised like a ballerina, she craftfully poured foam into his cup. He fell under her spell. The aroma of coffee and lavender flowed through his senses, and he felt himself relaxing as he sank deeper. Taken by the current. Longing to dive into her magic.

“Ugh, it’s the worst,” she said. Even her complaints were done with a smile. “Things get a little crazy in here—like that one time during the marathon when the street was closed down so the crowd could watch so we were just friggin’ blitzed, like DEFCON 1, and it was the Rock’n’Roll one, and y’know we’ve got that drag queen revue across the street, too—super fun by the way if you haven’t gone yet—but they constructed a stage on the street with like 100 giant speakers so that one of the queens could perform as the runners went by, and they turned the volume way up and everyone kept piling in here wanting coffee. Meanwhile I can’t hear any orders because Cher is belting it out.”

She giggled and the sound alone could break his heart. “S’anyway, that’s not the point—When it gets all crazy train in here, I just hafta close my eyes and think to myself ‘deep breaths.’ In and out.”

He took a deep breath, pulling his hands from his face. Inhaled the chilly air. Breathed in the scent of wet leaves and pine and the memory of coffee and lavender.

In and out.

In his mind, she was staring at him. Giving him that look that hurt to look at. Like staring at the sun. Burned his eyes and his soul.

He’d take that image home with him, wired from the excessive amount of caffeine, and think about it when things were too overwhelming. Whenever he felt his anger building. Or when he was showering off his sins for the day and he’d let his hand wander to the part of him that burned the most for her.

In and out. Breathe. Listen.

He felt the tingle crawl up his spine. Then he heard it: a twig snap.

Before he could see it with his eyes, the picture was in his head. He bolted in its direction just as a crack rang out overhead.

Honey was falling. She let out a squeaky shriek that Peter never wanted to hear. She was plummeting, her eyes staring up at the tree canopy. She was falling to earth from her hiding place in the tree above their picnic spot.

The solid rock beneath her rushed up.

Impact. And another.

Peter gripped her body close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her like serpents. He’d snatched her from her free fall, catching her in midair and landing with a heavy thud. Chest heaving, his eyes shot to her face, searching for blood.

Her eyes fluttered wildly, disoriented from her near-fatal fight with gravity. She sucked in breath, heaving in a gasp. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, dropping to his knees. It’s like his brain lagged behind his eyesight. The fierce sound of her pounding heart released him from his terror-striken state.

When she made eye contact with him, his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, tears welling with relief. They stayed like that for a moment—he kneeled while he cradled her, fingers trembling against her skin. He searched her eyes—you stay with me—listening to the song of her pulse.

Her hand lay limply in the dirt beneath her. Fingers brushed the sharp rough face of a softball-sized sandstone. She gazed up at him, blind instinct taking over, and slammed the rock into the side of his head.

He tumbled to the side, releasing his grip immediately. She hesitated, glancing back at her devastating hit—both shocked and horrified at her own actions. Then the panic set in. She flipped around and scrambled to her feet. She pumped her legs, running as fast as she could down the dirt trail away from her captor.

Suddenly, her feet were pulled out from underneath her. She came flying down, chest slamming into the dirt. She coughed as the air expelled from her lungs, tears filling her eyes from the shock. Reflexively, her legs were still moving, almost like a cartoon character.

No! No! No, please, no! She was unsure if her screams were in her head or if she actually recognized the sound of her own disembodied voice. Kicking her legs, confused and frustrated as it seemed they were bound in some sort of stringy—what the heck is this stuff?—material that wrapped around her legs like snakes. She kicked wildly to no avail, like her legs were tangled in blankets made of glue. She reached down, trying to free herself, snatching her hand back when she felt how sticky her binds were.

A shadow fell over her. Peter’s silhouette stood tall, back against the setting sun, as he glared down. Blood trickled from the temple near his ear. Eyes blackened with rage.

The sound she made was barely human, a pathetic yelp, as he snatched up her body and yanked her into his grip. Her legs were useless, so she used fingers, fists, palms, nails—anything to get him to release her. His hold was iron around her waist, throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

He marched down the path with her writhing desperately on his shoulder. A mix of blubbering sobs—please, nonono, please, somebody help me, please help!— and savage scratching. When she was able to angle her arm and drive her elbow in the back of his head, he whipped her body around to his front. The ease at which he tossed her made her feel infantile in comparison. A muzzled, declawed feral kitten, whom he could easily toss off a bridge into a river.

He was going to kill her. She knew it. She had screwed up badly, and now he was going to kill her. Her fight wore down, the overwhelming exhausting sorrow bearing down on her, and soon she was a weeping mess of desperate pleas. He said nothing, paused for nothing, and gave her no inclination of what was next. The way he gripped her prevented her from being able to see how infuriated he was, but she felt it in his muscles. Like osmosis his fury seemed into her and it made her shudder.

There would be pain, she thought. She was certain. Her mind flashed back to his victim in the chair and her imagination pictured what he must look like right now. She imagined a torso floating in the East River, picked apart by fish. Head and arms buried somewhere nearby in concrete.

She screamed, terrified. Begging desperately that someone could hear her. Praying for salvation.

Sooner than she thought, he had kicked open the kitchen door and was carrying her through the living room.

She could barely breathe through her sobs. “Please, please, don’t—I’m sorry, I’m sorry s-so sorry, please, don’t do this—”

He marched up the staircase and turned down the balcony to the bedroom she had woken up in. As he passed the threshold her fight came roaring back.

“No, stop! Please, please stop! No don’—I won’t run away, I promise—!”

He threw her, and her body was flying backwards. Landing hard against the mattress. The force of it silenced her for a moment as she struggled to catch her breath. Like a lion, he was on her. On top of her. His hands caught hers as she came up defensively to hit him. Wordless and possessed, he dragged her up to the headboard, his weight smothering her.

She wailed incoherently—Please don’t do this, I'm sorry, please— and was silenced by a sharp thwip. Her wrists flew to either side of her head, covered in the sticky gunk that restrained her legs. The sensation stunned her. Her body went rigid as he straddled her hips, pinning her hips down with his weight while her hands were unmovable at the sides of her head.

His eyes were the color of ink. The darkness in them threatened to swallow her. She went still, save for the uncontrollable heaving of her chest, as she peered up at his nightmare-stare with horror.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he glowered and hissed through his teeth. Her fear beckoned her to look away, but he gripped her jaw tight. Forcing her gaze into his. Pupils blown, blood trailing down his cheek like motor oil, he glared at her. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

It was more than a threat. It was a promise. She knew it. Her heart seized in her throat. She cowered beneath him, trembling and pliant. Silent as a mouse.

“And I swear to god—on my mother’s soul,” he breathed through his mouth, speaking so quietly it was nearly a whisper. “If you ever pull that shit again... I will.”

It was a horrible look he gave her after that. Chilling, to say the least. Something so intimately livid. It bordered on obscene. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, watching his body leer over hers threateningly. It wouldn’t surprise her if he reached up and snapped her neck. She was expecting it.

But he released her chin, withdrawing himself. His footsteps pounded like a hammer as he marched across the hardwood floor. The heavy door slammed, shaking the top story of the house.

With a trembling chin, she gazed up through wet eyes at the ceiling. At dust-covered antlers suspended by chains, swaying in the gentle draft.

The sound she heard outside of her room was almost inhuman. A bellowing roar. It frightened her—of every fuckin’ little thing, always so frightened, scared of your own shadow, when would she going to be done being so scared all the time?—and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She wept as quietly as she could until sleep overtook her.

Continue to Part 5

Reblog to be tagged!

Thank you so much for all the feedback so far! What did you think of this chapter? Let me know in a reblog, reply or ask! If you weren't tagged it's possible that I couldn't tag you, so check your preference settings on being tagged.

562 notes · View notes

randominji · 8 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝟐: 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐄

: please read the previous chapters before this one if you have yet to have done so!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: None... (maybe spelling mistakes)

You awake, a dull pain underlying the numbness of your bolt locked joints, and the comforting stench of the breezy nature fills your nose. Even before opening your eyes, you already know you're not home. The air around you is free roaming, curling up against you with careless sways of their grown drunken ways.

Groggily, you open your eyes. Your vision is heavily sleep-blurred and misleading, like the shapes of many shades dancing across your vision, colours of both dark and deep play the part perfectly, like the missing picture to the jigsaw base. Bringing your hands up, you gradually rub away that drowsy state of mind and vision with an intense itch at the back of your throat. You let out a tremendous yawn, jaw dropping to the hilt as a gust of warm air escapes past your lips, brushing and caressing the sensitive skin as it does so, tingling your stiffened spine ever so slightly before buckling back up again.

Eventually, the sleep dazed feeling washes back a tide, and the infrastructure of a wooden ceiling greets you with a glare, supporting beams almost cursing at you in the moment. You blink before sitting up. Upon the rise of your body comes the drape of a thin fabric. It was strung from your left shoulder as it stretched beyond your feet, the soft cotton texture of it makes your skin itch slightly, a faint restraint to your relaxation.

You mumble something to yourself as you drag your body to the edge of the large bed, letting your legs plant themselves into the planked flooring below.

Your eyes skim over the exposed vines that reap along the walls and swaddle around the span of the bed frame. How parts of a tree protrude through the walls and twirl around each other. The room you're in is a mess of nature's child. Though, no real identification of life had yet to have been found present.

Dragging the rest of your body off the mattress, you wobble a tad, finding a lack of balance within your knees as you stabilise yourself on a set of drawers. It takes a moment before you find your balance once again, just spending a moment composing yourself when a jiggling sound captures your attention.

Hesitantly, you look up and direct your attention to the sound- your eyes greeting a door as it dauntinly pushes open.

You weren't quite sure what you expected to see, a demon perhaps, maybe even a goblin given the strangeness of your situation, but to see a girl that looked not too different from yourself wasn’t it. Her hair was a silk kissed blend of blonde streaks, soft bangs hanging delicately just over her darker eyebrows. Her face and body were that of clear, pale skin that seemed to shine so delicately under the only source of light. The moon’s faint beams descend through the space behind her- exposed by the open door- and it only makes her look more… ethereal. You didn’t want to be seen as creepy, afterall, you would’ve been punished for doing so at home, but she truly was something out of an old tale your parents used to tell you about. Though, despite your clear interest in the girl's physical appearance, there was something else beyond the small of her nose and the white scraps of her clothing. There was something set dead within the depths of her dark eyes, an uncertain annoyance? Hatred? Fear?

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You quickly straighten yourself, pulling away from the drawers as you pull on the bottom of your shirt slightly, feeling almost intimidated by the deeper of her voice. “Home? I mean, i’m not supposed to be here anyway-”

“No… no, you’re not supposed to be here, and yet you are. Why?” She remains almost statue-like, standing still, arms by her sides as she just stares… and stares… and stares.

“I’m looking for someone” She scoffs, eyes rolling drastically at your words. “What?”

The girl blinks, her face going stale again,”if you’re looking for someone, there’s a good chance they’re gone. Shouldn’t you know that already?”

“Shouldn’t I know that?” You furrow your eyebrows together- forming somewhat of a line “I do know that, yes. But he won’t be dead yet!”

“How can you be so sure?” You could feel a certain heat bubble within you, a feeling of irritation with how she’s remaining so calm and rude at the same time. She was almost cocky with her words, like she’s better than you, like you’re nothing compared to her.

“I can feel it. He’s smart. He’ll be alright… So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find him.” You had begun to move towards her, taking no notice of the way her eyes narrow slightly as you approach. Though, you had noticed the sudden grasp upon your sleeved arm when you had gone to squeeze past the blonde girl.

“Your friend can wait. I mean, if you're so sure he’ll be alright, then you should trust that thought” She turns her head to look at you, eyes almost burning through yours. “Stay here”

“Stay… here?” You shake your head, tugging your arm away from her grasp, letting the loose fabric of your shirt uncrumple itself. “Why the heck would I do that? You clearly don’t want me here. We both have better things to do”

“You're right, I don’t want you here, but unfortunately for the both of us, I have no say in the matter. If you want to see him again, you will be staying”

“Is that a threat?” You half mumble, looking outside the door, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of something- anything. However, it grows apparent that there is no clear escape, especially since beyond the door appears to just be a balcony of some sort.

“I’m not the threat here”

Slowly, your eyes draw back to the girl, confusion evident within your voice as you open your mouth to speak again “...what do you mean?”

She averts her gaze, eyes searching beyond the door before she steps back outside, residing to her new position by the railing that consists mostly of wooden beams, held together by worn rope and some type of rusted screws. “You’re safe for the moment, but they’ll be back” she states as you step outside of the hut- only now noticing how it was more of a treehouse than a single room.

You join her, looking over the edge of your elevated stance, your sight connecting to the lowly lit ground beneath. A few lanterns light the area around, mostly outlining the base of trees and more noticeably any hazardous items left around- like larger rocks or areas of randomly grown flowers. The placements of these lanterns made it easy to identify the layout of the area- as you’d suspect was their purpose. “For the moment?”

“God, do you always ask so many questions?” She glares at you momentarily.

“I think I have a right to ask questions, especially as you kidnapped me” You glare back, mind wandering to the questioning if that’s why your knees hurt so much. Maybe they had done something to your knees while getting you to such a high place, even more so since the only way up here- from what you can see- is a ladder not too far away.

“It’s not kidnapping if we’re saving you from certain death”

“As if” you sigh, letting your arms rest on the small railing separating you from a twenty foot fall. “And even if that was true, what would cause me such harm? My parents have only ever warned me of getting lost and a few obviously fake monsters. You make it sound like there’s a murderer out here”

“Fake monsters?” She furrows her brows, looking at you curiously,”what fake monsters?”

“Oh… you know, giant wolves, flesh hungry bats, acid spitting worms… that kind of stuff” you nod, looking to the sky. A half moon.

The girl lets out a small sigh of air, one of her hands moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You humans are certainly dim-witted. And no, there are none of those here, but there are other things that prevent certain life forms from entering this place”

You drag your eyes away from the star-lit sky as you look back at her “For instance…?”

The girl could only stare at you. Not a single muscle in her body comes close to even being tempted to share what she meant. Her eyes remain stoic, and her posture tall. The moment had somehow grown creepier as you remained awaiting a response from the stranger.

“Minji?” A new voice breaks the thickly grown atmosphere, soft and quiet, making it quite the opposite from who can now identify as Minji's rather assertive one.

“Haerin?” Minji responds quickly as the newer girl shuffles to the side a bit and, in turn, allows you both to gain sights on one another. She’s arguably smaller than Minji and had a more feline-like look to her. Though, what made her stand out was the tranquil look on her face. She didn’t look annoyed or irritated by your existence, but more so welcoming in an odd way. “What are you doing up?”

Haerin balances the lantern she's carrying upon the railing, allowing it to light up the space around you more, and in addition to that, it enchanted her face with warm hues “I couldn’t sleep” Haerin glances between you and Minji before continuing to fill the silence once again,"The human is awake?”

“Human-”

“Annoyingly so” Minji cuts you off, not even sparing you a glance. In retrospect to the girl’s actions, you clench your jaw “She’s giving me quite a headache”

“I offered to have her rest in my room” Haerin smiles, showing off her cat-like grin, her eyes creasing slightly as her pale cheeks raise. She was definitely a contrast to the taller girl in front of you.

“And I said no, it’s best to have the human stay with me”

“I have a name” You’re tempted to cross your arms, a huff having to expand within your throat to prevent it from leaving your lips. You don’t don’t want to come off as rude anyway, especially since these people clearly aren’t humans.

Despite your small surge of confidence, you almost cower into a ball of twisted joints when they both look at you, each with different inquiries and reasons. While Haerin looked at you, her head tilted slightly to her left and eyes reflecting the light of her lantern, Minji had glared at you with a small scowl, and what made it worse was that the lantern was placed at an angle that didn’t reach her face when stood like this, causing her to look menacing. “What?” Minji begins, “What is your name then?”

“Y/n” You smile slightly, ignoring the way Minji’s nose scrunches up at your answer as you focus your attention on the cat-like girl instead. Haerin looked somewhat relieved that she had a name to call you by now- calling you ‘human’ felt oddly disrespectful to her.

“I’m Haerin” she smiles lightly at you “And I doubt Minji would be willing to share her name with you herself”

“Strangely, I doubt so too” you mirror her smile with a small laugh.

Minji rolls her eyes for the second time this hour as she turns back to Haerin,”I’m the oldest, and therefore the most responsible over us. What if the human was to lash out? You know humans aren't to be trusted” of course she’d ignore your name…

“Yeah, but I don’t think y/n would do that. And even if she did, it’s five against one” You almost catch yourself gulping at the revelation of the unknown statistics. If there were two girls here, then surely there would be other people here too "what are you doing out here anyway?”

“The human was acting up,” Minji complains.

“Nuh-uh, that’s it. I am my own organism with my own life, my own rights, my own freedom and name. If you think you can restrict me from those, i’m leaving” You scoff, turning to leave in the direction of the ladder of which you had seen earlier. Although, a familiar grasp on your arm prevents you from moving much further than a step or two away. “What the heck?” You turn back around to see Minji, her arm outstretched as she grasps onto your sleeve once again.

“My hut. Now.”

You barely get a chance to respond before you're thrown back into Minji’s “hut” with a forceful budge. Stumbling forward, any opportunities of being able to say goodnight to Haerin were thrown out of the window, even more so when Minji closes the door behind her, her expression flat with furry.

“Look” Minji huffs,”I’ve told you that I don’t want you here anymore than you want to be here, okay? But you being here, is down to the others”

“Who? What others?” You frown slightly, rubbing your reddening arm soothingly, her grip was a bit harsh…

“There are five of us here. You’ve already met me and Haerin. Fortunately for you, when we all met back up after doing our individual rounds, the others were already surrounding your unconscious body. They basically forced me to help you”

“And you said you wanted to take care of me?”

Minji's face morphs slightly, her eyes slightly widening and nostrils flaring,”want and being the most able is a huge difference. I did this for the sake of everyone else. Who knows how much trouble a human could cause? They could lose sleep because of you, or even go insane-”

“Do you really doubt me that much?” You almost spit out, feeling half offended with the repetitive diss against your kind. Humans aren’t all that bad. You wouldn’t say your family are bad… though, not much else can be said for everyone else you've met.

“I’m coming from a place of concern over my friends. They’re what matter to me, not some lost puppy like yourself”

You take your turn to roll your eyes as you lay back down on the stiff of her bed, letting out a heavy sigh as a light dosage of tension flees from your body. You felt the most at peace in that moment than you had done all day. “I hate it here…”

Minji’s ears had almost perked upon the small of your mumblings, her eyes drifting away from you as she moves around her room. “I hate having you here”

All you could do was listen as the girl shifted around her room, your eyes closed and hearing heightened by the noise she created. You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed before the light fall of fabric fell upon your skin. Your hands move to hold the item.. Or rather items. Half confused, you open your eyes and hold the things up. “What are these?” You ask, looking at the span of it all.

“Clothes”

You stop yourself from cursing her out at such a bland response as you finally get a grip on the top half of what you believe to be a sweater. You weren’t quite sure how to react in all honesty. First of all, they had clothes other than the strange white- almost cultist- outfits? And secondly, was Minji really handing you one of her sweatshirts? “Why?”

“The others would curse me out if I don’t take some level of care over you” Of course, this was for the others and not actually for your sake. “I’m going out to do something, stay here, and don’t snoop in my stuff. You’d be surprised at how well i can identify moved objects”

“What if I get bored?”

Minji opens the door once again, only turning to close it after her, a faint “Not my problem” being muffled by the blockage between you and her. Seconds later, you see her figure walk past a window.

You’ve been left alone. In a stranger's house. With nothing to do… so the question is, what now?

New page unlocked!

: Minji and Haerin!

Additional:

: next chapter is a reader voted chapter. This vote will begin on Monday and will last a week. Therefore meaning the next chapter won't be out for 2 weeks. Sorry for any inconvenience.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: [𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍] [NEW]

@wintersgff @hyein-hyeout

32 notes · View notes

thewatercolours · 4 months ago

Text

King's Quest Fic - Path of Kingship, Chapter 6: "Not That Type of Story"

Long before Graham woke, he was aware of the smell of the earth after rain, and breathed easier. Something on the end of his nose tickled him awake. He swatted at his face. It evaded his fingers, and he gasped when he saw it was a ladybug, then sighed in relief when it zipped away, unharmed. He yawned, and rolled onto his back. Every muscle was sore. His cuts and bruises still gave him grief, of course, and some had closed up painfully tightly. But there was a welcome autumn chill to the air, Triumph was curled up nearby, and gentle morning light played over the stable rafters. He had dreamt of the stable too, so it came as no surprise to find himself there.

But he was surprised to find that his bed consisted of more than just straw. In a jolt of confusion, Graham’s senses came alive. He bolted upright. He was nestled in a cocoon of fine linens, an embroidered summer comforter, and fringed cushions. He squashed a pillow experimentally between his hands, and smelt lavender. It was quite real. Yet under him was still the layer of fresh straw he had fallen asleep on. Looking beyond himself, he found the stall had been curtained off by crisp, white bed sheets draped over the ceiling beams, as though someone had decided Triumph deserved to sleep in a four-poster bed like his master’s. A wooden stool stood by his right side, covered with a tiny table cloth and laden with everything he needed for washing. He recognized his blue dressing gown hanging from a harness hook. And… were those the sketches of their family Ginger had given him as a coronation present? Framed and hung over his gerbil’s manger?

What in the blessed stars?

“Hey Triumph,” he murmured, elbowing his steed, “somebody gave you a home makeover last night.”

Triumph snored.

It seemed a bit pointless to put on a dressing gown, since he was still fully clothed in the village homespun. He rose to his feet and crept to undo the stall latch. He hesitated, then pushed the sheet aside, as though to catch an intruder behind the bath curtain.

Except for the animals, there was not a soul to be seen. But the unknown someone had lined the floor of the passage between the stalls with burlap sacks. Near the stable entrance, which had also been covered by a bedsheet, hung a few of his own outfits from the royal wardrobe, lined up on a wheeled clothing rack. Even his old adventurer’s leathers, which he hadn’t seen since before the coronation! He stole up to the rack, and ran a finger down the slick satin trim of his red cloak. It felt softer than before, and he noticed the stains he had despaired of scrubbing out were gone. He couldn’t even find the familiar rip near the shoulder. Had they sewn him a new cloak? More to the point, what was it - and all the rest - doing here?

“Oh, sire!”

The voice came from a few steps off. Graham rounded. Someone about his own height stood silhouetted by the morning sun, on the other side of the stable door’s sheet. The voice was familiar. “Good morning, sire! I didn’t know you were up. Do you need more time? I was just bringing in your shaving things.”

He did know that voice. He glanced round at the bedroom furnishings, and just like that, it made a kind of ridiculous sense. “Uh, sure,” Graham called uncertainly. “Come on in, Clockett.” Because what else could you say when your valet showed up at your stable, all ready to go with the morning routine?

In strode the unmistakable Clockett, carrying a tray loaded two layers deep with every bit and bob that could possibly be used for shaving or, for that matter, for dressing the hair. Graham had no idea he even owned so many things of that sort. He ordinarily shaved himself with his old razor, even since becoming king. Every morning Clockett brightly offered to do it, and seemed oddly crushed when Graham told him he was okay on his own, thanks though. Sooo, could Clockett wash his hair? Brush it? Dress him? Trim his fingernails? No? What about his toenails? Moisturize his elbows? Graham would smile awkwardly and turn them all down. He wondered when Clockett would take the hint. While he brushed his teeth, the valet would make up the tremendous bed, putter, and disappear so quietly Graham seldom noticed when he left. Graham had to deal with him again before bed, but only for a minute or two. Otherwise, they had barely spoken.

Clockett looked neat and bright as ever this morning, if a bit dark circled about the eyes. His blond hair was caught back in a faultless queue, his ivory-tipped spectacles were hooked on his turnover cuff, and every button on his plum coat gleamed with polish.

His extreme tidiness brought Graham’s mind back to his own situation. His hand stole to his paint-stiff hair. He had almost forgotten. It was probably full of straw and tufts of fur now too. He must look like a kindergarten craft.

Clockett’s gaze followed Graham’s self-conscious hand. He swallowed. He rocked back on one heel, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When they opened, Graham could see him summon a smiling warmth into them. “Welcome back, sire. I heard about how you handled those appalling people up in the Stove. And if it’s not out of place to say, bravo, sir.”

“Well, it wasn’t completely my…” Graham trailed off, processing his words. “Br…bravo? What?”

Clockett selected a tiny porcelain jug from the tray, and poured steaming water into a silver bowl. “Well, the brief your guards gave the household was just that - brief. But we were given to understand that they pretty much walked you into a death trap, and you were incredibly magnanimous about it all.”

“Magnanimous?”

A dachshund that stood about as high as their shoulders yipped in the next stall, matching Graham’s pitch exactly.

Clockett nodded pacifically. (Was the water changing from clear to pale blue as he poured?) “I know you made your name as Sir Graham the Brave - and you earned every inch of it - but maybe we should start calling you the Compassionate. You just walked it off, didn’t say a word to them about it, didn’t cart anyone off to prison. Though I do have to say,” he looked up with a rueful glance, “you should at least have arrested the scoundrels who left your hair in that condition.” He shook a tiny vial of powder over the bowl, which made the blue water fizz into a faint purple that smelt of lilac.

“Oh, I can’t blame them too badly. They did their best,” babbled Graham, hardly knowing what was coming from his mouth. “Um, who was it who briefed you? Number Two?”

“Royal Guard Number One.”

“He said that?”

“More or less-ish,” said Clockett, scrubbing his hands in the bowl. “Except about the hair. Captains are generally good about protecting the royal person, but they pay a shocking lack of attention to the hair. Now, if you’d just sit down,” (he flicked the water from his hands, donned his spectacles, and pulled the rocking chair from Graham’s bedroom out a shadowy corner,) “I’m just going to have a closer look at the, er, damage. Don’t you worry, sire. We’re going to save your hair. It’s probably bounced back from worse. In your days of knightly glory, surely. I’d bet, if it can stand getting singed by a dragon, it can come back from anything. Like yourself.”

Graham let himself be pushed gently into the seat, where Clockett at once began walking circles round him, fussing and clucking over his head. But Graham’s mind was not in the stable. It had flown across two courtyards, up the castle wall, and in through the window of Number One’s office. Magnanimous. That was how Number One had framed it for those who weren’t there? That he, Graham, had been wronged by the townsfolk, and now was acting the benevolent king in spite of how they’d treated him.

Well, Number One was right in a way. Graham might have messed up royally in every sense, but he wasn’t the only one. This brief was probably just Number One’s way of saving face, anyway. It must have been mortally embarrassing for him and all the guards, and making the king look good made them look good.

But that didn’t stop it from taking a huge load off Graham’s shoulders. The shameful return to the castle, all those awful conversations with the curious, having to explain over and over what an idiot he’d been - none of it was going to happen. He’d slept here to put it off a few hours, and now it simply wasn’t going to happen.

Clockett pinched a lock of his black hair, still stubborn with pills and streaks of hard paint in every colour. He grimaced, sniffed discreetly, and grimaced more. “Oh. Whatever did they use to wash your hair?”

“Hair soap,” said Graham. He decided against mentioning he had washed his own hair at Hector’s house. “And, uh, linseed oil?””

“They used linseed oil?” Clockett didn’t speak the question like a question. He stopped circling. His pale face went rigid. Somehow his spectacles went askew as though they too were shocked, one arm flying off his ear.

Graham chastised himself for feeling defensive over something like this. “One of the housemaids thought it might work,” he explained. “They put linseed oil in paint thinner, don’t they?”

“They also put it in paint. To make it hold together.” Clockett closed his eyes, rocked back on his heel, breathed, and unstoppered a bottle from the tray. A rich, buttery scent reached Graham’s nose. Clockett dribbled a few drops over his fingers and replaced the cork, chattering the whole time. “Just the thing. Walnut oil. You’ve got a splendid head of thick hair, sire, and it’ll be so good to finally get a feel for it. We’ll just get a mask soaking into it now, so the wash’ll be easier.” He whipped a barber’s cape from some mysterious place behind his back, and fastened it round Graham’s shoulders. Then he slipped his fingers into Graham’s hair and began working the oil in, massaging it into his scalp and crunching it into the tangles.

“I can really do this myself,” Graham objected, but either Clockett didn’t hear, or he had decided that when it came to hair, he was king.

“And honestly, this a pretty strange place to-” Graham began again, but lapsed into silence. After all, he had been dreading people seeing him looking ridiculous. Had Clockett read his mind and swooped in with a solution? And it was kind of nice. Relaxing. By some preparation or other, the walnut oil was warm. Clockett’s kneading fingers were firm, but they never snagged or pulled. There was a rhythm in them. Graham found himself tilting back in the rocking chair and breathing slower.

“You’re looking much better rested than you did before you left.” said Clockett. “You slept soundly last night?”

Graham smiled. “I think you know I did, if it was you who gave my stable the fairy godmother treatment. I didn’t hear a thing!”

“No? Excellent.”

“Seriously, that must have taken you all night! It’s at least five minutes’ walk from here to the main doors. And I’m a light sleeper. How’d you sneak everything in so quietly?”

Clockett paused to re-oil his fingers. “A smidgen of elf blood goes a fairish way, sire,” he said with a grin, though it was the most proper, professional grin Graham had ever seen. “Quiet’s our thing. Now, about the furniture. You’ll have to forgive me, but you were asleep, so I had to make decisions without asking you. When I found you meant to sleep here, I wanted to give you some choice, so I also brought a wheelbarrow down with your old bedroll from your quests, and also a camp cot. Because, technically, this is sort of outdoors. But like I said, you fell asleep, and I had to make some decisions.”

“Including pinching my sister’s sketches off my desk?” said Graham slyly.

“And varnishing them, “ said Clockett with evident pride.“And cropping them, framing them, and arranging them aesthetically.”

Graham turned his laugh into a cough. “Hay, it’s all good. You didn’t have time to stall. If only I’d been barn with such good taste.”

Clockett smiled and nodded, but Graham thought he caught an “It might help the puns if you had,” under his breath.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it,” said Graham with a shrug. “We’ll have to update the prices in the brochure. A room at a five star stable like this shouldn’t come cheap. But, uh, how did you even track me down? This has got to be the last place you thought of looking.”

“My first guess, actually.”

“Really?”

“I’m your gentleman’s gentleman.”

Graham cocked his head in confusion.“And?”

“I polish your boots.”

“Oh. You do? Uh, thanks. But, um, how does that…?”

Clockett stopped rubbing, and fixed Graham with a look.He tilted his head to the same angle. “And this is the fifth time you’ve been here since your coronation. Though it’s the first time overnight, I think.”

“Oh.” Of course. Graham smiled sheepishly at his borrowed boots. “Sorry. I make a lot of work for you, don’t I?”

Clockett looked as though he were trying to keep his face bland. “Frankly, you don’t make enough. But we’re going to fix that. Now,” he said, stepping back and reaching for a hand towel, “We’ll just let that soak in a few minutes before the wash. I rigged up a weight I can hook to the back of the rocker to lean it, like this, and - yes, I think you’re tall enough we can just lean you back over the basin and do it all here. I’ve posted a watch outside - no one will disturb you.”

“A watch?”

“Kyle and Larry.”

“Oh. Hey, Kyle! Hi, Larry!” called Graham loudly.

“Hi, Graham!” chorused two familiar voices from outside. And then an overlapping gobbledygook of, “I mean, Majesty Graham! Your Highness! No, no, Majesty! Yeah! Highness is for princes and princesses! No, King! Can we just say King? No, that sounds wrong by itself. King Majesty?”

“Nah. Graham’s fine.”

“That’s what everyone will be sayin’ when Mr. Clockett here’s done sprucin’ you up.” said Kyle enthusiastically. “You’ll walk past, and they’ll all say, “Graham’s fiiiiine!”

Clockett caught himself mid eyeroll. “I suppose that’s on me. They’ve been here all night, after all. They say sleep deprivation isn’t actually that different from drunkenness.”

“Hey, by that logic, what you’re sayin’ ought to be a bit pickled-sounding too!” cried Larry. By this point they were standing so close to the bedsheet that Graham could see their sunlit outlines - er, outline? - perfectly.

Clockett resumed the interrupted eyeroll.”I did say one of you ought to go find a pair of guards to relieve you.”

“One of us? Go?” echoed Larry, with a note of confusion.

“We were planning on asking someone after breakfast,” said Kyle at the same time. “A lot o’ the guards take this way as a shortcut, and we thought we’d wave a couple down. But nobody’s been by this way. Bit weird, that.”

“Maybe it’s new rules,” said Larry thoughtfully. “There was some kind of big meeting last night in the barracks. We missed it, of course, on account of Mr. Clockett telling us you were sleeping here and needed us. But maybe Number One finally laid down the law and said no more cutting through the stables. He’s always getting on our backs about how messy it gets our boots.”

“That’s prob’ly it.”

Graham frowned, unbuttoning the barber’s cape from round his neck. “But… isn’t there a guard cranny just across from us? You should be able to see it from where you are.”He stood up from the rocking chair in spite of Clockett’s careful efforts to push him down. “You know, riight next to the treasury office. There’s gotta be someone there, right?” He flung the bedsheet aside and stepped into the morning sun. The guards started back in surprise, so that Larry lost his grip on the plume, and nearly fell from his perch on Kyle’s back.

“Sire, you’re still a work in progress!” whispered Clockett urgently, laying a light hand on his shoulder. “You’re dripping oil!”

Graham shrugged him off, squinting into the bright light and across the courtyard. Sure enough, the gable-like shelter next to the treasury’s double doors, where a guard always, always stood on duty, was empty. At least, he thought so. It was a bit far away and blurry, but surely he’d see the glint of the guard’s armour if there was one. His frown deepened. He scratched his head, and of course his fingers came away slick. “Guys,” he said to Kyle and Larry, “could you just run over there and check everything’s okay? Ask the treasurer or something? I don’t like this. Guards don’t just leave their posts except for distress.”

“Good job, Graham!” cried Larry approvingly. “That’s Decree 6645! You’re already gettin’ the hang of it. Told ya!”

“Yeah, for sure,” said Graham. “So, can you?”

“I don’t know, can we?” asked Kyle, then muttered, “Oh, wait, no, that was the right one. Whoops. I mean, no, we can’t, because of Decree 6645, which you might have heard before. It says a royal guard can only leave his post if -”

Graham couldn’t help smirking a little as he drew himself up, hands on his hips. “I’m the king. I make the decrees. Or, well, Daventry does. And… I’m Daventry. Apparently.”

Kyle and Larry looked up and down at each other respectively. After a pause, they both nodded. “You got it, Graham,” said Kyle. “I mean, er, Daventry.”

“You mean King Daventry!” Larry said with a knowing bobble of the head. “I mean, er, no, you did tell us to call you Graham, so, um…”

“Daventry Graham Sire Majesty, of course.”

“Majesty Daventry Sire Graham. Be back in a jiffy. Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup!” Off dashed Kyle, knees sky high, while Larry patted him on the back encouragingly.

Graham found Clockett’s hand on his own back, gently steering him back into the stable. “Come inside, sire. It’s entirely time we turned you back into a human being. Now, I always believe in choices, so which shampoo will you have - lavender, lavender-bergamot, or lavender-clary sage?”

A tremendous double thump on his door made the slumped Number One glance up from his inkwell. “Well? What’s that racket?” he called sharply.

“Sorry!” came Number Two’s voice. “Arms full. Had to give the door the boot, you might say. You mind gettin’ it for me?”

“Your boot’s not freshly sharpened, is it?”

“It ain’t stuck in the door, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Number One hauled himself from his seat and drew the bolt. He usually propped his office door open, but he couldn’t take the sight of another guard slinking in, muttering shamefaced excuses as they dropped yet another folded paper onto his desk. This way they could slip their resignations under the door and be done with it.

Number Two shuffled in with two stacked armfuls of envelopes, some plain, some clearly castle stationery.

Number One hadn’t thought his heart could sink again, considering how many times it had already done so this morning. “Add them to the pile.” He shut the door, eyeing the height of the stacks incredulously. “That many. Are you and I the only guards left?”

“We’ve still got a couple dozen, maybe,” said Number Two, strewing them unceremoniously across the desktop.

“Then those aren’t resignations?” Number One asked, afraid to hope.

Heaving a sigh, Number Two leaned his back against the mantelpiece. “Oh, they’re resignations. Just not guards’ resignations.”

“You mean…?”

“Sounds like that little viper, Number Three, made the grand tour of the castle last night. Servants’ hall, kitchens, all of it. Gave all the staff the whole song and dance about how he was walking out. Dragged the king and all of us through the mud, the whole spiel. You ought to know though,” he added, “I don’t think there’s much we coulda done. I guess it’s been building for a while now. These last few days was just cream on the cake, if you ask me.”

Number One nodded wearily, sinking into his red-brown easy chair. “There’s been talk of this sort since even before Edward fell ill. This was just the final straw.” He considered. “But if those are the staff’s resignations, surely it’s the steward’s job to handle them? Why did you bring them here?”

“Steward quit.”

“Of course he did.” The captain closed his eyes. “Well at least we know where we are. Who’s loyal and all. Have we got enough to keep the castle running?”

“Just, I think.”

“Good enough. We’ll support the servants as we can, even if it means we have to wait tables.” He met Number Two’s eyes, nodding resolutely. “ And every man, woman, and child who’s still here in three days’ time will have a bonus. They deserve some appreciation. Stars know they’re going to be overworked.”

Number Two paused. “I don’t think the treasurers will like that. We did like you said - gave all the quitters double pay. And Graham -”

Number One looked up sharply. “The king.”

“Well, you know that I -”

“Even among ourselves. It’s a touchy time. A lot rides on what we say.”

“Right, the king.” Number Two corrected himself. “He just did that whole three months’ tax forgiveness thing for Mannerly Stove.”

“I don’t doubt we’ll be getting a receipt soon enough for two-hundred-and-sixty-five shades of paint,” grumbled Number One.

“And Crispin still hasn’t been able to undo the charm on the lock of the magic chest. We might have to tighten our belts a little.”

“So be it.” Number One rose and made for the door. “I don’t suppose the steward has left yet? I’ll have to make arrangements with him. Get his keys. Perhaps I’ll stop by the treasury on the way. Have a word with the officials. Come along?”

“Along I come.”

“You have curls.”

Graham peeked out at Clockett from the fluffy towel he was aggressively rubbing over his sopping head. “Yeah, it tricks you that way when it’s wet. But as soon as it’s dry and you brush it, it snarls really badly, and it gets huge, and all the hairs sort of separate from each other, and -”

“You have curls,” cried Clockett, and this time it rang out almost like an accusation.

“Well, they -”

“And you…” Clockett reached with unseeing eyes for the bottle of hair grease Graham usually kept by his looking glass. It had somehow wound up on the tray with all of Clockett’s other hair doodads. The valet unscrewed it, and poured a slow, gluey glop of it onto his fingertip. “You… this?”

“It’s the only thing that keeps it from turning into a crazy frizz.” Graham reached for the bottle.

Clockett snatched it from his reach, and smashed it against the dachshund’s stall door. The solution inside spattered everywhere.

The dog howled. Graham gaped. The towel dropped from his hands.

“Forgive me, sire,” murmured Clockett, breathing heavily. “You have every right to fire me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t in good conscience. I would sooner let you drink that stuff than put it on your head. Now, did I hear you say that you dry brush your curls?”

“My oldest sister has the same hair as me, and she always, um, does it like that,” said Graham, remembering as he spoke that Madeline’s hair was always such a stubborn poof that she virtually never let it hang loose.

“Heaven help the poor woman,” said Clockett.

Graham stooped to pick the towel up from where it had landed on the burlap bag.

“No!” shrieked Clockett, darting forward but apparently catching himself before he could do another snatch. “I have to ask for your forgiveness again, sire. When I brought that towel for you, I hadn’t realized you had such an excellent head of hair. You’re never going to towel it again, sire. You’ll destroy it. Here, let’s wet it again.”

And Graham found himself back in the chair, his hair floating round his head like a cloud in the water. When Clockett tipped the chair back up, he began raking his fingers slowly through the hair, detangling, and then scrunching Graham’s hair in handfuls. “To define them. Make them clump,” he explained. Then came a sweet smelling cream, so light it nearly melted in Graham’s hands, as Clockett showed him how to form his curls without weighing them down.

“There is no way I am doing this every time I have a bath,” Graham privately thought. But he kept glancing in the hand mirror as they worked. It was an enormous relief to finally have clean hair. And as his locks dried a little more, turning springy and soft, he did have to admit they looked a lot better. And would it really take much more time than all the ages he spent slicking it down with the Merchant’s grease?

“Well done,” said Clockett with satisfaction, turning the mirror to different angles. At first Graham assumed he was congratulating himself, but he continued. “Well done. You’re been the soul of patience with all of us. With the guards and their ways. With me dragging all your things down here and pushing you out of your comfort zone. With your subjects up there, and down here. It must all be a lot to navigate at once. You’re carrying a great deal, I think.”

Graham blinked. This wasn’t the direction he’d anticipated they’d go. “Yeah, it’s a lot. But I’ll manage,” he said quietly, looking away so as not to accidentally lock eyes with Clockett in the mirror.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that.” Clockett went on over his shoulder. “You’ve clearly got what it takes. It’s just a different element for you, I’d guess. Though that’s hardly my place to say,” he added hastily. “Pardon, sire.”

Graham didn’t dare answer. Once he opened his mouth, he was terrible at shutting it. “No, you’re good,” he said.

“But since I’ve already crossed a line,” Clockett said, as though he hadn’t heard, “let me go on a little further. I can’t speak for you, of course, and I’m clearly not cut out for kingship like you are. King Edward definitely saw something unique there. But if I had to be king in a situation like yours, I’d guess I’d be feeling a great deal of pressure by this point.”

He was not going to be one of those people who sit down with a hairdresser and suddenly find their hearts pouring out. But he suddenly felt he could understand why that might happen. He picked at a bit of magenta paint caught under a fingernail.

“You know you don’t need to fit any kind of mould to succeed at this,” Clockett went on, turning away and brushing absently at the outfits on the rack. Graham’s red cloak billowed out in that physics-defying way it had whenever it felt the slightest movement. “They don’t know what kind of king to imagine you as yet, because you’ve had no time to define yourself. But you were injured on this trip. There’s no need to keep any of your appointments. You don’t have to keep up that tour of the villages without knowing what kind of person you want to show yourself as. You just got all the time you need - all the time in the world. And all the people you need to help you, in whatever way you like.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help himself. He rose from the chair, and followed Clockett to the rack. “What are you getting at?”

Clockett’s smile came back at last. “I said earlier that you don’t make enough work for me. And perhaps that was over the line too. But since I’ve said it - you don’t. I scramble all night and all day just to find something useful to do, just to keep my living honest. And I think that’s the case for a lot of your staff, and your guards too. We’re all dreadfully good at what we do, sire, or we wouldn’t be here. And it’s all at your service. But naturally, you are used to making your own way. You’re an adventurer. But I think now you might be…” (he reached in the air, as though he could physically pluck the phrase he was searching for out of nowhere,) “... might be still figuring out how the new puzzle pieces in your life fit with the old ones. What kind of picture king and adventurer might make together.”

“That’s a really good way of putting it, actually.”

“We’re all so eager to help you, but we can’t unless you want us to. I’ve tried showing you today that my help can look like whatever you please. You want to spend the night in the stable? Great! Let me make that work for you! And that is true of everything!” Clockett’s words were speeding up into a birdlike chatter. “You’re just a little short on confidence lately, but confidence is a valet’s specialty! if you put yourself in my hands, I’ll make you feel more like yourself than you ever did. That’s what I’ve earned my reputation on. When I start caring for a count or a duke, I turn him into a fine-looking nobleman. But I reinvent that idea of a nobleman into him. We’re going to reinvent kingship into you.”

Clockett seized the red cloak off its hanger and held it up. “For one thing, you need to stop wearing all those formal things they put in your closet, sire. They’re meant for receptions and dinners and things. But you - you’re the dragon blinder! You get to dress like it! And if they think a king shouldn’t be off fighting his own dragons, well, maybe they think that because your clothes, the way you carry yourself, the look in your eye, are telling them the wrong story. But when we’ve fitted you out properly, not just like a knight but like a knight-king, they’ll step out of your way. I’m seeing gleaming armour. I’m seeing your cape embroidered with the arms of Daventry. Maybe a tabard that harmonizes the armour and the crest. You know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah, I see!” said Graham, beginning the feel the excitement flaring up like an ember. “Not that type of story.”

“No, I meant, someone told me you had a background in costumiery?”

“Minored in it at the Knighthood Academy!” said Graham, lighting up the more.

“With Old Maybrock?” “She’s the one!”

“Small, small word, isn’t it?” said Clockett, pressing the cloak into his arms. “But seriously, I think that if you’ll trust me, you can open up so many doors for yourself. What’s something you want? Something you don’t think you can have as king?”

Graham paused, and turned aside to think. “Um.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stall where he had spent the night. Triumph was up on his hind legs against the stall door, leaning his head out and trilling, the edge of the white bedsheet draped over one long ear.

“I’d like to ride Triumph again,” Graham said quietly. “They say he’s not an appropriate mount for a king.”

Clockett gestured exansively in the gerbil’s direction. “Oh, he’ll be more than appropriate for you once we deck him out in all the trappings. We can make him magnificent. We’ll match him to you. They won’t be able to say no once you start telling them the right story. And I think you know a lot about storytelling, don’t you?”

Graham grinned lopsidedly. “I’ve been told I’m not bad at it.”

“Then don’t let them stop you from telling the story of the king you want to be! You can't just tell them. You’ve got to show them.”

Just then, Graham realized he was hugging the cloak to himself, so tenderly he probably looked ridiculous. He could just hear his sisters’ teasing voices in his ears. “If you love your cloak so much, why don’t you marry it?” He slung it over his arm nonchalantly and tried to look casual. But the words that came out of his mouth sounded anything but casual. “You think we could actually reinvent the whole kingship thing?”

“Every king anyone remembers does. We can make kingship - and you - into anything. But you’re letting Number One and the guards tell you what the story should be. They ought to be bending over backward to make your plans work.”

“So…” Graham took a deep, deep breath. “Do you have clothes that would let me get away with anything? Has anyone ever used this for crime? Do you charge the mothballs in my wardrobe with elf magic? Is it fate that Clockett and Pockets almost rhyme? Can you make me super buff? WILL TRIUMPH GET HIS OWN GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN?” Graham stopped, realizing breathlessly that he was now doing a handstand on Clockett’s shoulders. His ears burned as he flipped down to the ground.

Clockett didn’t seem phased. He swept a glorious bow, smiling from ear to ear. “Your majesty,” he said, “only say the word.”

Thank you, @gerbiloftriumph, for all the bouncing this chapter around and writerly support!

#king's quest #king graham #path of kingship #fanfiction #king's quest 2015

12 notes · View notes