#he hears the most out of pocket rumour about himself and has to run back to his house so nobody can hear him hysterically cackling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zuluc · 3 years

Text

@kookieyachi requested: i hate to be that one person but i doubt they'll increase the rate but imma try my best & start saving for zhongli & childe 😼🤚 anYWAY-, i was wondering if u could write another diluc x reader whr they're in a secret relationship (only kaeya knew somehow-) & one of the mcs & paimon heard rumours of diluc having a s/o & decide to follow him, to see him gg on a date w the reader or summ,,, hope its not too confusing haha🥺💖

pairing: diluc x gn!reader

style & genre: written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: i meant rng rates those screw me over when it matters but i hope we get good ones when their banners come in, i wish the best of luck to everyone pulling may we get our dream teams; THIS IS CUTE ty for all your requests you know what’s good 😪😪

the mc in this is aether because i love aether

“I hear someone has Master Diluc’s heart!”

“Is that so?”

“Aw, man! I wanted him...”

It’s been the talk of the town for longer than he expected and wanted it to be: Diluc’s love life. He was always the private one and never shared anything about his personal life so it was only natural that no one, minus Kaeya it seemed, had a clue as to who took Mondstadt’s most wanted bachelor.

“Are they sure he’s even with someone? Isn’t it just a rumor?” Paimon asks her travel companion as they make their way into the tavern for a late night drink. The pair had travelled back to the town for a few days and while walking through they listened in on what the townspeople were gossiping about this time around.

“Not sure, he doesn’t seem like the type. Why not ask him, Paimon?”

Paimon flies in front of his face and places her hands on her hips, “You don’t just ask him! He’s so secretive and... and well just that! Also, Paimon thinks he’d just avoid the question.”

“You won’t know it’ll work if you never try.” Aether suggests and opens the door to the tavern. He himself actually wanted to know the truth to those rumors because, well think about it, it’s Diluc and any information that made him seem more emotional than he let on was interesting. He steps inside, seeing the people inside drinking and laughing. They all greet him with their cheerful, yet drunk replies, and Diluc nods his head in acknowledgement.

“Welcome back. What’ll it be for tonight?” He asks them. Aether places his drink order and Paimon hovers over the bartender with a judging look on her face. Convenient that he is working tonight. He raises a brow, “Can I help you?”

“U-Uh,” she turns her attention to Aether who simply looks back at her and sips his apple cider vinegar, a look of you’re on your own for this one on his face. “Have you heard what’s being said around Mondstadt, Master Diluc?” She asks in a way to slowly lead into the main question. Diluc picks up a glass and shakes his head, turning around to place the item on one of the shelves.

“I’ve never paid attention to gossip if that’s what you’re referring to. And like I’ve said before,” he eyes the emergency ration suspiciously, “I don’t dwell on idle chat.” Those words, while they weren’t intended to be as cold as they sounded, prevented Paimon from pressing on. She pouts while flying, but her gaze lands on his hands. They are void of his usual gloves and Diluc wore them even while working. She brushes it off as a useless observation and the door of the tavern opens.

“Evening!” Charles greets them. He waves a hand to Diluc who finishes the last of the glasses he is cleaning, silently thanking the bartender for taking the rest of his shift. He walks out the back and Paimon floats up.

“Does he have something else to do? He usually stays for the rest of the night.” She questions Charles who shakes his head in amusement.

“He must be working hard,” Charles comments, “or maybe taking some time for himself.” Paimon perks up at what he says and she looks at Aether. The traveller finishes his drink and narrows his eyes at her.

“What?” He barely gets another word in before she is rushing out the door. “Paimon!” He places mora on the counter and bids Charles a good night before following her. The door swings open and Aether is met with Paimon flying in front of his face.

“We’ll follow him!” She states confidently, a glint in her eyes.

Aether stares at her blankly. “Uh, why?” Again, she doesn’t give him an answer when she sees a flash of red hair behind his head. They keep quiet and hide behind the stone building when they see Diluc look side to side, almost catching them in his sight.

“He’s definitely going somewhere!” She is much more invested in this than Aether thought, but his own curiosity was overpowering the possibility of getting caught by the pyro user as well. He wordlessly agrees and they quietly tread behind him through Mondstadt, hiding behind every pole and wall whenever they thought he believed someone was following him.

Minutes into their mission Aether catches sight of the Knight of Favonius building and his suspicions are raised. Diluc wouldn’t be caught dead near this place, what more just by walking by it? He stops at the side and Aether tugs his hovering companion away from Diluc’s line of sight when it opens, a familiar person stepping out.

“It’s--!”

“Honorary Knight!” Huffman interrupts Paimon’s exclamation as he rushes to the both of them. “Would you be able to help us out near Windrise? Quite a lot of slimes showed up and the other knights are preoccupied with their own missions. I know you just got back but...”

“We’re good!” Another knight shows up, running to them, “Captain Kaeya helped us out!” Aether looks back and forth between then before looking at the door. It seems that the person and Diluc had already left.

“Ah, I see. Sorry to intrude on your evening.” Huffman excuses himself and leaves with the other knight. Paimon flies towards the empty stairs, floating around premises as if looking for clues.

“Paimon saw y/n! Do you think they’re together?�� She questions.

“Isn’t that too much of an assumption?” Paimon floats to Aether’s face with mock anger on her features. “Maybe they could just be well-acquainted.”

“Let’s just see who’s right then! I bet...” she places a finger to her chin, “...5000 mora!”

“You don’t even carry mora.”

The commissions burned you out but you are more than happy to see what awaits you after you leave the building. Bidding Jean goodbye, you settle into your coat and push the doors open. He’s standing there waiting like he said he would and you notice there is no one around, though you had an inkling that someone was watching you. You are broken out of your thoughts when Diluc’s warm hand cups your face. He was initiating more touches after becoming comfortable in your relationship, so you felt happy that he could do so outside though with no one to see.

To you, it was hard to believe that you managed to attract him in the first place, considering his many suitresses, but despite that he insisted that it was you he was after.

“Something the matter?” He asks gently, removing his hand when he could hear steps behind him. You shake your head and smile at him causing his heart to warm at the sight. “Good, shall we?”

Your dates aren’t like the usual ones. You walk around the sides of Mondstadt when everyone is asleep as you both share what has gone on in your day. Sometimes, you even take a stroll outside the city and sit under the large tree in Windrise, watching the stars twinkle. Going on many secret rendezvous were fun and brought an excitement and mystery to both of your lives when they occured.

But even so, sometimes you wondered what it would be like if the townspeople knew.

Diluc never explicitly mentioned that he wanted the whole town to know and you both came to the conclusion that keeping your relationship from the public would be beneficial. He was known to be aloof yet protective of Mondstadt. He had a reputation to uphold and the enemies would otherwise have vital information to his weaknesses if they came to know of your connection.

You know he loves you, he tells you every night before you have to part until you see each other the next day. And any doubt in your mind is gone when your hand is held tightly in his.

“Paimon, we’ve been following them for too long. They’re just talking.” Aether felt uncomfortable doing what they were doing and spying on the both of you. He watches the both of you engage in a regualr conversation. After losing sight of you at the Knights of Favonious building they glided around trying to track you both. He couldn’t see that your hands were intertwined due to how your coat concealed it.

“Ahh! Fine, we should go rest,” Paimon says defeatedly, “Paimon can’t believe she lost 5000 mora!” Aether rolls his eyes and jumps down from the roof to head to a nearby inn. The streets are quiet but there are audible footsteps from their right as they move through the houses.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you back in town.” Kaeya greets him with the usual lilt to his voice. “Why are you two still up?”

“We were following Master Diluc because we think he’s seeing someone!” Paimon really has no shame, does she? Aether thinks to himself and he looks up at the Cavalry Captain when the latter lets out a light chuckle.

“What an interesting activity... I do hope you find your answer,” Kaeya nods his head to direct it behind them. Aether and Paimon follow his direction and see the two they had been trailing for the past hours. “Good night.”

“I almost forgot!” The duo’s ears perk at the sound of your voice. You and Diluc are at the front of your home and their eyes widen at the sight of your hand in his. You reach into your coat pocket to pull out his gloves, “You left them here.”

“Thank you,” Diluc replies, lifting the hand he held to his lips and kissing the back. “Good night, my love.”

“Good night, Diluc.” The smile on your face is ever radiant and he leans down for his kiss. You oblige but pull away to lean closer to his ear, “It seems that we have company.” Your hold leaves him and you open your door, disappearing inside. Diluc turns his head and sees the shocked faces of the traveller and ration.

“Paimon wins.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin impact imagines #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc

2K notes · View notes

valdomarx · 4 years

Text

Anon requested: Could you possibly write something with Jaskier finding out he’s half incubus and having no clue what to do?

His horns don’t start growing in until he's 30.

Jaskier had heard rumours throughout his childhood of his mother's infidelity and her penchant for bedding magical creatures, but he'd thought that was typical malicious court gossip. His father's coldness toward him he'd assumed to be the way of nobility and due to his own failures as a son.

And sure, he's always attracted attention from men and women alike, but he'd believed that was due to the charisma he worked hard to exude. People often wanted to sleep with him, but he was young and handsome and talented, so why wouldn’t they?

He certainly does like sex, though that's hardly unusual. And he does feels better afterwards: sated, fulfilled, more energetic. But wasn’t that the point?

And then one day he’s washing his hair and feels prominent bumps on his head. He thinks he must have hit his head when he was drunk, not an unprecedented occurrence. But within days a hideous mass of bone is pushing out from his skull and he realises something is terribly wrong.

He locks himself in his rooms at Oxenfurt Academy and tells everyone he has a fever. The students leave food outside his door and he spends three weeks in isolation, watching in horror as horns sprout and grow terrifyingly fast until they form neat curls on either side of his head.

He stares into a polished metal plate at his newly monstrous countenance, and knows that the path of his life stands at a precipice.

No, he decides. He has worked too hard to get away from his hateful upbringing and to become his own person to allow his family to drag him down once again.

Taking a knife to his own head to remove the horns is the most painful thing he has ever experienced, but he will not let the life he has built be destroyed by this thing inside him. He stands alone in his room, blood dripping down his face, and stares in horror at the curled mass of horn in his hand, gory and vile.

Even after that, the horns continue to grow back. He assiduously files them down, though it hurts every time.

When spring arrives he heads out to meet Geralt as usual. If Geralt notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. They travel together and it’s blessedly normal - at least until Jaskier gets kidnapped.

He’s snatched by a band of ruffians, thrown in a dank underground cell and left there. Things could be worse, on balance. At least he’s marked as a hostage so he’s fed and not tortured. A few days in he overhears the bandits discussing how he’s the perfect bait for a much greater prize, the White Wolf himself.

Jaskier oscillates between hoping Geralt stays the hell away from this obvious trap and fantasising about being rescued. It’s cold and dark here, but most of all it’s lonely. And he can feel his horns growing back in, inch by terrible inch. He has never been comfortable being alone.

After two interminable weeks, he hears the distant sound of fighting from above, clashing swords and yells of pain. That has to be Geralt, and he knows that afraid or not, he has to help before Geralt ends up locked in here too.

So Jaskier does what he does best. One of the guards has been staring at his horns with obvious interest, and it’s laughably easy to attract his attention and seduce him. When Jaskier backs him up against a damp wall and swallows down his seed he feels a zing of energy and the man drops to the cold stone floor, unconscious.

Jaskier feels strong. He pushes open the door to his cell and faces three armed men between him and the door. He picks up a nearby oak table like it weighs nothing and tosses it at them, smashing it into two of them who go down immediately. The third is knocked to the floor and scrambles for his sword, but Jaskier is on him in moments, foot pressed against his chest.

“Give me the keys,” he says, voice vibrating deep in his chest. The man squirms but doesn’t answer and Jaskier pushes down with his foot, feeling the man’s ribs crack and buckle beneath him. “I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay,” the man croaks, coughing up flecks of blood. “In my pocket.”

Jaskier snatches the keys, unlocks the steel door to the dungeon, and magnanimously leaves the man alive. He hasn’t the time to stop and kill him anyway, Geralt must be nearby and he needs Jaskier’s help.

As he hurries up the stairs and away from the rank dungeon, the sounds of battle increase and he hears a familiar voice raised in an unfamiliar shout.

“Where is he?” the voice yells. The clashing of blades rings through the fort. “Where is he?”

Jaskier rounds the corner to a courtyard to find Geralt spattered in blood and surrounded by the corpses of bandits, their leader on his knees with Geralt’s hand around his throat and Geralt’s sword pointed between his eyes.

He should have known that this rough bunch would be no match for a witcher in full swing.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. He’s been dreaming of this moment, but now he finds himself poleaxed by the reality of Geralt seeing him in his true, hideous form.

Geralt looks at him, and his eyes widen in shock for just a second. He slits the throat of the man in front of him and pushes his body to the side without ever tearing his eyes from Jaskier.

He steps toward him, sword still raised, and for a moment Jaskier truly thinks that Geralt will run him through with his blade, just another monster to be slain.

But then Geralt tosses his sword aside and races over to Jaskier to wrap him in a hug so tight it’s stifling.

“Jaskier,” he breathes. “You’re alive.”

Oh. He pats Geralt awkwardly on the back. Even in this most dire of situations, he enjoys having strong arms around him more than he should.

“I'm okay,” he says, and Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s hair and inhales, as if despite the rank state of his unwashed hair, Geralt has truly missed him.

Geralt pulls back and his eyes flick ever so briefly to Jaskier’s horns.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I can only imagine what you must think of me. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll go. I’ll leave you be. But please don’t turn me in.”

Geralt frowns. Well, frowns more than unusual. “You being half incubus has never bothered me before. Why would it bother me now?”

Jaskier‘s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You knew? All this time?”

Geralt huffs, but there’s an undeniable edge of fondness to it. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. Of course I knew. I could tell the minute I met you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Now it’s Geralt turn to look shocked. “You didn’t know? Hells, Jaskier. I thought you were trying to be circumspect.”

“Circumspect?” Jaskier laughs hysterically. “Right, because that’s just my style. Do you think I, a monster, would have rocked up in Posada and imposed myself on you, a monster hunter, if I had known? Does that seem sensible to you?”

“Not sensible, no.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth flicks up. “But it does sound exactly like something you’d do.”

Jaskier intends to pout but instead feels himself smiling for the first time in weeks, because Geralt has him there.

Geralt runs the back of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, and the leather of his gloves is warm and smooth against his skin. “You’re not a monster,” he says, like it’s that simple. “People might think you monstrous, but their ignorance is no reflection on you.”

He moves to brush his fingers delicately along the edge of one of Jaskier’s horns. Jaskier can’t feel it, not directly, but the vibrations of his touch send tingles racing across his scalp, making him weak at the knees. “And you don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

Jaskier looks at the floor, because he can’t look at Geralt right now, he just can’t. “Even like this, I can stay? You won’t send me away?” His voice sounds so small and pathetic.

Geralt’s fingers slot under his chin and lift his head until their eyes are locked. “You can stay,” he says, certain and sure; Jaskier‘s rock as always. “We can be monstrous together.”

#me: haha imagine jaskier is a sex demon who files down his horns #also me: ... unless ...#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #tw body horror #incubus!jaskier

2K notes · View notes

neverdoingmuch · 3 years

Note

Wait cql lawyer/law school AU

i got you my pal dont worry!!

law school, im gonna be honest and say i know like nothing about law or law school so pls ignore any inconsistencies or inaccuracies

lwj goes to law school and he is definitely the top student in his class. they’ve been there for like a month and everyone already knows he’s gonna be the best

his one and only competition is this dude called wei wuxian but lwj isn’t particularly worried about him

so far they’re still in the stage of the course where they do the fun things to sucker people into doing the class for the semester so there’s been some practise debates and arguments and stuff in their tutorial classes

wei wuxian has that Charisma and like yeah all of his arguments are perfect but also he has an amazing smile and people are like yes i can trust him

(he’s definitely the sort to be like hm, the easy way to argue this case would be to quote some laws and use precedence to justify this but that’s boring)

lwj is also good at that sort of stuff because his arguments are perfect and everything is so perfectly researched that there should be no ground at all for someone to lodge a counterargument

(wei wuxian manages somehow and it makes lwj so mad)

but that’s whatever lwj thinks,, a lot of people join law thinking it’s gonna be like the tv shows and books and then get completely blindsided when it comes to the rote learning part or like the actual laws

and for all of wwx’s confidence, lwj hasn’t actually seen wwx so much as touch the textbook/s and he always studies in the law library so he knows that wwx has probably never even been there bc he hasn’t seen him even once (why’s he looking? bc he needs to see which books wwx uses to study,, bc there has to be something going on there,, obviously)

then they do their first like proper written assignment and lwj and wwx tie for the highest scores and now lwj has a Rival and he refuses to lose to someone who thinks that putting a ‘-us’ sound at the end of a word makes it latin (did wwx say habeas corpus and then point at a soft drink and go sprite-us can-us,,, maybe,,,,)

anyway! lwj and wwx are kinda rivals for the top spot and it’s one of those situations where one test lwj wins by a point but then the next test wwx gets full marks and they just keep exchanging the top spot in class

and this whole time wwx is like The Worst to have in class. he’s always interrupting to ask questions or just straight up not listening and spends the class doodling pictures of rabbits (they’re cute but wwx is terrible and he’s not allowed to make cute drawings)

so after a few months the most horrible thing happens.... they get put together in a project and lwj is like ugh. internally of course but his face is also saying ugh

the first time wwx and lwj get together to work on the project, lwj is prepared with a proper list of tasks to do all nicely split up between the two of them and a schedule for when they should get certain parts done by.

needless to say, lwj does not expect wwx to be ready, but wwx is definitely on top of things

he rocks up and is like yeah let’s do this, this and this and have them done by this time - basically proposing to do everything that lwj has already written down

and lwj is pleasantly surprised and is like hm maybe i misjudged wwx and decides to like re-evaluate his opinion on him

in doing so he realises that when he’d never seen wwx studying, it wasn’t an exaggeration at all. he’s never seen wwx so much as touch a textbook or spend more than a minute on a laptop doing something that wasn’t minesweeper or solitaire

but wwx is also making all of their deadlines and even adds extra information and resources to their document that could be useful elsewhere and sometimes he shows up to their study sessions and he looks absolutely exhausted

eventually lwj manages to get the truth out and wwx is just like yeah it’s easier to get worse grades than a genius but if you both study and you still get lower grades, it’s not easy,, for jc or for me

so wwx usually studies at night when his brother is asleep and lwj is like that’s bad, you can’t keep that up and just when wwx is about to go off at him lwj is like you can come study at my place

and thus begins the wonderful time where everything is alright and lwj falls in love with wwx

they work really well together and wwx is strangely considerate and nice? when he finds out lwj likes rabbits, he goes out and buys bunny post-it notes for lwj and starts to always bring him a doodle of bunnies every time he comes over. he always gets his work done on time, early even, and his work is always so brilliant and every time wwx smiles at him, lwj feels warm inside etc etc

for a long while lwj is like yes (: this is friendship (: bc he’s never had a crush before but then on the day they submit their project wwx is like hey,, the two of us make a great team,, we should always work together,, now and next year and even when we graduate,, i want to help the innocent people who need our help and i think i’d like it a lot if you joined me and lwj has his oh moment

they get a perfect score on the project of course and even after it finishes, wwx keeps coming over to lwj’s place to study or just hang out and lwj is just falling more and more for wwx each day

they’re best friends now and everyone gets used to seeing them work together on projects and then turn around to try and decimate each other when they’re working one on one and lwj thinks that he might just be the happiest he’s ever been

but then one day wwx doesn’t show up to class. it shouldn’t be strange but wwx has never missed class even once and he ends up hearing from lxc who heard from jgy that wwx was caught sabotaging some other student’s work (the other student was jzxun, who had a fondness for playing devil’s advocate and other than wwx once telling him that his argument was shit, wwx never spoke to him or seemed to know who he was but lwj is a bit too angry to remember that)

he manages to find wwx outside of his dorms as he’s moving out and he’s just like why did you do that? and wwx is like oh y’know,, bc he’s not really sure what’s happening himself,, one second he was at the top of his class and the next he was being brought before a board and being told that he was being expelled but he’s not going to tell lwj that bc lwj would definitely try and stand up for him and then they’d both get expelled

but lwj is furious and just spits out well if our dreams meant so little to you then maybe it’s a good thing you failed now,, bc his mother was a lawyer who took all these little jobs that helped people who actually needed the help and lwj was looking forward to doing that with wwx and he doesn’t even seem to care that now they can’t do that

wwx flinches and then smiles at him and just cheerily says, that’s me and leaves. he doesn’t look back and lwj doesn’t chase after him.

lwj doesn’t see him again for years (you can do 13 or 5 or however long you feel like)

lwj is a fully licensed lawyer and he’s working for the family company and he spends half of his time working on cases and uses the rest of his time to do like outreach programs where he goes and visits schools and runs sessions on what it’s like to be a lawyer, how to apply, and to provide assistance to any students who decide to study law at uni

and then at one of these programs he meets this kid, wen yuan, who is ridiculously bright and enthusiastic and has a smile that seems oddly familiar

at the end of the second session he comes up to lwj and is like mr. lan, is your name lan wangji? and lwj just says yes, expecting the kid to be a fan of one of his cases or something but then wen yuan is like oh wow! i thought i recognised you from my dad’s photo!

and lwj isn’t expecting much but he asks what the photo looks like and wen yuan pulls out this photo from his pocket and lwj immediately recognises it,, it’s the only photo he has of him and wwx

your father is wei ying? lwj asks him and wen yuan is like yes, hesitates, and then asks, would you like to see him?

and that’s how lwj finds himself following wen yuan to some dinky little office that has a plaque outside that reads wen and wei

(wen ning is the nicest and sweetest person ever and lots of people underestimate him but then he’s an absolute monster on court. he gets up and completely decimates the opponent and then at the end is like (: it was so nice to meet you!! i am baby!! and all that,, you know our boy)

anyway they walk in and wwx turns to greet wen yuan but then he sees lwj and is like woah! you! and he’s not sure whether to hide or go and hug lwj so he just gives him a fist bump,, like a bro,, and immediately wants to shrivel up and die

anyway they get the reunion stuff out of the way, swelling music, tender wrist holding, lots of staring, lwj silently declaring his wholehearted love for wwx and refusing to believe rumours about him again even though he doesn’t actually know what happened, you know how it goes

from wwx’s side of things,, after he got kicked out he went to some small uni. good in its own right but not known for their law program and ended up specialising in family law

the first case he ever won was for the wens to have the right to keep custody of a-yuan and the first case wen ning ever won was to let wwx adopt a-yuan bc i’m soft like that

so wwx has just been kinda vibing,, being a single dad, living with the wens and helping to make that difference he always promised he would

now this isn’t gonna be some au where lwj goes oh my! i must give up my high salary job and work with wwx! bc lwj has been doing good stuff at his current job and for all of his family’s stuffiness, they run a fair and just company

but! he does end up helping wwx when wwx gets a letter with a bunch of information about the jins and how they’re actually super corrupt and evil (big surprise,,) and how wwx was maybe definitely framed bc he was doing some casual work on the side and stumbled across some bad shit on the jins back in uni

lwj ends up being the one to take the case officially but wwx is definitely the guy leading it and so lwj ends up spending most of his time at the wen-wei office

lwj definitely bonds with wen yuan, who also wants to go into law, and writes him recommendation letters and helps him edit his applications and stuff

(and one day wen yuan is like leaving you was the hardest thing dad ever did and i dont think you appreciated how much he cared about you. he really did think that he annoyed you ‘til the end and lwj is like no! he didn’t! and wen yuan is like yeah i know but you gotta tell him and lwj really does mean to but the time is never right or something like that but also wen yuan is all but calling lwj dad at this point)

anyway they end up going to court, side by side, working as a team just as they promised to do and just as they finish their final day on the case, ended with the jury ruling jgy guilty and wwx’s reputation all but saved, wwx turns around and flings himself at lwj

is he crying? is he laughing? a bit of both tbh but wwx ends up confessing right then and there, still on record and everything (is that how that works??? idk! let’s say it does)

and what can lwj do but make out with him?

did a news crew come in to film the results of this massive court case just to end up with five minutes of wangxian kissing?? maybe! but when it played on tv it meant wwx and lwj didnt have to actually tell anyone they got together

(and does lwj eventually pop the question using wwx’s bad latinification? yes and wwx is too busy laughing to accept at first but he does and they end up being the worst possible tutors for wen yuan as he goes through law school bc they keep being all gross and lovey-dovey and acting like law school is the most romantic place in the world)

#mdzs #Anonymous #modao zushi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #all of my understanding of law comes from the pelican brief which i read over 10 years ago and one seminar on law courses at uni #so sorry if it's bad #):#lan sizhui #also i stand by wen yuan #let him keep his last name!#my aus #asks

312 notes · View notes

otonymous · 4 years

Text

It’s The End Of The World (MLQC Headcanon)

Dear Nonny...

I say that now, Nonny, but the truth is that the ONLY thing I love more than smut is angst! Mwahahaha! 🤣🤣 That being said, let’s take a one-way trip to Angst Town! Everybody got their seatbelts on?! LET’S GO!!! (Please note warnings below before reading 💕💕💕)

Warnings: angst, explicit language, trigger warnings (mentions of speeding, near-death experiences and flashbacks, nausea & vomiting, insomnia, slight mention of possessive behaviour, workaholism, loss of appetite and weight loss, anger and violent behaviour (not towards other people though!)) and SPOILERS (basically up to chapter 24 in the EN server; includes dates and Rumours & Secrets for the boys)

Gavin:

DEVASTATED. This man is absolutely devastated.

Gavin has known you since high school and loved you since then

You were his dream girl — the one he thought had got away until his duties brought you back into his life. He had vowed to protect you till the very end, had absolutely no qualms about giving his life for yours. He made a solemn promise to himself that he would never lose you a second time

Until that fateful day when you invited him out for lunch at Lynn’s Kitchen on the grounds of your old high school

You order his favourites, spicy noodles and lemon tea; wait until his stomach is full before you open your mouth to gently broach the topic

“Gavin…I…”

A single glance at your face tells Gavin that something is terribly off. He’s immediately setting his chopsticks down, asking, “What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything. Whatever it is, I’ll help you—”

“Shaw. We…we’ve decided to be together. I know you’re not on good terms, and he did insist on coming today, but I thought it would be best if I told you myself…”

He cannot hear

He cannot move

And it isn’t until the burning sensation in his lungs catches up with him that he realizes he hadn’t even been breathing

Amber eyes, listless and dull, float from your lips to the wall decorated with Post-It notes just behind you, moving from one colourful slip of paper to another

“I hate it when people leave without saying goodbye.”

Gavin still remembers the loops and dashes of your handwriting on the Post-It note you had written so long ago, the way you dotted your i’s with hearts

And all of a sudden, he is back in his high school uniform, bloodied and bruised and free falling from the roof of the four-storey building

Except this time, he cannot hear the strains of a piano, no matter how hard he tries. The gingko leaves around him flutter to the ground just before…

“Gavin?” The touch of your hand on his snaps him out of his reverie. He tries to force a smile and fails.

“I…I’m sorry. There’s somewhere…I just remembered…I have to go….” He hurriedly puts a few bills on the table — more than enough to cover the entire meal — and dashes out of the restaurant

Gavin hops on Sparky and just goes…riding for hours on end with no destination in mind. He’s taken with an intense urge to go fast, as if his body were trying to outrun the feelings he doesn’t have the means of dealing with. At one point, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits him and he stops at the side of the road, retching and retching until his stomach is as empty as his hollowed-out heart

He’s still thinking of you the entire time he’s MIA. The last text from his phone is one sent to you, telling you not to worry about him and apologizing for the way he behaved back at the restaurant. He’s asking if you’d still be okay with talking to him when he gets back, and of course, to contact him immediately if you need anything at all

He still feels you in the wind

Believe it or not, for a short period of time, Gavin actually develops a fear of flying: it reminds him too much of you, brings up too many memories of him holding you in his arms as you traverse the skies together. He’s not confident he can do it anymore, partly because he thinks his Evol might suddenly give out when he’s high up in the air

The turning point comes when Gavin visits his mother’s resting place. There, for the first time since you broke the news to him, he actually cries, and it gives him the strength to carry on

Let’s be clear: Gavin will never, ever be over you. The two of you will remain friends though because Gavin intends to watch over you for the rest of his life (that is one promise he would never break)

With time, he gets used to seeing you with Shaw, even starts to relax a bit when he realizes that his younger brother is capable of protecting you

Someday, Gavin will marry — likely someone who was set up with him either by Minor or his colleagues (Birdcop would never take the initiative to actually meet somebody). This person is absolutely smitten with the handsome officer and his gruff ways and cannot wait to start a family with him. They would also have to be thick-skinned and stubborn enough to turn Gavin’s “no” into an eventual “yes”

And while Gavin would prove to be a loyal husband and doting father who would do anything for his family, a part of him would always, always, continue to burn for you.

Lucien:

How do you expect this man to behave when he’s lost the only colour in his life?

Lucien would never, ever recover from this. He doesn’t want to. The man for whom love was never meant to happen has no need for such an emotion. He wants nothing to do with it unless it has to do with you

The professor’s world literally returns to being a drab shadow of blacks and greys — the rainbow disappeared when his little butterfly flew into the palm of another’s hand

“Do you love him?” He’ll ask you, dark eyes almost hypnotic in their intensity when he pierces you with that gaze

You’re ashamed to find that you have to think twice before replying that you do indeed love Victor

Ba-bump, ba-bump, BA-BUMP — Lucien breaks out into a cold sweat as his heart begins to race, face becoming pale as a sheet

His shaking hands are pulled into tight fists within the pockets of his lab coat. He’s running his finger over the cap of his pill bottle inside one of them, not wanting to take them in front of you because in spite of it all, the last thing he wants is for you to worry about him 😭😭😭

Lucien nods, placid smile a mask on his face when he says, “I wish the two of you nothing but the best.”

“Lucien!” You start after him when he turns to walk away. “We…we’re still friends, right?”

For what is possibly the first time in his entire life, Lucien can’t think straight. His mind is a mess, logical thoughts tangled up with sorrow, hurt, anger, and the sense that the world could end at that very moment and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He takes a deep breath, composing himself before he turns to face you again: “Of course. You can always come to me if you ever need anything.” It takes everything in him not to fall apart when he lays a hand on the crown of your head, savouring the heat of your body for the very last time

In the days immediately afterwards, the people around Lucien better watch out as his ability to keep cool, calm and collected is challenged: he’s giving the side-eye to his colleagues at the research institute more often then usual, and Black Swan members literally want to run the other way when they see him coming. If they thought Ares was ruthless before then they’d better watch out now…

As if it were even humanly possible, the professor sleeps even less now: if he’s not in the lab, he’s literally wiling away the hours watching old Hollywood films

Sometimes, he’ll place his hand on the handle to the door of your apartment, closing his eyes and doing his best to pretend that he can still feel your palm in his (he knows you’re not home. You so rarely are these days…)

Unbeknownst to you, Lucien spends his weekends revisiting the places you used to go together: sitting on the same bench at the aquarium where you kissed him without a second thought, wandering to the theme park you ran away to as a child just to watch the carousel spin round and round, trying his best to keep a smile on his face when the kids at the orphanage ask him where his “pretty lady friend” is

Lucien actually has a kite that he bought ages ago, intent on fulfilling his promise to one day fly it with you. It sits in his apartment still. He can’t bring himself to dispose of it.

Gives you his pen, Iridescent, as part of his wedding gift to you. “May it always bring you luck, wherever you are and…whomever you’re with.”

Regardless of where he is, Lucien will always be keeping tabs on you. If Victor ever trips up, you can bet that Lucien will be there to swoop in and take his place

The professor will never love another person for as long as he lives. That’s all there is to it.

Victor:

Throws himself into his work when you break the news to him that you’ve accepted Lucien’s proposal

“If that dummy can’t see that I’m the most suitable choice for her, then let her suffer the consequences of her foolishness.” — Victor will tell himself that, but don’t believe it for even a second

Victor has always been obsessed with working, but this is on an entirely new level, even for him: the man’s been missing meals (or taking them at his desk, at most) and doesn’t leave his office until close to midnight, most days of the week

Like a watch whose gears are irreparably damaged, the LFG CEO is broken on the inside. He has to focus on work because he knows that if he stops long enough to fully consider the consequences of having lost you, he would never climb out of the depths of his despair

Even his dad and aunt become concerned, especially when they notice that he’s lost weight: “Victor, you have employees for a reason. Delegation is not a weakness.”

His mind often drifts to you, especially when he’s driving. There are many times when he finds himself absentmindedly heading in the direction of your office after work before he catches himself (the man is so used to picking you up that it’s become like muscle memory, in a sense)

Weekends will find him holed up in his attic space, fingers tracing over the uneven surface of the cup you had accidentally dropped and shattered, the pieces of which he had spent an entire night glueing back together

He shuts down Souvenir for a while: Victor cannot bring himself to step foot in the kitchen because he can’t help but see your face, smiling in rapturous joy to indulge in the caramel pudding he made especially for you

He spends his nights lying wide awake in a bed that suddenly seems much too big, wondering if you would’ve chosen differently if he took the time to tell you all the things he always thought were obvious: that he respected your fighting spirit, admired the brazen way you never gave up on the things you believed in, loved every single thing about you, even the things he seemed to disapprove of

His biggest regret: that he never had the chance to tell you that you were the love of his life

He often fantasizes about what it would’ve been like to stop time before you informed him you were choosing Lucien, to exist forever with you in a single moment when you made him the happiest man alive just by sharing your time with him

He still checks your Moments account religiously, murmuring “Dummy” with the faintest hint of a smile on his face to see your ridiculous posts, but he can never bring himself to reply. Victor’s pride won’t let him. He would rather die than let you know that each moment spent without you makes him feel like he is suffocating

Eventually, his worried family — especially his aunt — decides that enough is enough. They force Victor to take a vacation while trying to discreetly set him up with daughters of other wealthy and prominent families

Victor is beyond annoyed at having his personal affairs meddled with like this, but is essentially strong-armed by his aunt, who turns on the waterworks and starts sobbing about wanting to see the progeny of her dearest nephew before she passes on or withers away from want of new blood in the Li family

Victor will eventually have to marry and have kids — he needs to have someone to pass LFG on to. It will be a long while before he does settle down though; at one point, it’ll seem like he’s content to be a bachelor for life, married to his work

He will show up for your wedding though, and you can bet the most generous gift will be from the LFG CEO

“Try not to be such a dummy from now on. I won’t be there to set you straight and your husband may not be as patient of a man as I am.” Those jet black eyes are wavering with emotion when he reaches out to lay a hand on your head. But he halts midway, awkwardly pulling back because he’s realized that he doesn’t have the right to touch another man’s wife so casually 😭😭😭

Kiro:

“Ahahaha! All right, all right…you’ve got me. You can stop playing around now, Miss Chips,” Kiro will say, hands held up in defeat when you tell him that you’ve accepted Gavin’s proposal

When he realizes you’re being serious, it’s like all the warmth and light has suddenly been sucked from the room

Those blue eyes go wide, the smile dropping from the superstar’s face. For what seems like an interminable amount of time, Kiro just sits there staring at you, almost catatonic

When he speaks again, you’re so surprised you almost jump out of your skin: “Gavin…he’s that cop, right? The friend you’ve known since high school?”

You nod and all of a sudden, it’s like the floodgates have been opened: Kiro’s grasping your hands in his, expression panic-stricken as his questions come a mile a minute:

“Was it something I did, Miss Chips? I swear I’ll change! I…I won’t eat junk food anymore! Won’t even look at that stuff! If you don’t like your nickname, I’ll call you by your real name, anything you want! Or maybe it’s because my schedule is always so crazy? I’ll cut back on my jobs, I don’t care about the money! If you’re tired of running from the paparazzi, I’ll quit. Just quit, stop everything — I don’t care, ok? The only thing I care about is you! Miss Chips? Please don’t cry…I’m your hero, remember? So please…please…”

A single tear rolls down his cheek — you have to look away or else your resolve would crumble

“I’m so sorry, Kiro. I…I wanted you to be the first to know. I wanted you to hear it from me…”

It’s like all the life has been drained from him; it actually frightens you to see him like that

“Kiro?" You hesitantly lay a hand on his. It’s almost cool to the touch. Kiro gives his head a little shake, seeming to come back to himself

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Miss Chips. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to get hysterical. God, what an awful way to react….” He forces a laugh, but it is wooden and so goddamn heartbreaking to hear. You almost wish he would scream obscenities at you instead

“He, Gavin…he’s a good man. He’ll be good for you. I’m happy that you’re happy, Miss Chips.”

The next day, Kiro drops off the face of the Earth: he’s MIA, no one can reach him

Everyone is panicking: his agent, Savin, and management, his legions of adoring fans all over the world, and most of all, you

That is, until he sends two text messages, one to Savin and the other to you, telling you all that he’s safe and not to worry; he’s just taking some time to work some things out for himself

In actuality, the only thing that’s happening is that Kiro is reverting back to who he originally was before you came into his life

His sun has been eclipsed by crushing sorrow and loss, the brilliance of your light and warmth forever taken from him and he is left in the cold shadow of solitary darkness

Kiro wants to be happy for you, and he hates that he can’t — this dissonance so disconcerts him that he’d rather not feel anything at all

When the superstar does eventually return to the world at large, there’s something about him that’s changed — Savin and the rest will be largely fooled by that ever-cheerful mask he puts on, but you won’t

Those blue eyes seem just a bit darker, the radiance of his being almost imperceptibly dimmed

Poor Kiro, loved the world over, would never love another person for the rest of his life. It would always be you or nothing.

Shaw:

Hurt. Angry. Confused.

Shaw is angry with himself for ever believing that you and him had a future together; he hates that he saw the signs that you would always, always, always choose Gavin in the end and still continued to lie to himself in spite of it

He hates that he let himself become vulnerable by falling in love with you (Shaw sees vulnerability as the biggest weakness one could have, that’s why he’s always kept himself emotionally guarded in his dealings with people)

But for whatever reason, when it came to you, he just couldn’t help but fall (“Guess brothers are hard-wired in the same way after all, no matter how different we think we are,” he’ll say with a bitter laugh)

A lengthy and most unusual storm will hit Loveland City; expect an extended light show with lots of thunder and lightning

The boy is trashing his place, throwing whatever he can get his hands on: cans of Coke and Pepsi, dishes, clothing and books

He breaks the deck of his skateboard when he smashes it against the wall, bringing down a good chunk of plaster along with it

You won’t be there to witness the destruction. Shaw will continue to front like nothing could ever faze him when you tell him that you’ve chosen to be with Gavin. He’ll chuckle, brows raised as he bites on the tip of his straw, saying, “Whatever. It’s your life. Do what you want with it.”

Then suddenly, he’s standing up to leave, hand half-raised in goodbye as he makes for the exit without so much as a glance back at you.

“Take my umbrella. And don’t worry about returning it.”

Those are his last words to you. Not long after, you spy the handle of the black umbrella sitting in the stand near the front of the café (the only one there, since it had been bright and sunny out). And suddenly, the clouds are rolling in to blanket Loveland City in grey, sheets of rain pouring from a sky cracked in half by a fearsome bolt of lightning

Shaw walks, letting cold rain soak him to the bones to take his mind off the ice that’s already started to freeze the blood in his heart

“Don’t cry…don’t let them f*cking see you cry…" he's saying to himself, over and over again like a mantra

Starts hanging out at the Live House more than ever, losing himself in the music and packed crowds there; he can’t stand to be alone right now.

When he’s not playing bass guitar as a last minute backup for the bands, he’s literally working on his thesis at the bar, sipping on his Coke and Pepsi blend (the staff know him so well that they’re pretty much cool with him doing anything at this point LOL)

STILL blows off every person who comes to proposition him for a good time

I’m sorry, but you know it’s pretty much gonna rain on your wedding day, right? (The poor boy can’t help it, okay? He is SAD, SAD, SAD!)

Much like his brother, Shaw will never really get over you. You were, after all, the first person he ever truly loved

Would likely remain an eternal bachelor, only engaging in meaningless sex but never opening his heart to anyone ever again. One lesson was enough for him. 😭😭😭

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc headcanons #mlqc angst #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc kiro #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #source: giphy

784 notes · View notes

maybankiara · 4 years

Text

IF I SAY A CLICHE (IT’S CAUSE I MEAN IT)

pairing: Pre-Canon!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

summary: Despite knowing his name, or perhaps in spite of it, Y/N only ever calls him Rafael, even as he goes above and beyond to get her to go out with him. (Especially as he does that.) -- loosely based off Noora x William from SKAM

w/c: 6.3k

a/n: @snkkat suggested this like three months ago and i recently remembered this and wrote it in two sessions. this is a lil baby of mine and i adore it with all my heart and i really hope y’all enjoy it, too!

masterlist | tag list

‘Hey.’

It takes Rafe Cameron three years to notice you. When you moved to the Outer Banks, to the outskirts of what the locals called Figure Eight (‘Without a doubt, the prettiest, most extravagant part of the island,’ said your dad), you built your way out of nothing. It was a fresh start – new school, new friends, new opportunities.

And obviously, new assholes who think they’re all that in high school.

Rafe Cameron is, easily, the worst of the crop.

It’s your third year of high school when you’re walking down the staircase in the northern wing of the Robert Cooke Academy, and Rafe Cameron intercepts your way.

He’s all gelled hair, preppy-boy clothing that consists of a muted-yellow polo and black trousers, and a grin that somehow encompasses his entire personality.

You raise a single eyebrow. ‘Hello?’

‘You’re Y/N, right?’

‘Yes, I am, Rafael.’

The thing with boys like Rafe is that they’re easy to know. You didn’t have to look at him twice to see he thinks of himself as the prince of the school—the island, actually—and that just about every person who lives and breathes in the Outer Banks knows exactly who he is. Not long after that, you heard some talk of Rafe constantly giving those “filthy pogues” from the south side of the island what they deserve. He’d show up to school with bruises and stitches, but never without a smug look that’s just as prominent than the injuries themselves.

You hear your friends move behind you, letting some people pass. Rafe doesn’t budge, and you don’t either.

His eyes search yours with the same crook in his smile. ‘It’s Rafe.’

‘That’s what I said,’ you state. ‘Rafael.’

The look he gives you is puzzled. He stares, just for a moment, and then you push yourself past him without another word. Your friends follow suit but he doesn’t, which you consider a good thing – Rafe isn’t used to girls not falling at their knees around him.

When you’re finally away from the staircase, leaving him behind, your friends ask you about the whole ordeal. They don’t ask much—they know you’re not someone keen on whatever the social hierarchy of the school is supposed to be—but they ask why you decided to consistently call him the wrong name.

A teacher enters the classroom and the talks turned into hushed conversations. You turn around in your chair with it letting out the tiniest squeal, and smile at your friends sitting beside you. ‘I just thought he’d hate it if I called him by the wrong name.’

‘He’s going to hate you,’ one of your friends deadpans.

‘And therefore leave me alone.’

The teacher calls on your for talking, so you get your attention back to the class, instead. Contrary to what might be the popular belief, you don’t really think about Rafe. What you did was what you thought necessary to keep him away from you.

Boys don’t like girls who poke at their ego.

Except.

Except Rafe does.

When he approaches you two days later, it’s in the corridor of school where you’ve never seen him before (‘Which means one thing and one thing only – he was looking for you’, your friend concludes later).

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, pretending not to see him even when nearly every head around you is turned towards him. You clutch your books close to your chest, getting ready to return them to your locker for the lunch break, when he steps in your way.

Again, you raise an eyebrow. Your back shivers at all the eyes staring at you, now.

Rafe gives you a fox-like smile. ‘Hi, Y/N.’

‘Get out of my way, Rafael.’

The corridor stirs, or so it seems.

An exasperated sigh comes from the boy in front of you, yet he looks as sure of himself as ever. ‘You know it’s Rafe.’

You cock your head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. ‘Is it?’

Rafe laughs, for the first time, and it’s a sound that somehow fills the space between the two of you. You tell yourself Rafe is just a boy, but it doesn’t ring true this time.

His eyes drill into yours for a long moment. ‘Go out with me.’

‘Ha! Not gonna happen.’

You pull your shoulders back, straighten your spine, raise your chin and step around the boy with ease. He’s quick to react, though, so it’s less than a second later that your hear heavy steps catching up to yours. His presence at your side is something that takes a lot of effort to ignore.

‘Have lunch with me, then.’

People stare. You ignore them, too, and take a turn into the corridor that leads to the cafeteria. ‘That’s not going to happen, either. I’m having lunch with my friends.’

‘Fine,’ says Rafe, and you have to repeat the word in your head to be certain you’ve heard it correctly.

‘Fine?’

‘Yeah, fine,’ he reaffirms. ‘What, were you hoping for a different answer?’

Part of you wants to admit that you thought he’d put up a fight, keep you entertained even for a bit (no, you tell yourself, i’m not looking to rafe cameron for entertainment!), but you keep your lips pressed tight as you look him up and down.

The smile you give him is sour, far from reaching your eyes. ‘Not in a million years, Rafael.’

‘Rafe,’ he says again.

‘Mhm.’

You reach the cafeteria and he is still at your side, but you ignore him. That is, until you feel a hand clasp your arm and bring you to a halt – firm and decisive. It’d take a fool not to know who it is.

When you turn around, there’s a question on your lips, but an answer already falling from his, ‘Go out with me.’

‘I said that’s not happening.’

‘If I buy you lunch?’

‘You can buy me lunch,’ you say, ‘but I won’t have it with you.’

‘Fine.’

All you do in response is quirk an eyebrow at him, arms crossed at your chest. He’s still holding onto it, and when he finally lets go, you feel cold where his hand once was.

Rafe smiles at you and, surprisingly, it’s a smile with charm and no cockiness. ‘What do you want?’

With only the slightest bit of hesitation, you tell him your order for the day. It’s more than you’d usually take—some of it is for your friends, too—but he doesn’t seem to care, even if he notices. He tells you he’d bring it to your table and you join your friends who, naturally, have about a million questions.

The two of you weren’t particularly unnoticeable with your conversation.

You’ve got no answers of substance, though, because the story repeats itself – Rafe Cameron asks you out and you deny him.

True to his words, about two minutes later, the blond arrives to your table, tray in hand. ‘For you.’

‘Thanks, Rafael! You can go now.’

Rafe places the tray in front of you, hands firm and steady. You don’t even look at him, continuing to talk to your friends instead, but you do feel the air whoosh around you as he turns and leaves, without a word.

You snack on the fries as if nothing just happened. When your friends ask, you pretend it was nothing.

It wouldn’t be a lie if you said that you never intended on communicating with the school’s half-official (if all those football trophies are saying anything) king. He’s not looking for a queen – if the rumours you hear are half as true, his bed is warmer like this, anyway.

One of your friends accuses you of playing mind games with him in an effort to make him fall for you, and you nearly flip out. ‘Rafe Cameron is a misogynistic, self-obsessed, narcissistic pig. I’d rather go out with an actual pig than him.’

Your friends let it go, because you sound convincing enough, but you can’t seem to let it go anymore. On your way home, you tell yourself you have every right to feel no guilt or remorse for the way you act towards him – you tell yourself he’s never shown you to be anything other than the person you think him to be.

But then – he bought you lunch, knowing he’d be getting nothing out of it.

maybe that’s the plan. lull me into believing him to want nothing and then have me give him everything.

The thought is annoying enough that you get on Instagram when you get home, finding yourself scrolling down his feed. Friends, football, family, travels. His tagged is worse, though – mostly partying, him with a variety of girls as his arm candy.

Your phone ends up thrown on your bed with a little too much force.

This is it, you tell yourself, no more thinking about Rafe.

It lasts until morning, anyway. He catches you on your way into the Academy, relentless at your side.

‘So,’ begins Rafe, ‘misogynistic, self-obsessed, narcissistic pig.’

Your heart sinks into your stomach and your blood runs cold – you’d never meant for him to hear that. But you keep walking as if his words can’t touch you, even if you have to stuff your hands into your pockets to keep the embarrassment from showing. ‘I wasn’t wrong.’

‘You were.’

‘Interesting theory.’

The two of you pass through the entrance. People are looking, again, without even hiding it anymore. You wonder what they are saying, whispering when neither of you are within earshot. Do they think you’re a slut, just one of Rafe’s conquers? Do you think you’re an ice-cold bitch? Do they think you’re stuck up, or doing the right thing?

Maybe they don’t notice, you find yourself hoping. The moment Rafe decided to start talking to you, you lost any semblance of anonymity you might’ve had before.

He smells like a fancy cologne, you realise. A mountain forest with a sprinkle of something from the sea.

‘Let me prove you I’m none of that.’

‘Not happening.’

He steps in front of you, making you stop. ‘Go out with me, one time, and if you still hate me, I’ll never bother you again.’

You ponder for a hot second, shifting weight from one foot to another. ‘I don’t hate you. I don’t care about you enough for that, Rafael.’

Rafe’s neck tenses just the slightest bit, and you think that maybe you’d finally found something that does put him off. But then he relaxes, lips stretch into a comfortable smile, and he shrugs. ‘All I’m asking for is one date.’

‘And you never talk to me again,’ you clarify.

‘If that’s what you’ll want.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine?’

The smile you give him is coy. ‘Were you hoping for a different answer, Rafael?’

He shakes his head. Against your will, you notice that he looks far more relaxed than before, and you aren’t as indifferent to noticing that as you’d told yourself you’d be.

‘Not in a million years.’

For a moment, you try to figure out if quoting one another to one another is cringe, and then you give up, because you already know the answer.

It should be yes.

But it is this: he notices. He pays attention.

So you let out the tiniest of sighs. ‘Friday, six o’clock.’

‘I’ll pick you up at yours.’

‘You know where I live?’

‘No,’ he says, ‘but I’m guessing you’ll text me your address.’

Rafe puts out a hand and you know what he’s meaning. The bell rings as you’re taking your phone out of your pocket, signalling the start of the first period that you’ll most likely be late to.

He saves his number to your contacts and you put it back, already on your way.

Naturally, he’s quick to fall into step with you. ‘You’re not going to text me the address?’

‘Not giving you my number before I need to.’

You stop in front of a classroom and peek through the small window on the door to ensure the teacher hasn’t arrived yet. When you glance at Rafe, your hand on the doorknob, he’s smiling.

‘Whatever you want, Y/N.’ He takes a step back, just about beaming, and you do your best to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach. ‘See you Friday!’

‘Whatever, Rafael.’

He blows you an air kiss as he walks away and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling. When you finally get into the class, mere seconds before your teacher, you spend most of it thinking about none other than Rafe Cameron himself.

At the end of the day, you’re just human, and he is just another hot guy. It’s human nature to feel things for people you don’t necessarily want to. And, to be fair – aside from being slightly annoying and fairly inconvenient, Rafe has been nothing but a gentleman to you.

No one has ever bought you something without expecting anything in return. And fair enough, it could be argued that Rafe did expect you to eventually agree to him asking you out—which you did—but he couldn’t know for sure.

And, despite what you might be saying, you like the attention from him. You like feeling seen.

Monday to Friday passes with occasional glances, bare conversations. Rafe approaches you several times, buys you lunch every day and brings it to your table without hesitation. You hear what people begin to say – how they begin to call him “pussy whipped”.

The bell rings just as you’re about to deny the rumour, and you’re quite literally saved by the bell. You get into the classroom unable to believe you were just about to defend Rafe Cameron, and it’s only Thursday.

If he knows, you don’t notice. The rumours—about the both of you—simmer down to whispers by Friday afternoon, and when Rafe brings you lunch this time, there’s a note on it.

You look gorgeous, it reads. I can’t wait for tonight. – Rafe

There was no need for him to sign it but he did, and when you glance at him, inadvertently, you catch him looking at you.

Rafe smiles, and you return it.

When the last bell rings, you text him your address. Your friends don’t know about the date – if they knew, they wouldn’t let you live it down for the entire week. What they know is that Rafe kept trying to do something with you. Whether it meant to sleep with you or marry you, didn’t matter.

Not like you know either, anyway.

Rafe shows up at six on the dot, driving a car that you’re not sure if it’s his dad’s or his own. Could be either. He opens the door for you, lets you decide the music, and tells you he’s not letting you know where he’s taking you.

‘If you kill me,’ you say, ‘my friends know where I am.’

‘They don’t.’

‘How would you know?’

‘I know you’re embarrassed of being seen with me,’ he says quietly, ‘and I know you wouldn’t tell them we’re on a date right now.’

You manage to stop an apology right just as it’s about to fall from your lips, innocent and all too earnest. You don’t want to be sorry for keeping this a secret, even if Rafe’s done you no wrong.

He pulls up at a hill, in the heart of the island. There’s a bench right in front of you, no streetlights in sight. If he wanted to murder you, he couldn’t have found a better spot.

Rafe pulls the handbrake. Turns off the car. Looks at you with a look in his eyes that you can’t read.

‘I’m not expecting anything,’ he tells you, as if it were a secret. ‘Just so you know. If you leave still not caring, then… I guess that’s the way things are.’

There’s nothing you could say to that, so you say nothing. He leaves the car and goes to sit on the bench. For a few excruciating moments, you remain in the car, until your curiosity gets the best of you.

Fresh air feels like water on a hot day. You wrap your jacket around you tighter, aware of Rafe’s back turned to you. He’s facing the town, instead – from where you are, you can see the entire island. The lit-up Figure Eight and the faded-away Cut all the same.

The moment you sit down, Rafe looks at you. His expression is the one of quiet relief – as if he didn’t think you’d join him.

He notices you shivering. ‘I have coffee in the car.’

‘It’s nearly seven o’clock.’

‘So no? I’ve got tea, too.’

‘Tea would be nice.’

Rafe comes back a minute later, two cups and a thermal one in hand, as well as a blanket. He sets the cups on the bench and places the blanket on your shoulders, gently, with far more care than you’d think him possible. He pours tea into a cup and hands it to you, then pours some more into his own.

You’re surprised that he isn’t talking. You can hear the crickets in the distance, and some birds chirping away, too.

The calm is odd. Peaceful, if you dare say so.

‘You like the view?’

You nod. ‘It’s quite pretty.’

‘Yeah, it is.’ He lets out a shaky breath, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. ‘I come here when shit gets tough.’

A chuckle passes your lips before you stop it. Rafe doesn’t look at you, but you see him tense. It feels wrong, so you clear your throat and ask, ‘Tense?’

He glances at you, but doesn’t speak for a while. You can’t tell if he’s gathering his thoughts or gauging whether you’re worth it or not. If you were him, you wouldn’t know what to decide about the latter.

The blanket around your shoulders is warm, so you wrap it around yourself more tightly, taking a sip from the cup in your hands.

‘Why do you think I’m a misogynist?’ he asks. ‘I get the others, but…’

You take your gaze away from him. The street lights look like little fallen stars, and you try to search for an answer within them – an answer to a question you’re still too afraid to ask.

‘Is it because I sleep around?’

‘Maybe,’ you say. He’s putting you on the spot and you haven’t got the answers he’s looking for, either. ‘You’re always with others girls, and you just let them throw themselves at you, like you don’t care about them. Like you use them and leave.’

‘When I sleep with a girl, she knows what she’s getting herself into,’ he explains. The words seem to fill out his mouth and come forth slowly, as if carefully weighted. ‘None of them expect anything more than a one-night stand. And it’s not my fault they throw themselves at me – the least I can do is give them what they want.’

‘So it’s all on them.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re never the one pursuing them.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘When I’m pursuing someone, it looks like this.’

Gentle, you think. Quiet.

Two words you’d never connect to Rafe Cameron. Not until seeing him at the top of this hill, leaning over the Outer Banks, a warm cup of tea in hand, looking ready to pour his heart out to you. Ask and I’ll answer, it’s as if he’s saying.

You glance at him and for the first time, you think about him without stopping yourself. You wonder how much of who he is, is a front – the bad boy, the desirable one. There’s no doubt that he’s enjoying it, but how much of it is he working for himself? How much effort goes into keeping up the image?

If half of what he’s saying is the truth, then he’s just entertaining what people already think of him.

does that make a difference?

You’d like to think it doesn’t. He still sleeps around, then doesn’t look at them twice. He still pesters you, can’t take no for an answer, basically throwing you an ultimatum in order to get you to go out with him.

does it make a difference?

‘Does it make a difference?’

Rafe turns to you and holds your gaze. Even under the dim shine of a new moon, you can see the pandemonium inside it – he’s trying to find the answer to the very same question.

He sighs, then lets his head fall down. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that.’

‘Is that why you wanted me to come here?’

‘No,’ he says, no louder than a whisper. ‘I just wanted someone to try to see me for who I am, not who other people say I am. Guess I was wrong.’

‘Or maybe you just are what others say you are.’

The look he gives you is pained, and his face distorts as if someone had backhanded him across the face. His knuckles go white from the intensity with which he’s gripping the cup and, for a moment, he looks outraged – eyes bewildered, lips slightly parted – and then he blinks, and all of it is as good as gone.

A moment of weakness. A moment of seeing into the Rafe you had no idea existed.

You wonder if that’s who’s hiding behind the front – a boy of barely seventeen, maddened by the fear. You wonder if there’s more to the ‘things getting tough’ than you’d thought.

Rafe clears his throat. His eyes are fixed onto the street lights, far into the distance. When he speaks, his voice sounds the same. ‘I can drive you back now, if you want.’

You can’t tear your eyes off him. ‘I think I’d like to stay a little longer.’ He looks at you, face unclear. ‘The view is nice.’

The smile he gives you is tiny and modest, but it’s thankful more than anything else.

The one you give in return is kind.

Time passes, and the two of you do nothing but spend it together. He’s sitting on one side of the bench and he on the other, not touching, not talking, not acknowledging one another.

is he lonely? you wonder. This doesn’t look like a place he’s brought many people to, even if you haven’t asked. He’s always got friends around, but he didn’t hesitate to ask to have lunch with you, and you know how those football friendships tend to be – nothing more than convenience for convenience’s sake.

does he have any real friends?

Against your will, you pity him. You pity the boy who’d fooled everyone into thinking he had it all sorted out, yet his front shattered the moment he stepped out of that car.

A few more moments with him won’t hurt. Maybe he just needs someone to be around.

‘What makes you come up here?’ you ask, after nearly half an hour of silence.

Rafe frowns, then side of his face you can see stretches out into an empty smile, never reaching his eyes. ‘It’s peaceful. No sides. No obligations. No other people.’ until now – he doesn’t say it but you hear it, anyway. ‘No pretending to be who they expect me to be.’

‘Freedom,’ you say.

‘Yeah,’ he echoes, ‘freedom.’

Eldest child and only son of one of the wealthiest men on the island. Star quarterback. King of the Academy, prince of the Figure Eight, prince of the island.

Where does a royalty like that get freedom aside from place with no other people?

‘Why me?’ you ask.

He deserves some credit – the actually thinks before he talks, this time around. ‘You don’t like me. It’s nice, for a change.’

Your laughter seems fleeting, but it earns you an earnest smile from the boy. ‘That’s fucked up, Rafael.’

‘Tell me ‘bout it.’

‘Is that your thing? Liking girls who don’t like you?’

He shrugs, even laughs, a little. ‘Maybe. It’s nice when people don’t have expectations of you.’

‘I expected you to be a douche.’

‘Am I?’

‘A little bit,’ you admit, ‘but not as much as I thought.’

He smiles, his face turned to you. He appears to be shining a little, under the moonlight, and his hair appears far blonder than it is. He looks fragile, almost – you don’t think it would take much to shatter him into pieces.

‘Thanks, Y/N.’

You only give yourself a moment to smile before scoffing. ‘You’re still arrogant and self-absorbed.’

Rafe shrugs, but he does it with ease, as if weight had been lifted off him. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

At this, you just roll your eyes.

The silence that befalls is comfortable, if not comforting. Neither of you talks, and you feel like you are finally starting to understand the boy at your side. One evening together is far from enough to change your entire opinion on someone, but it’s enough to shake it up – make you think of them differently.

You’re willing to give him a chance.

‘I think I want to go home now,’ you say quietly.

He nods. You’re back at your house one relaxing ride later, but you don’t get out of the car right away. The music playing on the radio is low and in the background; nothing is in front of you except street lights that appear to extend into eternity – it feels different than the world you left at the hill.

‘Thanks,’ you tell him.

‘What for?’

You look at him, gentle. ‘The tea.’ And everything else.

It’s the last you see or hear of him until Monday morning, when he shows up at the front door of the Academy just as you’re about to enter, holding to coffee cups that smell distinctively of tea.

‘Mornin’,’ he tells you, smiling wide. You greet him back and he falls into step with you, handing you one of the cups. ‘Tea?’

You take it – it would be rude not to. People are staring, again, and you realise you’d forgotten that you and Rafe exist outside of your small world on the hill.

Other people exist, too.

The two of you stand in front of your locker. He holds your tea while you take your books and put others away. There’s still some time before the first bell and, surprisingly, you’re not too mad about spending it like this.

‘Aren’t you worried?’ you ask.

Rafe hands you your tea back. ‘About what?’

‘People,’ you say, ‘rumours. Expectations.’

‘Not when I’m with you.’

It’s just a statement, just an answer to your question, yet it feels more like a confession than anything else. You wonder what it must feel like to be so open about one’s feelings – putting them out for everyone to see, everyone to do with as they please.

Or just you.

You tear your eyes off the students filling out the hallway, hoping they’d do the same. Rafe is leaning against the locker beside yours, sipping on your tea, looking at you like you’re the only thing worth his time in the whole wide world.

Your locker closes with a click. ‘You said I’d never have to see you again after the date.’

For a heartbeat, he’s the same boy you spoke to on that hill – fragile, angry, broken. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit. ‘Thanks for the tea, Rafael.’

‘Y/N—’

Before he gets another word in, you march off, turning around the corner, making your way to your classroom.

Chatter is what you arrive to; friends unaware of your entire perception of a whole person shifting in a matter of hours. If people paid attention to your and Rafe’s exchange before class, the whispers hadn’t arrived to your friends, yet.

You don’t need to wonder what they’ll ask.

Instead, you wonder about Rafe – you wonder about what to do next.

He’ll leave you alone, if you say the word. You’ve learnt enough about him to know this to be nothing short of truth. Do you want someone like him in your life – someone who sticks to what people think of him like paper to glue? Do you want to see if he’s better on the inside than you’d think, kinder, nicer? If the Rafe you began to be introduced to at the top of the hill is who he truly is?

You wish the answer were no. Things would be easier.

Instead, come lunch time, the rumours have reached your friends, and you don’t deny them this time around. Yes, Rafe Cameron brought you tea in the morning. Yes, you were semi-nice to him.

Yes, you plan on talking to him again.

So, come lunch time, you are the one to approach him. He’s sitting with his football group that includes Topper and Kelce, two of the biggest airheads—in your humble opinion—Kildare has ever seen.

He doesn’t notice you, because you walk up behind him, until Topper nods in your direction. Rafe raises his eyes to meet yours and you see the shape of his face change – soften. Rafe from the Academy morphing with the Rafe from the hill.

‘Rafael,’ you say. ‘You want to get some real food after school?’

The eyes of the people burn into the back of your head – little daggers, stabbing at your privacy, privy to what’s none of your business.

His lips stretch into a smile. It suits him, you think.

‘Meet me at my car?’

You nod. ‘See ya.’

In your head, the entire cafeteria watches the exchange with googling eyes. In reality, maybe a few people noticed. Your friends did – for the better or for worse, you’re unsure.

As agreed, Rafe waits for you outside the building, on the adjacent parking lot. He’s leaning against the very same car he picked you up in last Friday, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, a lazy smile etched into his cheekbones.

If anyone watches, you don’t notice. You try not to. He opens the door for you and when he finally drives away, after making a bit of small talk about your day—is it small talk or does he… care?—he pulls up at the Wreck. Something you’d always been told was for the tourists, not the locals.

‘Odd choice,’ you note.

‘It’s quiet.’

He leaves the car and by the time you’ve taken your phone out of your bag, he’s holding the door open for you. You thank him and watch him do the same for the entrance into the restaurant, a bubbling feeling inside your chest.

It doesn’t feel forced. It doesn’t feel out of place.

If anything, it feels right.

When you enter the restaurant and chatter fills out every inch of the place, you understand what Rafe meant by quiet. It’s where the two of you can have your own conversation, with a guarantee of seeing nobody you recognise, and the tourists that are coming around for the beginning of the winter season are loud enough that whatever you say, remains between the two of you.

Rafe orders for you. You make him take a guess and he stares at you for a hot second before ordering something that you already know you’d like. ‘How did you know?’

He gives a nonchalant shrug. ‘I was getting you lunch for a week. Kind of figured out what you like.’

The sentiment is small, but it’s still here. You can’t stop the smile in your cheeks.

‘I thought you said you didn’t want me around,’ he says.

‘Changed my mind.’ You twirl your finger around the straw from the coke bottle, noticing it’s paper rather than plastic, like in other Figure Eight restaurant. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting to know the guy I met on the hill.’

‘Is that your way admitting you were wrong about me?’

‘The most you’re getting is that I’ll say there might be more to you than I figured,’ you counter. He groans with his head in his hands, but peeks at you between his fingers. ‘You’ve still got to prove me wrong.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll prove you wrong.’

When he extends a pinkie to you, you can’t help but take it, not even caring about holding back your laughter.

In the end, you spend the rest of the entire day with him. You learn bits and piece, here and there – Rafe is like a puzzle you need to solve to get to the truth. He’ll never say his father hates him, but you see it from when he talks about their relationship, and how many excuses he has to make for Ward to seem like a decent father (you don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s failed, both of them).

A lot of things are noticeable only between the lines, and it’s something you learn over the course of the next few weeks. You and Rafe grow closer than either of you anticipated – a friendship forged out of unlikely circumstances. Him having his fucked-up childhood that makes him seek out approval from those who don’t give it to him, and you letting yourself care for someone who’s broken, seeing if you can help him fix himself.

You don’t fix him. That’s not what friends are for. But you do point out things that aren’t okay around him.

At school, he becomes a lot more like Rafe from the top of the hill. His smile is brighter and bigger, and his laughter echoes the halls with its fullness instead of sharpness. Even Topper and Kelce seem to be less of airheads eventually, and people don’t care that much.

His tagged section of Instagram isn’t being filled with any more pictures with random girls – just you. At parties, at school, at wherever you go.

He continues to get you lunch, even after you try to stop him. He greets the girls he’d slept with and he respects when you say that you don’t want to see him at certain times, even if he does ask twice.

He asks about you – a lot. It’s the one thing you’ve been wrong about this whole time, and it’s the one that’s taking the hardest to admit.

You’re at the top of the hill, just as you usually are on Friday evenings, before a party or whatever’s going on that night. Sometimes you’d just go to his or yours and watch a movie, go home or fall asleep together.

Rafe brings you tea. You take it with a smile, feeling his thigh against yours. ‘Thanks, Rafael.’

He watches you with fondness in his eyes. Sometimes you wonder if it’s reserved just for you – you never see him look at anyone else like that.

‘How’s studying going?’

‘Good,’ you reply. ‘It’s tedious, like it always is, but I’m getting there.’

The arm looped around your shoulder is familiar, and the closeness of Rafe’s body when he tugs you closer is familiar, too. ‘You’ll get into a good college, Y/N. I’m sure of it.’

‘What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be studying?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says, and you take note of the bitterness in his voice. His thumb caresses your shoulder as if it were a lifeline, and you feel him relax as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. ‘My dad will send me to UNC regardless of my grades.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

Freedom, you think – the one thing Rafe longs for the most.

The one thing he says he only has when he’s with you. Freedom of judgement, of time, of future, of family.

Just you, and him.

You shuffle away from him, enough so that his arm falls from your shoulder to your waist, holding on. He looks at you with a wrinkle between his brows, lips slightly parted, tea cup in the other hand.

You smile.

And then you press your lips against his, your hands cradling his face. For a moment, nothing happens—you’re worried you made a mistake—and then he grips your waist and tugs you a little closer, his lips part and he kisses you back ferociously, as if you were the breath he’d been longing to get into his lungs.

Rafe rests his forehead against yours when you break the kiss, the taste of him lingering. He’s warm and soft, and you feel at home in the arms of a boy you resented not too many months ago.

Neither of you speaks. His thumb slips underneath your shirt, brushing against your skin, never travelling any further. His breath smells like tea and he tastes like it, too.

All you hear is breathing, heartbeat, and a bird singing somewhere far away, or right next to you.

Rafe lets out a quiet laugh. ‘I’m glad you don’t hate me.’

‘How could I?’

You hear him putting the cup on the bench, knowing it even with your eyes closed. The tips of his fingers trace the line of your jaw, resting on your neck, with only his thumbs gentle at the place where your neck meets your jaw.

He doesn’t say he loves you, and you don’t say it, either, but it’s one of those things that goes between the lines.

Rafe kisses you and you realise it’s enough that you no longer worry about people seeing you, and he no longer tries to be who they think he is.

‘Everything that’s ever happened to us led to this,’ he states.

‘To a boy and a girl, on a hill,’ you say, words slipping off your lips akin to a dream. ‘Just Y/N and Rafe.’

He kisses you with fire between his lips and holding onto you as if letting go would kill him, and for a moment, you feel it to be true. Your fingers are lost in his hair, pulling him as close as physically possible, and it truly feels like everything in your life led up to this very moment.

Rafe and you, against all odds.

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul @kiarawilliams127 @butgilinsky @bricksatanakinswindow @starlightstarkey @copper-boom @starrystarkey93 @hotel-colson @stargazingstarkey @outerbanksbro @anonymous0writer @annedub @outerbongs @jjandreidsgirl @jjmaybanqs @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @yelyahryan @obx-direction-sos @stfukie @dustyjjumpwings@abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @coconutroseowl (i tagged you cause you said you were interested by the excerpt!) @solllaris @k-k0129 @queenofthepouges @jroseron

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx fic #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #my fic #my imagine

599 notes · View notes

anxiousstark · 4 years

Text

The Tape | JJ MAYBANK

Request: Hi can I please request a JJ x reader fic where he thinks his Kook girlfriend is ashamed of him until Sarah shows him a video of the reader defending him❤️

Warnings: None. Swearing (a lot).

Word Count: 1680

A/N: If you guys like Teen Wolf or Dylan O’Brien, I have a Teen Wolf Rewrite. I would be so happy if you guys check it out.

BIG MASTERLIST

John B and Pope examined their blond friend with concern. "He has been like that all morning?" Heyward asked as he rested part of his weight against the counter placed in the kitchen. As an answer, the Routledge boy nodded.

The blond friend was JJ Maybank. He had spent all morning sitting on the couch, feet pressed against the cushions. In normal circumstances, John B would be telling him to put his feet off his furniture, but something was going on with JJ, and he didn't dare to make him more upset than what he already seemed to be.

JJ had spent all morning with his eyes glued to his phone, biting his nails if he had some left. John B was sure that he had seen the skin around his nails bleeding a couple of times. "Let's go," The owner of the Chateau punched Pope gently, making a gesture with his head. "Hey," JJ didn't look up when hearing one of his friend's voice. "Are you excited to go to The Wreck tonight?" No answer. Both boys glanced at each other, not knowing what to do.

"I'm excited," Pope answered, earning a confused look by John B. "And it's been long since we have seen Y/N! I miss her!"

At the mention of your name, JJ decided to glance up. "Y/N is coming?" Both boys nodded, puzzled. "Uhm, can you guys let me borrow some clothes for tonight?" He swiftly stood up, still clutching his phone. "Like some smart clothes?"

"Like a suit?" The most intelligent guy out of the three asked, earning a nod from the blond boy. "JJ, I don't think a suit is suitable for The Wreck."

"And what the heck," Routledge interrupted. "You hate suits and all of those smart clothes. C'mon, what's going on?" JJ shook his head, trying to avoid the topic that would occur. "Is this about Y/N?"

"She is ashamed of me." His voice slightly cracked, and his eyes wanted to tear up, which he avoided blinking quite fast.

"What are you saying?" Pope chuckled. "I've never seen a couple more in love than you two." When he saw that his friend maintained a sober expression, he realized that Maybank truly felt like you were ashamed of him. "Wait, you seriously think she is ashamed of you? What happened?"

JJ sighed, sitting down on the couch again, feeling like his legs would give up on him. "She has been ignoring me for a couple of days. No answers to my 'good morning' or my 'good night' texts. Dry answers such as 'yes' or 'no'."

"Maybe she is feeling sad, or something happened with her parents?" One of the other boys suggested.

"If something had happened, she would call me to tell me." He groaned, fingers clutching strands of his hair. "She doesn't love me anymore. I'm just a pogue with no future ahead of me, no money, mentally unstable, and-"

"Who doesn't love who anymore?" A door closed. The three boys turned around, Sarah Cameron was standing there, offering them a quick smile that was rapidly covered by a curious gaze. JJ widened his eyes, warning the boys not to say anything as the girls were best friends.

John B walked up to his girl, offering to carry some bags she was holding while kissing her lips a couple of times, making her smile lovingly. "JJ believes Y/N is ashamed of him." He quickly replied, trying to run to the kitchen, not before JJ threw his sandal, hitting him straight on the back of the head.

"What?" She walked closer to him. "Where did that come from?" JJ groaned when Pope started to explain what the blond guy had said a couple of minutes ago. John B came back from the kitchen, arm around Sarah's waist, listening to Pope who explained the situation. "Uhm, I see." She bit her lower lip while placing a strand of hair behind her right ear.

For JJ and Pope, Sarah was just biting her lower lip while brushing her hair with her fingers. But for John B meant that Sarah knew more than what she was saying. "What do you know that we don't know?" He gently touched her chin, making her gaze at him.

"Nothing." Now, the other two boys could see that she knew something. JJ walked closer to Sarah. "Hey, don't do the puppy eyes on me." She groaned, mumbling that it wasn't fair. She finally confessed, feeling the pressure. "She told me not to say anything."

"About what?"

"I'm surprised you guys haven't heard anything." She took her phone out of one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. She scrolled down her gallery until he found the video that had been running around Outer Banks.

The three boys huddled together, paying attention to the video that was being played. "Is that Y/N?" Pope asked while JJ narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at what was going on. Sarah nodded.

The video showed you, confronting a man that seemed to be tall and intimidating. You even pushed the guy when he got too close to your face, which ended up in receiving a punch on the face, making you fall to the ground, hitting the back of your head.

"What the fuck?" JJ Maybank could feel a hot sensation running through his body. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill whoever dared to put his hands on you. He tried to run to the door, but he was stopped. "I need to-"

"JJ, wait." She placed her phone on top of the table. "She told me not to tell you, and I'm surprised you guys didn't hear anything about what happened." She swallowed, peering at John B, who nodded his head to comfort her. "I talked to her," That made JJ stop resisting his friends' hold, anticipating for the Cameron girl to continue. "Her mom sent her to go buy a dress for Midsummer's party, I couldn't go with her because my dad was being a psycho about something Rafe did."

"And?"

She swallowed, knowing that JJ would go mad after hearing what she had to say. "Topper and some of his stupid friends saw her." The blond felt his heart beating quicker. "He insulted you," Her eyes examined Maybank for any type of reaction. "He said that she could do better and made some sexual comments. She told me she couldn't let him talk like that about you, so she started insulting him, and he punched her."

"Topper punched MY girl?" His voice was full of horror, and in his head, he asked himself how many years would he end up in jail for murdering someone. "I swear to god I'm going to fucking kill him. I'm going to kill him."

John B and Pope had to join their strength, tackling JJ to the floor. However, he continued resisting, trying to set himself free.

"JJ, please." One of them grunted. "Y/N needs you more than Topper needs to get his fucking ugly face broken."

He relaxed at the mention of your name. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"She didn't want you to get into trouble." The girl explained, offering a little smile. "She didn't want the cops to arrest you because she knew you would confront him." He grunted, hating how much you knew him. But also hating that you didn't go to him for aid. You had taken care of his wounds so many times that he wanted to be there to take care of yours.

A soon as you entered The Wreck, JJ Maybank was running up to you. You were a little late, spending too much time trying to conceal the black eye given by Topper. "How much?" You were confused by your boyfriend's words.

You have been ignoring him for a couple of days, feeling quite distressed. You hadn't told him about what had happened with Topper, and you wanted it to stay that way because you knew JJ Maybank would rock the entire world if that meant that he could protect and love you for the rest of his life. "How much?" He repeated. "How much make-up are you wearing to conceal the black eye?"

"Who told you?" You swallowed. Fuck the Outer Banks, rumours would fly at the speed of light. At least, he discovered a couple of days after the incident. "Not much," You mumbled. "It's going away."

Your boyfriend sighed, nodding. "Baby," Your legs shook. It's been days since you heard that nickname, therefore it had a more powerful effect on you. "I love you." His cheeks reddened. "Maybe I don't say it enough, in a verbal way. But I love you with my entire heart, and I want to be there for you like you are there for me when I need you the most."

"I was worried you would get into trouble." His fingers started playing with yours. Not even a month ago, JJ got into a pretty bad fight with his dad, which meant he was hitten repeatedly. It happened in the middle of the street, therefore the police had been called.

"I don't care," He groaned. "I care about what that fucking bitch said to you AND did to you." His eyes went from your sparkly eyes to your tender lips. "Promise you won't keep anything from me?" You nodded, arms tight around his waist. "Can I kiss you?" Again, nodded. You smiled while his lips pecked yours a couple of times, until the kiss intensified, making you both gasp for air and hearing some of the pogues groaning. "Should we ditch them and go back to The Wreck? I have to make up for all these days without seeing you." The Pogues complained, throwing french fries at the both of you. JJ was able to catch one with his mouth, smiling victoriously.

He was so happy to see you smile, and he would decide how to beat Topper after seeing you without make-up. Should he tape himself beating Topper?

REQUEST RULES SPECIAL 800 FOLLOWERS

596 notes · View notes

meltingheartsandcores · 3 years

Text

I’m tired, I should be studying, instead I wrote this little ficlet that should probably be the prologue to an actual fic that I might get around to writing (fingers crossed).

We have Immortals, modern sects, and porn. Not entirely sure how else to explain it except none of those are explicit, lol.

Hope you enjoy the product of my mildly sleep deprieved brain!

Being invited to have tea with Zewu-Jun was a high honor, despite the immortal seemingly trying to downplay it as much as he possibly could. However, Nie Mingjue isn’t entirely sure what he’s done to earn the honor. It’s been a long time since either Twin Jade was the Sect Leader, Nie Mingjue has spoken with the current Sect Leader Lan Tengfei infrequently over the years when their sect business intermingled or there was a conference, but he wasn’t particularly close to the Lan Sect. And the Twin Jades enjoy their privacy. Enough so that there’s not a single photograph of either of them out there.

So it was very startingly to get the invitation.

Zewu-Jun treating him like an equal and friend is equally startling.

Somehow, not the most startling thing to happen on the trip. No, that would be the portrait of Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang’s husband. He thinks. Nie Mingjue isn’t actually sure if they’re married or just act like it. Although, knowing them, that’s how they want everyone to think.

Still, the clearly very old portrait of Wei Wuxian was a little disturbing. Especially with the name below being Wei Wuxian’s, correct characters and all. Even more so after Zewu-Jun noticed him staring at it and decides to give him some utterly terrible information.

“My brother’s husband, from his first life.” Oh. It was that Wei Wuxian. Yiling Lazou Wei Wuxian.

How is this getting worse?

“Oh?” Because screaming was undignified and not something to be done in front of immortals. Later. In his car. And then he’s calling Nie Huaisang to yell at him because of course his brother just had to shake up with the immortals husband. Maybe. Maybe it’s just a massive coincidence. (Nie Mingjue’s luck is never good enough for coincidences.)

“Yes, after the resurrection his core was never strong enough to cultivate immortality. When Wangji realized it, he tried to stop his own cultivation, but it was too late. Wuxian lasted nearly two hundred years, and not a day goes by that Wangji doesn’t miss him.” Oh, Zewu-Jun was sad. Nothing Nie Mingjue can say will make him not sad. In fact, he’s pretty sure anything close to the truth of what Wei Wuxian is doing now will just upset him. “The juniors find it, romantic, that he’s decided to wait for Wuxian to be reincarnated.”

Well. It does sound romantic.

But Zewu-Jun’s face, he’s irritated and upset, so clearly he doesn’t agree with the juniors. It sounds romantic, but the reality, “He must be very lonely.” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Zewu-Jun nods, “We have each other, but we were the only ones from our generation to cultivate immortality. There are many people we miss, and as time seperates us further from the present, it’s harder to connect with the new disciples.” Zewu-Jun admits. Nie Mingjue nods, he’s never considered that. How isolating it must be to have lived so long. The Nie clan, doesn’t really get immortals. Honestly, they’re lucky if they hit a hundred. Most top out at eighty due to their cultivation style.

“How would he know, that he’s been reincarnated? I mean, I think Huaisang’s said some things about faces getting reused due to limited genetics and the growing population.” Actually Wei Wuxian said that. Something to that effect at least. Nie Huaisang was better with people and manipulating situations. He does really well running the business side of the Nie Sect. Even if he refuses to accept any credit.

Zewu-Jun smiles a little sadly, “Well, I suppose we’ll know when we see him. Pictures work well enough, as we’re learning. We’ve found a few people who we knew in our first lives reincarnated.”

Nie Mingjue nods, he should tell Zewu-Jun. He really should. Maybe it’s just a look alike. Unlikely. Nie Mingjue’s never that lucky. Nie Mingjue’s started to pull his phone out of his pocket before remembering his manners and asking while holding it in front of himself, “Uh, do you mind if I?” Zewu-Jun furrows his brow but gestures for him to continue. Nie Mingjue nods and opens his phone, scrolling through the pictures Nie Huaisang had sent him. Not for the first time, he really wished Nie Huaisang wouldn’t send so many half-naked or fully-naked pictures of Wei Wuxian to him. Thankfully, it was not all Nie Huaisang sent to him, so he did come across a picture of a fully dressed Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang was also there, but they weren’t doing anything. Nie Huaisang had snapped it while they were out walking and Nie Mingjue had wanted to know where the fuck Nie Huaisang had gone at one am. “Just, uh, he seemed familiar.” Nie Mingjue explains, turning the phone around to show Zewu-Jun.

Zewu-Jun blinks then reaches out, hesitating a moment before taking Nie Mingjue’s phone. “That. Is definitely Wei Wuxian.” Zewu-Jun states, and then he starts touching the screen, which makes Nie Mingjue very nervous and uncomfortable. Because Nie Huaisang sends him very questionable pictures. Nie Mingjue is happy his brother is comfortable with his body, he just wishes he wouldn’t text him explicit pictures of his maybe-boyfriend that sometimes also have him naked in them. Nie Huaisang has always like pushing Nie Mingjue’s boundaries, and honestly, Nie Mingjue would rather he be pushing this one than certain other ones. Still. It makes him nervous when Zewu-Jun taps his phone and his eyes blow wide.

Yeah. That’s not good.

Zewu-Jun blinks and regains his composure, handing the phone back, “May I ask how you know him?”

“...How honest do you want me to be?” Nie Mingjue asks, shutting off his phone and pocketing it without looking at whatever Zewu-Jun saw. He’d like to be able to keep looking Zewu-Jun in the eye for this conversation.

Zewu-Jun raises an eyebrow, almost admonishingly, “As honest as possible. You don’t seem to type to beat around the bush.”

He wasn’t. He just really didn’t want to tell Zewu-Jun what Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian get up to.

“He works with my brother.” Nie Mingjue states vaguely, earning another raised eyebrow from Zewu-Jun.

“Is he a cultivator?”

“Used to be. He had a big falling out with the Jiang a few years back and kind of stopped.” Nie Mingjue shrugs, “He doesn’t talk about it.” All he knew about it was rumour. And the Lans don’t do rumours.

“Ah. So what work does he do with Huaisang?”

...Did he tell Zewu-Jun his brothers name? Nie Huaisang is almost as unknown to the world as the Twin Jades. Purposefully so. The Nie have always been rather private with their members, but when Nie Huaisang was old enough to have an opinion on a public presence and vehemently deny having one, nothing about him was released to the public. Not even other cultivation sects as Nie Huaisang wasn’t a practicing cultivator. He trained. As he was supposed to. But he didn’t do any night hunts. He had no connection to Nie Mingjue on the business end of the Sect either.

So, what?

“How do you know his name?” Nie Mingjue asks, making Zewu-Jun blink in plain confusion. “Huaisang’s name isn’t known to anyone outside the Nie sect. Not in connection to me.” Nie Mingjue states, now a little angry. Did someone tell Zewu-Jun? Who? How? Why would he even care about Huaisang?

“He’s in your phone.” Zewu-Jun states simply.

And that’d be a fine answer.

If Nie Huaisang was ‘Huaisang’ in his phone.

But he wasn’t.

He was Reuben. Courtesy of Wei Wuxian. (Wei Wuxian was ‘Stitch’, no Nie Mingjue didn’t understand the names and he didn’t really want to. He’s mostly worried it’s a weird sex thing and he prefers to be as ignorant as possible in that aspect.)

“I thought Lan’s don’t lie.” Although, Zewu-Jun wasn’t, technically, lying.

But he doesn’t deny it. “Could we sit?” Zewu-Jun suggests, gesturing to the table that had been set up for them. Nie Mingjue nods and sits opposite to Zewu-Jun, pouring them some tea. “I apologize for the deception, however I’ve never actually done this before.” He better not be suggesting what Nie Mingjue thinks he’s suggesting. “In the recent past, when we’ve discovered our reincarnated friends, we’ve more or less left them alone.” Oh. Good. He’s not being propositioned.

Wait.

What?

Nie Mingjue blinks, now thoroughly caught off guard, “Um. What.”

Zewu-Jun smiles gently, understandingly, “Due to certain aspects of your previous life, I felt the need to check in on you, make sure you were doing well. I, well, I assumed your family was the same. Hence, why I know Huaisang’s name despite you keeping him rather off the grid.”

“He’s not off the grid. He just has no public connection to me.” Nie Huaisang was almost constantly online. Especially with his ‘job’.

“Ah. So, what work does he and Wei Wuxian do?” Zewu-Jun asks before taking a drink of his tea.

Nie Mingjue considers what he knows about the Lan, and then realizes he really doesn’t want to have this conversation. Luckily for him (or unluckily most of the time), he can just show Zewu-Jun on his phone. “Um, you might want to put that down.” Nie Mingjue suggests, pulling out his phone and turning it on, quickly going to the app Nie Huaisang downloaded on his phone that he never goes on, and opens it up to Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian’s account. Sliding it across the table as Zewu-Jun dubiously puts down his teacup.

Zewu-Jun blinks, then sighs, “I can’t say, I’m particularly surprised with Wei Wuxian’s career choice.”

“...Seriously.”

“You did not hear them. I’m aware of the publics perception of us, particularly Wangji, but trust me. He’s not nearly as prudish as people seem to think.” Zewu-Jun states, sliding the phone back with a rueful smile and a familiar look.

Nie Mingjue exits out of the app before shutting off and pocketing his phone. He knew that look. The look of an elder brother who really didn’t need to know so much about their younger brother’s sex life. He knew that look well. “Right. Speaking of Hanguang-Jun, how would he react?”

Zewu-Jun purses his lips. “I can’t say he’ll be particularly favourable. Wangji’s always been quite, possessive.”

“Wei Wuxian is persuasive. I’m kind of curious as to who would falter first.” Nie Mingjue snorts, picking up his own cup of tea. It was good tea.

Zewu-Jun’s eyebrows were furrowed, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Wuxian’s not going give up his livelyhood. He enjoys it. Even if he falls back in love with Hanguang-Jun, I’m not sure he’ll quit it.” Nie Mingjue states, shaking his head. It was an understatement. Wei Wuxian loves his job. As he so often gushes. Nie Mingjue’s honestly just happy Wei Wuxian doesn’t give him details.

Zewu-Jun slowly nods, understanding dawning, “You think Wei-gongzi will convince Wangji to do porn.” Zewu-Jun winces, “I, hate that I cannot say it’s out of the realm of possibilities.”

Nie Mingjue snorts and then smirks, “Ah, Zewu-Jun, how about a friendly bet?”

Zewu-Jun’s brows pinch slightly, eye narrowing, before he smirks, “Only if you call me Lan Xichen.”

Ohhhkay. Zewu-Jun had said to at the beginning of their meeting, but Nie Mingjue had honestly kind of ignored it. Immortals are a big deal. But then again. He was about to gamble with one. “Ok, Lan Xichen, why don’t we make a bet in favour of our, brothers.” Nie Mingjue isn’t entirely sure what else to refer to them as. If Nie Huaisang was married, then technically Wei Wuxian would be his brother. If they’re not, he might as well be at this point either way.

“Are Huaisang and Wuxian married?” Lan Xichen cuts in, confused.

“I’m not entirely sure. Maybe. Not important.” Nie Mingjue shakes his head, “If Hanguang-Jun manages to convince Wei Wuxian to quit his work, you win, and if Wei Wuxian manages to convince Hanguang-Jun to do porn, I win.”

Lan Xichen nods, smiling with interest, “And what are we betting?”

Nie Mingjue smirks, this was going to be fun.

#Lan Xichen #Nie Mingjue #implied sangxian #implied previous wangxian #lxc #nmj #cql #The names in Mingjue’s phone are not a sex thing #It’s just the characters from Lilo and Stitch #They’re not that mean to nmj #My writing

20 notes · View notes

kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Zephyr (MYG)

Zephyr: A soft gentle breeze; Comforting wind on a hot summer's day.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot series.

Masterlist

Pairing: Florist!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, mentions of death (not major, don’t worry) Yoongles doesn’t know how to express himself, soft boi hours.

Note: Time for me to pass out. We’re back on schedule hoes. :)

Summary: First, it was flowers for your grandmother. Next, it was flowers for a sick friend. Now, its flowers because the handsome flower shop owner lives in your head rent free.

Word Count: 4.3k

A dense, luscious forest surrounds Bangtan Village. Filled with sturdy oak trees and delicate blooming flowers. As far as the eye can see, it’s nature. Trees stretch to the heavens, touching the sky with their strong appendages. Flowers draping over the petrichor forest floor, gracing those who walk through its lush maze.

It’s magical, really. Some rumour that Bangtan Village is ancient, rivaling the Mayans. Local historians say that the people here were protecting something that lays dormant in the forest. What that relic is? A mystery to most. But town elders always warn against wandering in the woods. Whispers of a magical heart that keeps the town alive roles through the town every year after New Year’s celebrations.

Because nobody knows why every year the village gets a new influx of natural resources

But thanks to this odd phenomenon, Min Yoongi never runs out of flowers. Peonies, sunflowers, hibiscuses. Every kind of flower grows in that forest, regardless if it scientifically should. Everyone collectively dismisses the impossible things that go on beyond those trees. Ignorance is bliss.

So because of the logic defying forest, Min Yoongi always has the best flowers. Which, in turn, means you always know where to find spider lilies.

Any event. Birthdays, weddings, minor celebrations. They always called for flowers. That was your motto. Flowers make everything better. Roses here, daisies there. Nothing can go wrong with flowers. They can make someone smile, ignite love, mourn a loss. Flowers can do anything, and your glad Min Yoongi indulges your thinking.

She loved roses.

Your grandmother was a bit old-fashioned. Not the most tech savvy, would rather do things by hand, and was a sucker for a beautiful red rose. Maybe it was because those were the flowers in her wedding bouquet. Or maybe its because your grandfather always brought her one every single day before he passed. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is your getting her those roses, one last time.

When you first walked into Min’s Flowers, it had a peculiar petrichor smell. Like the shop was in an endless cycle of spring. Solf showers and light rays. It was a comforting calmness that soothed the cracks in your heart. Every which was there was a flower resting in peaceful serenity.

All the flowers seemed to look dreary, or maybe the soft petals were acting as a mirror, reflecting the melancholy of the day. You wouldn’t know. The only thing currently on your mind was red roses. Red roses. You needed to get those red roses.

Walking deeper into the shop, the walls greeted you with blissful silence. Not a sound was made, not a person in sight, shopkeeper or customer. It was just you and the flowers. A cruel thing, really. Alone with beautiful works of art that couldn’t distract your racing mind with words, only looks. But everywhere you looked, memories of your grandmother lingered. You needed words to revive your slowly beating heart.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” A gruff voice sounded through the hazy, quiet aura of the shop. Turning around, you saw a man with scruffy noir hair. He wasn’t the tallest, but wasn’t short either. He had sharp brown eyes that emanated a hidden warmth encased in cool glass. His skin was as pale as petunias and he wore a desaturated blue apron with flowers peaking out of the pocket.

“I’m looking for red roses...” You somberly informed, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. His cat-like eyes slightly softened, flashing a look of sympathy for your lost soul. You wondered if he often encountered lost souls here in the shop, using his business as a pit stop in a wayward journey. “I have just what you’re looking for,” He said, gesturing me to follow him.

He led you through the shop in silence, like a drifting ghost. He floated elegantly through his shop, uncaring of the twist and turns that appeared in his way, even if there were few. Soon, he led you to an area full of roses, all different colors. White, blue, yellow. It was a beautiful image.

But he walked passed them, going towards a door in the back. “Where are we going?” You asked, stopping just a bit behind him. “Those roses are pretty, yes, but I think you need something more,” He said, face unchanging from a stoic expression. He opened the door, walking inside to grab something out of the artificially sun lit room.

Reappearing, he held a bouquet full of two dozen bright red roses. The petals undamaged, their color as lush as the day they came out of the Earth. “I’ve been saving these for a special occasion, I think they’d be of use to you now,” The man said, handing you the bouquet, You held them gently, afraid to damage the perfect flowers.

“How are they so perfect?” You marveled, unable to peel your eyes away from the beauty of which you held. “A lot of odd things happen in Bangtan,” Was his answer, nothing more. “Go on, I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” He said, putting a soft hand on your back, guiding you to the entrance you came in from.

“But I have to pay!” You protested, but the man didn’t stop guiding you. “Consider it a gift,” He shrugged. “But I don’t even know your name,” You argued, looking at him incredulously. “It’s Yoongi, what’s yours?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. “Y/n,” You answered. “Well Y/n, it was nice to meet you. Now go on, I hope those roses bring peace,”

You didn’t go back to Min’s Flowers for three months. You decided it would be best to mourn in your own way, by yourself. That didn’t mean your close friends didn’t keep an eye on you though, Jimin and Jeongguk would never let you forget that they were there for you. Whether it was late night junk food runs to Hoseok’s store or messing around with Taehyung at the bakery. They made sure you knew they were there, waiting for you when you were ready to be picked back up and put back together.

Which you were. You picked yourself back up and hammered yourself together. Life didn’t wait for anyone. Seasons still changed, flowers still bloomed, zephyrs still came and went. Maybe the tape you used to patch yourself up was still a bit brittle, maybe the glue you used to fill the cracks in your heart hasn’t quite dried yet, but you were okay.

And Jimin was not. Poor bastard caught a nasty case of the flu and has been miserable ever since. Jeongguk and you have been taking care of him whenever you could, and when he started complaining about missing the outside, flowers seemed like the perfect remedy. “I really like yellow and white chrysanthemums”

Those were Jimin's words when you asked him what his favorite flower was, and by golly were you going to get him the prettiest yellow and white chrysanthemums ever. So that’s how you found yourself back at the shop which aided your once wayward soul.

The shop still had that same comforting petrichor scent. Memories of the pixie like world that the flower shop simulated came back to you as you saw the same flowers in the exact same places as last time. When you first came to the shop, you had a heart leaking with melancholy. Now, you have a heart with scars and a mission to make your friend feel better.

“Oh, you’re back,” A familiar voice said. Turning, you saw the same man as before. He had mint hair now, standing at the counter. “That I am, Yoongi,” You said. You don’t know why the name stuck in your head the way it did, but you couldn’t forget it. Every time you thought about getting some flowers, Yoongi popped into your head.

It surprised Yoongi that you remembered his name. He thought that the interaction between the two of you was significant to him and him only. But hearing your soft utterance of his name made him freeze longer than he should’ve. “I’m surprised you remember me,” He said, cracking the slightest of smiles.

“You’re memorable, I suppose,” You chuckled, taking a few steps deeper into the indoor forest that was Yoongi’s flower shop. “So what brings you here this time?” Yoongi asked, not taking his eyes off of you. “My friend’s sick, so I wanted to get his favorite flower to cheer him up,”

Yoongi nodded, walking around the counter to stand in front of you. “Well, I can guarantee that I have it here. What are we looking for?” He said, voice unchanging from a dull tone. “Yellow and white chrysanthemums,” You said, and Yoongi didn’t need to hear anymore before he was guiding you once more through the shop. The floor was slightly wet, showing that Yoongi had watered the flowers recently.

Quietly, he led you to where he kept the chrysanthemums, gesturing one of his hands to the yellow and white ones. “Go ahead and pick. A dozen flowers are 9,000 won,” Yoongi said, walking away to do his shopkeeper things.

That day you stayed in the shop a bit longer than you expected. You and Yoongi talked for what seemed like forever. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it hours, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t care, Yoongi was like a breath of fresh air. A whispering zephyr during the summer solstice.

So you kept coming back, again and again. Every day after work you made your way to Min’s Flowers, eager to talk to your new florist friend. You would arrange bouquets with him, tell him jokes, watch movies on the tv he had in the back. No matter the day or the weather, you never failed to meet with Yoongi every single day. Sometimes with Jimin and Jeongguk, sometimes alone.

You couldn’t get enough. Yoongi couldn’t get enough, and that scared him.

Min Yoongi was a quiet man. He preferred to stick to himself, hoping to limit the amount of human interaction he had on a daily basis. It’s not that he didn’t like people, per se, but he just rarely got along with others. It was a problem for him since Kindergarten. Being overly blunt with peers or arguing with the teacher.

He just drove people away with his cold aura and “unforgiving” personality. Yes, Yoongi had friends. He had Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin, Taehyung, even Jimin and Jeongguk hung out with him from time to time. But he’s never had that certain type of connection with someone.

Yoongi used to think he was critically apathetic. That no matter how much he wanted to bounce off the walls in celebration when Taehyung met his business goal, he couldn’t. He couldn’t muster up anything other than a “That’s good, I’m happy for you,” And he was! He knew he was, but he didn’t quite express that he was.

It left Yoongi feeling inferior, like he was a bad person. What kind of friend comforts you after a breakup by saying, “Love is dead anyway,”? Min Yoongi, apparently. Yeah, Yoongi had feelings. Things made him sad, mad, happy, annoyed. He wasn’t entirely broken. But those feeling felt like they were dampened, diluted.

“Aren’t you happy? Sad? Mad?” Those were the words Yoongi dreaded, because the answer was always yes. Yes, he was happy that Jin got a girlfriend. Yes, he was sad that Jeongguk couldn’t find the person painting flowers all over Bangtan village. Yes, he was mad Jimin shattered one of his terracotta pots. He just didn’t express it well.

But you never seemed to care.

You took Yoongi’s blunt words at face value. You believed him when he said, “That’s funny,” at one of your embarrassing childhood stories. You didn’t question why he wasn’t crying during “The Notebook” even if the tragic story silently broke his heart. You took his small smile just as seriously as you would a full one. That made Yoongi happy, even if he couldn’t express that to you.

You didn’t treat Yoongi’s lack of expression as a bad thing. You didn’t think he was cold and uncaring, because you knew he was. Actions speak louder than words. When he bandaged your ankle after you slipped in a puddle one day in the shop. When he gave you half of his granola bar after hearing your stomach rumble. Or how he never fails to ask how your day went, even if it sounded rather uncaring to the average person.

Yoongi didn’t know when it happened or how. Yoongi didn’t know why your simple touches turned smouldering to him. Or why your smile was a picture he’d look at forever. He doesn’t know when he started eagerly looking at the clock, waiting for 4pm when you’d undoubtedly would come visit him at the shop. Yoongi didn’t know when it hit him, when his horribly suppressed emotions made him feel something like no other.

Yoongi didn’t know when he fell in love with you, but damn did he fall hard.

“Alright Yoongs, I agree with you on most things, but mint chocolate ice cream is definitely not it.” You argued, poking his carton of green ice cream with your spoon. “Well, coffee-flavored ice cream is weird too,” Yoongi retorted, stuffing a spoon full of ice cream monstrosity into his mouth. You dramatically gasped, “Yoongi! Coffee is totally a valid flavor,” You laid your head on the table inside Yoongi’s back room, putting a hand to your heart, “You wound me,”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, going back to his pint of frozen goodness. “You’re ridiculous,” He said, shaking his head. “Hold on, I speak Yoongi. You just said that I’m funny and you love me,” You teased. Yoongi felt his face slightly flush at your words, but he cleared his throat, changing the topic. “Whatever, wanna arrange a wedding bouquet with me?”

You quickly sat up, stars in your eyes as you ecstatically nodded your head. “Hells yes!” Yoongi hummed, grabbing both pints of ice cream and putting them away in the mini refrigerator he had. “Let’s go then, I already have my work space set up,” He said, walking out the room to which you happily followed him.

“So, a marriage? Is it a big one?” You asked. Yoongi shrugged, sitting down in his work chair to which he already had a spare one set up next to it. “I guess, I mean, how big can things get in Bangtan Village?” He said, picking up roses and cutting off bits of their stems.

“I dunno Yoongs, remember that time you found a huge sunflower in the forest? Bangtan Village may have a small population, but things can get pretty weird here,” You chuckled, joining Yoongi in his somewhat tedious task. “Yes, you are correct. Many things in that forest surprise me.” He said, nonchalantly.

“Really? Are there fairies? White stags? Gremlins?” You asked, turning towards the man contently snipping away at the stems next to you. “You and your fairy tales,” Yoongi sighed, secretly finding your interest in the unexplainable cute.

The two of you worked together in silence, enjoying each other's presence as the artful skills Yoongi had with flowers created beautiful bouquets. But the silent atmosphere was suddenly broken when your phone rang. Fishing it out of your pocket, Jeongguk's face appeared on the screen. You excused yourself and answered the phone outside, leaving Yoongi alone in the room. To him it felt a bit colder now.

A couple minutes later, you peaked your head in the door, gaining Yoongi’s attention with a smile. “Sorry to say this Yoongs, but I have to help Jeongguk with something,” You said. Yoongi felt disappointed, but his face remained unchanging. “Oh... Okay... Do you- Nevermind,” Do you have too? Is what Yoongi wanted to ask. He didn’t want you to go, he wanted you to stay and make pretty flower arrangements with him. But he couldn’t express it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, don’t miss me too much, okay?” You joked, bidding the gruff florist a farewell. Yoongi tried to. But he really did miss you. Not only that, he felt... Jealous... He found himself wishing he was Jeongguk or wishing that you left your phone on silent so you wouldn’t hear his call.

It was selfish, Yoongi knew that, but that didn’t mean the feeling didn’t go away. He didn’t like this feeling. His emotions may feel weaker than others, but jealously always came on strong. Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn’t he just admit his feelings for you, ask you out on a date, tell you all the things that ran through his head about you?

He needed to do something. What if Jeongguk made a move on you? What if you guys were kissing right now? Or worse, on a date... Yoongi’s heart felt heavy. His heart was heavy and his stomach was queezy.

One good thing came from Yoongi’s less than normal emotional responses. It meant embarrassment and shame were less of a bitch. Still total bitches, but bitches on chill pills. “Alright,” Yoongi told himself, “Operation fuck my emotional response and ask Y/n out on a date is a go,” Yoongi immediately pulled out his phone, dialing his friend Jin.

“Hello!” Jin answered. “Hyung... I need your help with something.” Yoongi said, his voice deadly serious. “What’s up?” Yoongi took a deep breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his apron.

“You have a girlfriend...” Yoongi blurted out

“Yes...?” Jin chuckled

“And you asked her out,”

“That is correct.”

“How did you do that?”

Yoongi heard Jin’s squeaky laugh through the phone. “What?” He asked, confusion clear in his voice. “How d'you ask her out...?” Yoongi asked again. “I told her that I had feelings for her and asked her to go out with me,” Jin answered, most likely shrugging those broad shoulders of his. “How were you able to express your feelings?” Yoongi sighed.

Jin was well aware about Yoongi’s trouble expressing himself in a way that didn’t make kids cry from his scary, brooding face. He had even helped him on a few occasions when he had to apologize and look like he meant it, (Whether he really did or not) But expressing a feeling like a crush or even love, was different for everybody.

“Yoongi, are you trying to ask that Y/n girl out?” Jin inquired, hearing a thing or two about you from when Yoongi dropped hints here and there. “Yes...” Yoongi said, resting his chin on his hand in defeat. “Yoongi, buddy, there’s no “right way” to express your feelings to somebody, you just have to do it in a way that is right for you.” Jin advised.

“But the way I express things isn’t particularly... Nice,” Yoongi said.

“Yoongi, if she likes you too she’ll accept that your just you,” Jin stressed, “And if what you tell me about the way she treats you, I’m sure she’ll understand just how hard and serious it is for you to admit something like this,”

Maybe Jin was right, you’d get that he’s basically head over heels for you, right? You know how he operates. You always treated him like a normal human with normal expressive capabilities. Okay, he’ll do it.

Yoongi can’t do this. What was he thinking? Inviting you over at 9pm to “help him with flowers” was probably the worse idea he’s ever had. You probably think he’s a weirdo. More of a weirdo than he actually is. What is he supposed to do?

Well, it was too late. Because you just came barging through the door with a bag of takeout and that beautiful, blinding smile on your face. “Yoongs!” You exclaimed, placing down the food and giving him a hug. “Another emergency flower order?” You asked, taking out styrofoam containers and disposable chopsticks.

“Um... No. Yes... No,” He said, unusually indecisive. Yoongi sighed, sitting down at the table and taking a huge bite of the food that you handed him. “Yoongs, are you okay?” You asked, brows creased in worry. “I’m fine,” He shrugged, but you knew better.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit off,” You pushed, hoping he would give you the honest answer. “Mhmm. I just- uh... I’m just tired,” He answered, turning his attention back to his food. You frowned, picking your lukewarm dumpings.

You liked to call yourself a Yoongi translator. You knew a lot about his body language and usage of words. “I’m fine.” Usually meant just that. He was fine and meant it. But paired with his odd behavior just moments ago, you knew something was up.

But you also knew that Yoongi wasn’t an expressive person. He didn’t show powerful emotions very often. Yeah, he’s genuinely smiled before and chuckled. However, that was few and far between. Yoongi wasn’t good at expressing himself, and now that fact only worried you more.

“Hey Yoongs, you know the meanings of different flowers right?” You asked, brewing up an idea in your head. “Um, yes. You revealed that embarrassing fact when you snooped through my old books.” He said, raising his eyebrow incredulously. “What are you planning?” He asked.

You said nothing, instead opting to grab Yoongi and drag him out into the store. “Tell me how your feeling, but with the flowers,” You said. Yoongi looked at you like you’ve grown 3 head, “What?” He asked, still sounding iconically unimpressed. “I know something’s bothering you. I know it’s hard for you to express things sometimes, so tell me without words,” You explained, urging Yoongi to do as you say. “You don’t know the meanings though,” He argued. “Wrong. I studied them for a month straight to impress you. It’ll be fine,” You gave him a smile, and he felt his resolve breaking.

Yoongi thought about it for a second. Originally he was planning on just forgetting his entire plan and watching trash tv with you in the back until the sun came up, but this could work. Does he want it to work? Will you understand what he means when he gives you a pink camellia? Will you be weirded out if he presented you with red chrysanthemum?

It was worth a shot.

Yoongi sighed, giving into your admittedly smart idea. This could work. Yoongi ran around the shop, picking out flowers of different kinds and colors, coming back to you with a messy bouquet. “Okay, lets begin. You won’t have to talk or explain, you can just nod your head,” You said. Yoongi nodded, handing you his first flower.

A yellow hyacinth.

“Jealousy? Are you jealous of someone?” You asked,

Yoongi nodded.

A vine of ivy

“...Friendship? A friend? Are you jealous of a friend?”

Another nod.

Gardenia

“Secret love... You have a crush on somebody?” Your heart stung a bit at that one, but you schooled your emotions. This was about Yoongi, not you. “Your jealous of your crush?” You asked, but Yoongi shook his head no. “Your jealous of... your crushes friend...?” You guessed, Yoongi nodded, stoic face still unchanging.

A red columbine.

“Anxious, your crush makes you anxious?” You asked. Yoongi didn’t answer right away, but he lifted his hand and made a “sort of” motion. You racked your brain again for a moment. “Having a crush... makes you nervous?”

Yoongi nodded

“Is it because your bad at expressing yourself?”

Yoongi gave you a ‘duh’ face, holding out another flower.

A yellow carnation

“They rejected you?” Yoongi shook his head, pointing back to the red columbine, “Ohhh, you’re scared that they will reject you.” A nod.

Yoongi had one more flower left, but he didn’t give it to you just yet. He hid it behind his back, away from view, so you opted to cheer him up a bit in hopes that you’ll be able to comfort him enough to express this last thing. “Yoongs, you’re a great dude! Anybody would be lucky to have you! Sure, maybe your not as dramatic as me, but you care in your own way. That’s all that matters,” You said, giving him a smile.

Yoongi looked away from you to the side. He wasn’t usually a nervous person. Why is he so nervous? Why is this the one emotion that’s cripplingly strong? He could do it. He didn’t even have to say anything, just hand you the goddamn flower. He’s psyching himself out. Quickly, he thrusted the flower towards you without thinking.

Chucking, you took it in your hands

A red rose.

I love you.

“Yoongi, you should give this to your crush, not me,” You chuckled, but Yoongi didn’t move, just stared at you with unimpressed eyes. “Yoongs, you don’t mean...” “I love you,” He blurted out, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. “Y-You do?” You asked.

One last nod.

“Sup loser,” You lovingly greeted your grumpy boyfriend, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Yoongi rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around your waist from where he was sat in his work chair, meticulously finishing up his last order of the day. “And you claim you love me when you treat me like that,” He said, voice gruff and scratchy from not using it for a while.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” You chuckled. Yoongi bent down under the table and grabbed a flower, wordlessly handing it to you. “A red camellia?” You asked, taking a whiff of its pleasing aroma. “I’m expressing,” He said, and you nodded, understanding.

Yoongi’s gotten a bit better with expressing himself, but it can still be hard for him. As a solution, he talks to you in flowers when he wants to say something but can’t form the words. “You’re the flame in my heart too Yoongs,” You smiled, kissing the top of his head

Yoongi might not know the exact moment he fell in love with you. All he knew is that it happened swiftly and silently.

Like a zephyr on a warm day.

#yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yoongi x reader #bts #bts fic #bts oneshot #yoongi oneshot #fluff

81 notes · View notes

amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Note

Buck up captain because this is gonna be a long one

Okay so the ruling family of a kingdom has been assassinated, except for the seemingly naive and reckless princess who snuck out the night before the assassination to go on a vacation. When she returns, the conniving government officials and advisors invite her to a dinner and plan to poison her food. But then she like totally flips the tables on them and calmly switches her food with the head advisor in front of everyone, and they just awkwardly sit there waiting for him to eat it (since he’s the one who invited her, he has to eat first)

The great hall was as beautiful and decorative as ever. Reema hated this room- she always had. It was part of the reasons why she snuck out last night, into the gardens, into the woods beyond the palace walls, into a world where she didn’t have to keep her chin held high with thighs pressed together beneath a dress too big and too obnoxious to sit- or stand- in. In the woods, she could shed her clothes, jump in a lake, climb out, air dry in the summer breeze, and redress. Sometimes, if she were feeling up to it, she’d throw pebbles into a village boy’s window, and invite him to go skinny-dipping with her.

Last night wasn’t one of those nights, not as she heard heavy armour clanking and swords being drawn. The woods weren’t far enough from the palace that she couldn’t hear such horrors. She could have run back, could have tried to save the crowns she knew were being destroyed, but well- Reema was safe. Why should she throw herself back into the chaos when she was so safely away from it? Reema stayed in the woods.

How did she know there was an attack against her family? Easy. All those boys from the poorer villages were such gossips, telling the princess anything as long as she thought to ask. Being the self-preserver of the family, Reema asked about any rumours involving the royals, or nobles. There weren’t many, but some of the captains had been meeting up several regions away from the core palace- something that hadn’t been authorized by the king or queen. Reema had asked them- even snuck into her mother and father's chamber and office spaces, looking for any suspicious documents. There was nothing.

So, it was clear. There would be a coup.

Naturally, the princess would have to return. The consequence of returning to the palace on her own was better than if she stayed out. Reema would be hunted down if she continued to run, hence why she was sat in the Great Hall now, with a feast in front her- steaming hot and almost ready to eat. All she, and the rest of the Cabinet, had to do was wait for the "lead duke."

The princess peered at her plate, then to the lord boy's next to her. "Well, that is a delicacy," she said to him. Her plate was riddled with unorganized slivers of asparagus lathered in some...sauce...she'd never seen. Reema didn't even like asparagus- those nasty sprouts of green.

"Say, what do you have?" She examined the plate on her left, another plate better than her own. "So that is how it is going to be." Poisoning. Did they really view her so pathetically they wouldn't even bother giving her a proper death? Reema sighed, standing from her seat and meandering to the head advisor's still-empty chair.

They all thought she was so naive, didn't they? That she wouldn't be able to spot a difference in meals. The least they could have done was give her a meal she actually liked, but then again, why waste pockets of coin on someone who would be dead within two bites anyways? It would have made sense if the princess weren't so secretly aware.

"I am not sure what rumours you have all heard, but I do so very much like a good roast." Reema reached past the massive cushioned chair and pulled the delicious dish away before setting her asparagus- they didn't even offer her any meat on her plate-down in its stead. "His Grace will not mind if his most honoured guest gets a proper meal, yes?" She took the roast back to her own seat.

Looking left and right again, the princess was delighted to see the astonished faces of the Cabinet. They did nothing- of course they wouldn't when not all of the guards were loyal to their cause. There were perhaps more guards who did support the menacing lords, but- well, who would want to take getting pierced in the heart by the few who didn't? Better to let the leading duke fall than to have five of them gutted.

The doors to the dining hall were opened and in stepped the great duke himself. "Good evening, lords and ladies. Princess, I do hope you were able to find yourself comfortable. The servants informed me of a fall you had in the woods before you came home from your little getaway."

Those hideous spies! Of course they were watching for me. Just how many people within the princess' own castle were working against her in secret?

"A minor inconvenience, Your Grace." Reema watched as the duke crossed to the other side of the table and a servant pulled out his seat. He eyed his plate; the princess had to withhold a smile. "It was only a bruise." Only a bruise from the hand of a traitorous guard gripping her arm as she approached the front gates. Her smile fell into a thin, and controlled, line.

Seeing the devious duke sit where her father once did ripped into her gut and shredded every piece of her, but the anger and cunning outwitted the pain and sorrow she felt. The duke would die and then she would move on to taking the others out- hopefully, assuming they didn't get to her first. The odds of her surviving were seeming less and less likely.

"I did want to thank you for inviting me to this meal, Your Grace. I am...appreciative to have such a gracious and caring Cabinet to step in when...what is lost is lost." When my family has been viciously killed. The gut-wrenching feeling was growing stronger with every word Reema muttered. Maybe it was wrong of her to save her own life. Maybe she should have died with her family.

As the duke examined his plate of traded vegetables, Reema couldn't help but to wonder, Do they know I know of their crimes? They must not have if they thought poisoning her would work. Now, however, the duke eyed her with contempt.

"Shall we eat, Your Grace? The host always dines first." It would have been nice to admit that she felt quite nice having made such a statement, but seeing the way the duke's lower jaw jutted out made her nervous enough to swallow. No one at the rest of the table was objecting as His Grace forked a green stem, though.

The duke cleared his throat and eyed a servant standing nearby. "I believe I asked for the roast along with our guests."

"Perhaps we should just eat," said someone else at the table. Looking, Reema saw a knight- one who was once close with her brother. So, the knight was against killing the royal family at least. The princess would need to talk to him after this meal was over, see if he was willing to help her escape the same fate as her family. He might need saving, too. No one else in the Cabinet spoke up for a reason- it would make one a target.

"My Grace, I apologize, but there is no more roast. It was divided evenly between each guest member, except for the dish of-" The servant was cut off with a quick shush, though many may have called it a hiss.

Lifting the fork to his lips, the duke stared at a wall above everyone's head. Perhaps he was facing Death herself in those moments he bit into the green vegetable. His nose twitched, but the rest of the effects did not take place until minutes later. He coughed, gripping his throat as everyone was digging into their own meals.

Reema did not touch her plate- just in case the rest of the Cabinet had been planning to poison the duke already. It was perhaps paranoid, but when she was sat at a table of people fully willing to kill her family, she would have been dense to assume they would not try their hand at killing each other as well.

When the duke's coughs turned to chokes, the table was dismissed by one of the lords, presumably one who would next try his hand at leading the betraying Cabinet.

Standing from her seat, Reema rushed to her brother's friend, the knight, but both she and he were stopped. Her, by the arm of the lord boy who sat to her right- and the knight, by three separate men. The only reason the lord boy could stop Reema was because his hand laid where her bruise was.

"Let go of me, now."

"I am to escort you to your rooms," the boy said, certainly not letting go, and even going as far as to tighten his grip on her.

Reema, with little thought, shoved him with her free hand, unknowingly gaining the attention of those working to restrain the knight. "Under whose orders? I am your princess- queen." She was the queen now, wasn't she? Not officially, for there had not been a coronation to prestige her, but yes. Reema was Queen now. "You will release me this instant."

A new voice interceded. "No can do, Princess." The lord who dismissed dinner. Reema rolled her eyes, ceasing her small efforts of rebellion and control. "No more adventures into the woods. However you snuck there before, I have not a clue, but I promise you this; it will not be happening again." A breath. "Son, I believe I told you to take her away."

With a quick and high-pitched laugh, the princess shrugged a shoulder- her free one, of course. The lord boy was Sir Big Lord's son, huh? Perfect.

If the lord had been a Lady of the Court, Reema might have used a fist aimed high. Being a lord, though, all she had to do was jut a knee up.

The lord fell to a knee, hands over his groin. The son, in turn, released the princess- as she so pleasantly requested before.

Now, she just had to face the rest of the Cabinet in order to reach the knight. The ladies wouldn't be an issue. They valued their reputable poise and silent seething too much to intervene- especially when they knew the princess was willing to physically fight her new opponents in order to fend for herself. It was the men- the ones with swords on their...a realization dawned on Reema.

Swords and other weapons were taken from Cabinet members when they entered the Great Hall. Those would be outside the great doors. And although Reema's nails were riddled with dirt, they were still long and sharp.

Reema would claw her way to the knight if she had to.

#request fill #this was a long request so I hope I did the idea justice!#I meamt to finish this in a day like usual but one day became like four. this weekend was nuts.#alright- normal tags #medieval #medieval writing #royal assassination #assassination #poisoning #death #um #royal #royalty #??#royal whumpee #what else #royal whump #Okat that's all I've got

46 notes · View notes

bamf-jaskier · 4 years

Text

alright so no one asked for his but I can’t stop thinking about it.

Jaskier is not talented at fighting in anyway shape or from. He’s fit enough to run away pretty quickly and is taller than most people, but honestly he just doesn’t having any knowledge of how to fight. He has a dagger but it’s more for looks that anything else.

Most people assume that after years of traveling through increasingly dangerous situations with Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier would have picked up something, sword fighting, pakour, hand to hand or even would be strong enough to throw a good punch but honestly he’s really useless at that kind of thing.

When Geralt is around, the witcher can normally take care of any enemies they have so Jaskier doesn’t bother and when Geralt isn’t around Jaskier has enough charisma and charm to get himself out of the situation. He’s a bard by trade. He doesn’t like to resort to fighting.

Then he begins to hear whispers from people about The White Wolf’s bard. There are rumours that he is viscious when crossed, that he can hold his own in a fight. The rumors are helpful, Jaskier is accosted quite a bit less and when people see him late in the night, they leave him alone but it begins to push at Jaskier in an unpleasant way. Because, in the end, these are just rumors, falsehoods. He can’t actually fight, he can’t actually go feral or take out a dozen bandits in the night.

He’s not useful to Geralt and once he realizes this Jaskier begins to a feel more than a bit self-conscious. The swords in the windows of local blacksmiths begin to look more appealing and the measly dagger he carries to defend himself begins to looks more pathetic. How could be matched up to Geralt if he’s really as useless as all that?

His mood must be obvious because Geralt begins to give him odd looks that Jaskier understands to mean ‘we really should talk but I’m too much of a coward to say anything’. Jaskier is having trouble composing his music and he feels entirely uninspired.

One night, when they have just left a town and are headed for a contract on a nekker nest Jaskier feels brave enough to ask Geralt.

“Geralt, uh, quick question, no pressure, no commitment here. But, well, I know that you have those big scary swords of yours and well, I was wondering if you think you could teach me how to use them.”

From over the fire, Geralt gives Jaskier the strangest look.

“Why do you want to learn to use swords? There’s not much room to carry them alongside a lute.”

Jaskier tries to edge around the questions, “I just think...it could be fun.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at Jaskier, “Fun? You once said that watching me practice swordsmanship must be a special type of torture desgined by Witchers for use against bards.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Jaskier you have never admitted to being wrong a day in your godforsaken life, what is this about?”

He sighed, he might as well admit it. It could be the only that convinces Geralt.

“I’ve been hearing these rumors about my apparently hidden talent at weapons, but the truth is Geralt I can hardly throw a punch and honestly I terrified that...”

He stopped he couldn’t say it. Then he looked at Geralt who was waiting patiently, no judgement in his eyes and it gave him the strength to continue.

“I’m terrified that I am absolutely useless to you as a traveling companion.”

For a moment, Geralt was silent and Jaskier considered bolting then and there but Geralt began speaking in a measure voice.

“Jaskier, by this point in time I truly hope you aren’t measuring your worth on physical prowess alone.”

He looked up, what was Geralt saying? The Witcher must have noticed his questioning look because he continued talking.

“You are easily one of the most talent bards on the Continent, you manage to get people in your pocket within minutes of meeting you and you have the have the terrifying talent of making people forget why they ever hated you in the first place. Jaskier, you don’t need to be vicious and ruthless to be interesting, you don’t need to be strong to be brave, and you don’t have to be useful to be my friend and the most worthy travel companion I have ever had.”

Jaskier blinked. Those weren’t tears forming in the corners of his eyes, nope, the smoke from the fire had just irritated them. He tried to open his mouth to speak but the words came out rough.

“Than-thank you Geralt.”

He grabbed his lute from behind his back and pulled it in front of him. His desire to amass an increasingly immense stockpile of weapons was diminishing and the want to compose his next song was growing. He began to strum a simple pattern on the strings.

Geralt was right. He didn’t have to be the most powerful person in the room. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to be useful to be loved.

291 notes · View notes

klaus-is-the-real-number-1 · 4 years

Text

The House of the Rising Sun (Number 5 x reader)

A/N: This is an unfinished fic ive had in my drafts for well over a year,, enjoy? based of s1

Crime rates had never been higher, gangs ravaging the city any opportunity they got dealing class A narcotics and carrying out random acts of violence. No one leaves their houses at night, as soon as the sun sets the streets would empty and complete anomie would take place. One ‘gang’ were set above the rest, they were practically the equivalent of the mafia, all dressed in a smartly pressed uniform and operating throughout the entire city, the Umbrella Academy. Rumour has it they all had ‘powers’ of some sort, making them the most powerful gang, even if they didn’t have their ‘powers’ they would still be in the lead having very high levels of violence between them.

The Umbrella Academy all had nicknames, a mere murmur of the said names would send people running like scared dogs, tails between their legs. The most feared of the Umbrella Academy was The Boy, just as him name suggested he was the one no one knew anything about, yes there was rumours but never any solid facts. The Boy had apparently travelled to the future, has a kill count of hundreds and can appear in a flash of blue from thin air, but these are just mad rumours that drift round town.

Dusk set upon the city but you didn’t notice, too busy finishing bouquets in your shop. You ran a small florists on the outskirts of the town, you never caused any trouble and had never stayed late until today. You glanced out the window and gasped, looking at the pitch black sky, feeling your heart rate increase at the thought of walking four blocks in the gang ridden town. As quickly as you could you close the shop, making sure the doors were locked and the solid metal shutters were firmly shut. You leave by the back door, locking it and closing the shutter yet again, not leaving your small life source of a shop to the vengeance of raging gangs who carry out pointless crimes.

Shadows hid your small frame as you quickly walked home, defenceless, hoping to miss anyone out at the late hours of the night. Unfortunately, luck was not playing on your side, from the shadows you could make out a group of lads making their way threateningly down the street. All you could do is pray that you wouldn’t get spotted in the dark shadows.

“Well what do we have here?” You quickened your pace somehow thinking that you could move away from them but you were wrong. You were surrounded like you were feeding bread to a flock of seagulls, if the seagulls were feral and had rabies it would mirror how afraid you were at that moment.

“Sorry!” Is all you were able to squeak out as you were roughly pulled out from the safeness of the dark into the centre of the group, your bag getting ripped off your back. Your frozen, watching them go through the contents of your bad, dumping out all your papers and pens that you had in your bag until finally finding your purse. “Please don’t it’s all I have.”

As soon as the words left your mouth you were on the ground, a numbing pain shooting through the side of your head, you could see heavy droplets of blood hit the floor as your nose bled from the impact. Another sharp impact landed against your ribs as a sob wracked through your shaking body, unable to comprehend how quickly the events had escalated, all you could do now is wait for the next impact but it never came.

“Hey, assholes!” The voice was crisp and sharp, dripping with confidence and authority. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Coins fell to the floor as the gang dropped your bag and your purse and ran, you couldn’t even look up, the thought of someone more threatening than an entire group sent shivers down your hurt body. You didn’t hear footsteps, all you saw from your peripheral vision a blue light and a dark figure. The rustling sound of papers cut through the silent street and the harsh zip of your bag startled you.

“You need to see someone about that.” You look up and were met with none other than The Boy, the most questioned of the Umbrella Academy, dressed in a smart uniform, domino mask securely covering his identity. His fingertips lightly brushed the side of your head, causing you to flinch away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said unconvincingly, emotions hidden by the mask.

He held your now packed bag out to you, you lifted yourself off the floor, wincing as you did so. You cautiously took your bag from The Boys hand, holding it loosely in your hand. Taking a step, you stumble, your side collapsing in on it’s self, The Boy caught you, putting his arm around your waist to steady you.

“Here, let me help you home, where do you live?” In your shattered state you told him, and in a blink of blue you were at your door. You messily fumble with your keys as your shaking hands roughly push your door open, dropping your bag into your small apartment.

“Thank you.” The mask clad boy stood before you, hands in his shorts pockets.

“It’s okay,” You couldn’t see his eyes but you knew they were scanning over your body. “Make sure to get your injuries checked over, they got you pretty hard y/n.” Then he was gone.

You lock your door and double check your windows, securing them before limping over to your bathroom, looking at your beaten form in the mirror. Red marks spread over your face and the side of your body, bruising already starting to form, blood stained your white patterned shirt with a now ruined name tag, the thought of work taking over your thoughts, well not all of your thoughts. The Boy was also on your thoughts, his cold emotionless face, half covered by a domino mask, contrasted with the softness of his words, the caring nature of his touch. He’s a crime lord, a dangerous man, yet he showed kindness to you.

Five was angry, he was angry with himself that he didn’t get there quick enough to stop them hurting y/n. She was the only pure thing left in the city and they went for her, defenceless. Five would’ve killed them on the spot if he didn’t want to hurt y/n any more than she already was. He wasn’t actively going out of his way to find y/n, she was sunshine in a grey and broken world.

“Five,” He hadn’t even finished teleporting into his room before Luther started speaking. “We’re not meant to be out on the streets. What were you doing?” Luther’s big frame towered over Five, attempting to threaten him.

“I was out doing what were meant to be doing, keeping our authority through the streets. Haven’t you heard that they’ve been saying we’re weak.” Five snarled at his brother prompting Luther to sigh then walk out. It wasn’t always like this, they could’ve been heroes but Mr Hargreeves only saw the darkness and the powers within them, he made them the best at being the worst and for some it was the end of the line.

An aching agony wracked through your fragile body as your head pounded like a thousand drummers sounding the beating retreat. You hoped a shower would ease any of the pain, warm water running over all of your bruises, the side of your body looking like a black and blue watercolour along your ribs. Your work clothes were just casual, simple, it was one of the upsides of owning your own business. However, you did have an apron, it had different flowers embroidered on it and a simple name tag. A name tag now covered in blood.

Quiet music softly played in the background of your flower shop, you swept the floor in time to the music, swaying your hips as you did so. Heading back to the storage room, you heard the bell to the shop chime, a welcoming noise.

“Hey, how can I help?” The man seemed startled, looking up at the arrangement of bouquets and flashing a quick smile.

“I’d like some flowers for my mom,” He almost hesitated with his words, a soft peach colour present on his cheeks. “I saw your shop yesterday and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had got her any.”

“Awe, that’s super sweet, have any of the bouquets caught your fancy or does she have a flower preference?” The boy in front of you was about the same age as you, maybe older, he had sharp features but they were even out by the softness of his eyes.

He thought for a moment, searching the deepest parts of his brain. “Lilies, she likes lilies.” You smile at his words before looking round your small, compacted shop for any pre-made bouquets.

“We don’t have any made up right now but if you come back,” You look at the clock, thinking about a convenient time for him to come back. “In about 2 hours I’ll have one made up for you?” You give him a sweet smile as he nods. “Great! If you want you can leave your name and number so I can text you when its done.”

You watch him messily write his details on a post it note. Peeling it off the block, you stick it to your notice board, looking at his name as you did so. Five. “I’ll send you a text once your bouquets done!”

“Ok, thank you,” He hesitated as he strained to read your name tag. “Y/n.”

“No problem, Five.” You see a small smile break out on his face as he left the shop. The rest of your day dragged as a slow drip of customers drifted in and out of the shop. You made a large bouquet of different types of lilies for Five, taking extra care to arrange them in the prettiest way you could, making it extra special for his mom.

You admire your handy work, loving when you get special orders being able to be as creative as you want. You send a text to Five saying that he can drop in any time from now until closing to pick them up, you get an almost instant response sending his thanks.

Shouting echoed down the street, sharp crashing of glass cutting through the air. Smoke drifted like ghosts down the street as screams echoed down the road of people coughing, spluttering grasping for breath. Peering out your shop window you saw them again, the lads from the night before, petrol bombs in hand ready to throw. You had to consider you options, quick, close the shutters quickly and run out the back or just run out and risk that they recognise you.

Quickly, you pulled the shutters down as you hear the unruly lads shouting get louder, you think your safe but then you remember the window upstairs, wide open, vulnerable. Taking two steps at a time but you were halfway to the window and heard a ‘get the flower shop’.

A flame like a rabid hare shot past you, shattering on the ground followed by another, hitting the window dead on surrounding you in flame, no escape in a smoke filling room. Smoke licked the walls as smoke danced in your lungs, making you feel lightheaded, blurring you vision. The floor burnt as you dropped to your knees, trying to take in any remaining oxygen, begging for your eyes not to close.

As Five walked back to the flower shop only to be met with shouting, screaming and sirens, noticing the smoke in the air he quickened his pace, only to break out into a sprint at the sight of the small flower shop in flames. He couldn’t see y/n out in the street in front of the shop, in a blind panic he blipped into the shop, looking round and seeing smoke pouring down the stairs, dread filling his body. In a blink of an eye he was in the burning room, finding y/n unconscious on the floor, he grabbed her body and as quickly as he could in the haze of the smoke.

He flashed to the academy, roughly shaking y/n shoulder. “Y/n,” He checked she was still breathing. “y/n please. Wake up. Mom!” Grace came round the corner, watching her son frantically shake an unconscious body.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Grace’s calming voice did nothing to sooth the panicking boy, she looked at the girls flame licked skin. “Take her to the medical room, Five.” Without another word Five had flashed upstairs, Grace beginning jogging up the stairs wrapping her medical apron around her as she did.

You gasp awake, proceeding to cough up whatever smoke settled in your lungs. You didn’t recognise the room around you, it didn’t look like any normal hospital, or even a hospital at all. Panicking at the foreign surroundings you drag yourself out of the bed, body screaming out at the heat in your arms and palms from the fire, the fire, your shop. Before even having time to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that led you up to this point, a woman walked in, sending heaving 1950/60′s vibe.

“Hello dear, I’m Grace.” Grace had a soft voice but it didn’t sound quite right, it sounded almost robotic, not human.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” You pushed past her and hope to find a way out of the large eerie house you were in. Panic mode overtook your whole body as you tried to find any way out, footsteps echoing behind you as Grace tried to catch up with you but you saw the front door and ran for it.

“My dear, you can’t go yet!” But you had already ran out the door, it being left wide open behind you, sprinting down the street probably looking like a madman but in that moment it didn’t matter to you, you had to get out.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #number 5 #number five #five hargreeves x reader #number 5 x reader #number five x reader #number five imagine #number five oneshot #number 5 imagine #five hargreeves imagine #this is so old and unfinished but al post it anyways

307 notes · View notes

midnight-hotel · 4 years

Note

Sfw headcanons for Angel Dust, Husk, and Alastor with his s/o please? Do your best and welcome to the Hazbin Hotel fandom! I hope you'll enjoy your time here :)

Angel Dust

Angel isn’t one for love and romance, so to become his partner is actually a massive achievement.

Considering his profession nd lifestyle, he has distinct walls put up to protect him from being hurt emotionally so your relationship, much to everyone’s surprise, developed very slowly.

Once he opened up, you discovered small things about him that he seemed to silently love. This included, but is not limited to; holding his hand, sitting close to him, running your fingers through his fluffy hair (behind closed doors- he has an image to uphold) and sleeping with your arms wrapped round him.

He enjoys being held in the moments where things are calm and you’re alone. He speaks in a low tone- unless leaning into you and ranting- and just wants to cuddle.

Sometimes when you’re cuddling, he insists that Fat Nuggets join the two of you. He has plenty of arms to use after all.

When you’re out and about however, he likes having an arm around you, hand typically tucked into the back pocket of your pants or sitting on your hip. He likes it even better when your arm finds its way around his waist too. It’s a very intimate way of showing others that you’re together, even if it was hard for him in the beginning. It also helps in the degree of other demons wanting a piece of him. Some are daring enough to call out for him, but others back off seeing you there.

All in all, there is a lot of contact in this relationship, but also an unspoken respect for each other’s boundaries.

Angel Dust does enjoy wearing drag and I can imagine him dressing up for you if you like it too. Of course, you’d have to support what he wants to do and enjoys doing, so when you go out, don’t be too surprised if he comes out in a curve hugging dress that looks too good to stay on for very long.

Husk

Husk acts like a grumpy old man most of the time but he has a soft spot for you deep down. Not to say he doesnt act gruff towards you sometimes though.

He acts like he doesn’t like affection from you, but you can’t help but notice that he doesn’t push you away whenever you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his fur.

God forbid- you touch his ears and he’ll go from wanting to throw you, to practically melting into your touch.

He purrs-

He’s a little insecure at times, especially if you’re young because in the end, he is a grumpy old man who isn’t very interested in doing much.

That being said, he feels a huge sense of pride whenever he makes you smile and/or laugh. His favourite method is showing you magic tricks at the bar.

He isn’t a big fan or hanging around the hotel with you. He doesn’t like the idea of people like Alastor and Angel invading your personal space. One is dangerous and the other is dangerously irritating. This being said, he’ll pull the date card as much as he can without putting himself out financially or comfort wise (though his gambling usually does that anyway-).

He watches out for you as much as he can, preferring to have you where he can see you, just in case. Being somewhat close to Alastor, he is very weary of the capabilities of other demons.

He absolutely adores you though and if you can catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking; he’ll have a lovesick look in his eyes. You’re one of his only sources of happiness in Hell.

Alastor

First of all, the most important fact. He is courting you. He wouldn’t use the term dating in such a way.

Alastor isn’t the sort to express himself through touching you. He isn’t fond of hugs or any kind of affection but will take your arm to walk around together, pull you closer and touch your face, whether is be stroking your cheek, pinching it and so on.

He’s more so the type to give you gifts to show his affections towards you. A rose, a new outfit, something you looked at for a little over a second while you were walking down the street with him. Only the best for his partner.

The most affectionate he’ll get with you, in front of others, is through dancing. He’ll sweep you away into some kind of dance he fancies, music playing from nowhere in particular or his own voice meeting your ears. If you don’t know how to dance, he’ll teach you, starting out with a sweet slow dance and would eventually encourage you to move faster and faster. It’ll take a while but I’m sure you’ll be able to keep up with him eventually.

Behind closed doors, he’s a little laxer. He’ll allow you to wrap your arms around him in a hug occasionally, sit back with an arm around you as he reads a book, either to himself or out loud to you.

This is also when he’ll allow himself to give you that little bit more affection, pressing you closer to his tall frame and going out of his way to make your face flush red if it isn’t naturally that colour already.

Alastor is incredibly possessive. No one is allowed to touch you but himself and if he even hears a rumour of such a thing happening, that demon will not be found for a long time afterwards.

However, he isn’t overly protective. You’re in hell for a reason, and it’s not like you can be killed by anything other than an angel so he isn’t too concerned with your safety. He just doesn’t like demons touching what’s his. The only thing that does concern him regarding your safety, is that being torn apart, ‘killed’, by other demons is incredibly painful. The thought of you going through that infuriates him.

I’m sure it wouldn’t take too long for people to recognise you as someone not to mess with however, unless they want to face the Radio Demon themselves.

He doesn’t show it all that openly, but he does treasure you.

#angel dust #angel #angel dust x reader #angel x reader #husk #husker #husk x reader #alastor #radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x resder #headcanons #hh headcanons #relationship headcanons #hazbin hotel

2K notes · View notes

thorniest-rose · 4 years

Text

reddie halloween prompt #4 candy

It all happens in the small pocket of time between advanced math and the dirge of gym. Jimmy’s dragging his heels, hanging back in the bathrooms on the second floor, trying to delay the inevitable jeers of all the boys in his class. As they mock him for his weak knees and his protruding ribs, pinging their towels at him and asking him how small his dick is, if it’s even big enough to get hard.

But Jimmy knows it’s coming. After years of falling victim for his chronic acne, and his high-pitched voice, for sometimes just existing, he’s come to expect it.

What he doesn’t expect is to be cornered by Richie Tozier, the weird loudmouth with the dark eyes and the wide grin, who laughed like a jackal at his own vulgar jokes and could outsmart all of their teachers without trying.

Jimmy hadn’t spoken to Richie in more than two years, had done nothing to warrant the boy’s wrath. So he doesn’t know why he’s here now, wedged back against the window as Richie grins down at him. The wacky kid with buck teeth and bottle glasses who had somehow transformed into this tall, moody, striking teen with the cheekbones that could cut glass. Who all the girls secretly looked at as he walked down the hallway.

He asks, “W-what do you want, Richie?”

Richie grins at him like they’re friends. “I just thought we could catch up, Jimmy. I’ve seen you hanging out with your new girlfriend.”

Jimmy swallows hard. Was that what this was about?

“Oh yeah…”

“Oh yeah,” Richie mocks. “What, you think no one had noticed? That one of the hottest girls at school is suddenly hanging off your dick and no one would say anything?”

Jimmy shrugs, but his mouth has gone bone dry. He’d been dating Cindy for the last three weeks and it had sent ripples through school. Everyone was shocked. That someone as beautiful and popular as Cindy would even talk to a guy like Jimmy, let alone fall head over heels for him. At lunchtime she now ditched all her friends to sit in a corner of the cafeteria with him, and after school walked home with his hand in hers. At the weekend, they got ice cream and walked to the lake and sat in his backyard, and the entire time she looked at him with her big blue eyes, and told him she never wanted anything else.

“It’s just curious, that’s all,” Richie continues, eyes glinting. “Pretty sure she hated your fucking guts a few months ago.”

“Things change, Richie.”

“Is that right,“ he replies, his dark eyebrows raised mockingly.

And Jimmy’s had enough. He gets enough shit from jock assholes as it is, without a weird fucking kid like Richie joining in.

“Richie, I really have to get to class. Gym is starting and if I’m late-”

Richie pushes him back against the wall with one hand to his chest. The skin on the back of his hand is mottled, scarred, and Jimmy’s chest tightens. The skin looks like it was run over with a sheet of barbed wire.

“Hold your horses,” Richie says, “we haven’t finished catching up yet.”

Jimmy blurts, “Are you… are you jealous or something?”

“Nice try, dipshit, but no, I’m not jealous that you’re with a blonde airhead like Cindy. I need to know how you did it.”

Jimmy feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“What?”

“Come on,” Richie says, his mouth unfurling into a slow, smoky grin, “don’t wuss out on me now.”

“Cindy has feelings for me.”

Richie barks and rolls his eyes. "Unless you’re seriously packing down there, I doubt that.”

“I mean it, we have a real connection.”

The good humour drops from Richie’s face.

“Bullshit,” he hisses, making Jimmy flinch. “I know you did something. No way would she even fucking look at a little creep like you if you hadn’t done something to her. So you’re either paying her, but I know your parents are piss poor so it’s not that. Maybe you’re blackmailing her, but you’re too pussy for that too. So it has to be something else.”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy splutters, feeling like he’s going to wet himself.

He’d heard things about Richie over the last few years. That he got his scars from some unknown childhood trauma, that he’d been kidnapped and tortured by a crazy man. Jimmy didn’t know how true any of that was, but he couldn’t deny the mad glint in Richie’s eyes. That his smiles were always slightly too manic to be good-natured. That when he laughed it sent chills through him.

“Are you going to beat me up? Tell Cindy? Try to reverse the spell?”

He regrets it the second it’s out his mouth, but Richie’s eyes shine, like he’d guessed the twist in a movie before everyone else.

“I knew it,” he says.

Panic grips Jimmy; it catapults him halfway across the bathroom, but Richie is too fast for him. Before he can make it to the door, he feels a hand on his backpack and a second later he’s being thrown back towards the sinks. He crashes back, stumbling, and almost falls to the floor. And Richie just stares at him, a dead heat lighting up his eyes. One brown and one blue.

“Please, let me go, Richie,” Jimmy says, half crumpled against the sinks. He cringes at the whimpering note in his voice, how close he sounds to begging.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why? Are you going to blackmail me?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“What do you want? I don’t have anything to give you. I don’t have money.”

Richie’s lips draw back in a snarl. “Are you really that fucking stupid? I’m here because I want you to do it for me too.”

Jimmy blinks at him. He didn’t think Richie would have any problems with girls. Not with the way they had started to look at him.

His mind flicks through the girls in their year, tries to settle on anyone Richie might like. But he’d never seen Richie pay attention to any girls he knew. Come to think of it, he didn’t think Richie ever had a girlfriend.

“You do…? On who?”

Richie doesn’t hesitate as he says, “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Jimmy feels his mouth drop open. He says, “You’re… you’re a fag?”

Richie’s face goes dark, and Jimmy’s vision blacks out as Richie’s fist smashes into the side of his mouth. He staggers back, his head cracking against the wall, and distantly he hears himself cry out as a searing bolt of pain shoots through his skull.

When he comes to, his vision blotting hazily at the corners, Richie’s wiping his bloody knuckles against his jeans.

“Maybe we should try that again,” he says, tone mild, like he hadn’t just punched Jimmy in the face. “But if you say that fucking word one more time, I’ll push you out the window.”

Jimmy’s eyes prickle hot as the blood drips down his mouth. He thinks he might cry.

Richie notices and he sneers at him. “God, you’re such a fucking pussy. I could do a lot worse than that, you know.”

“I don’t know if I can do the spell again.”

And he didn’t. Jimmy had found the spell in an old tome he’d found in a dark basement bookstore two towns over. A place he heard whispers about. He hadn’t even thought the spell would work. But it had. He’d walked out of his house the next morning and Cindy had been on his doorstep, so happy and eager to see him Jimmy initially thought it had been a joke. But it hadn’t. She was besotted.

Richie looks unamused as he pulls an old lighter out of his pocket.

“You better remember,” he says, as he flicks it on, the orange flame making Jimmy jump. “Or I’ll have to help you jog your memory.”

“I… I guess I could try,” he mumbles as he watches the flame burn in Richie’s hand.

Richie shakes his head. “You’ll need to do better than that.” He flicks the lighter off and on again. “Have you been burned before? I read once that being set on fire is the most excruciating pain you can ever feel. I wonder if Cindy will still feel the same about you if she can’t recognise you. Spell or no spell.”

Desperation claws at Jimmy’s throat and he quickly blurts, “Okay, I’ll do it, I will.”

Richie flicks the lighter off. “Good,” he says.

And a part of Jimmy, though surprised, gets it, because Eddie was beautiful. Over the last year he’d blossomed from a sick little boy into something slender and sweet, with long tanned legs and the thickest lashes Jimmy had ever seen. There was a rumour going around school that Eddie was prettier than most girls, and that they all hated him for it. Not that he seemed to notice. He went to his classes and ran with the track team, and was always quiet and serene, apart from the times he saw Richie. When his expression went icy and his tone turned brittle.

Jimmy still can’t help but ask, “Why him?”

"Because he’s everything,” Richie replies.

Jimmy doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he says, “I’ll need something of his. For the spell to bind to him.”

“No problem.”

Richie takes a small locket of dark hair out of his pocket. Jimmy stares at it. He doesn’t want to know how Richie got it. How he already had it on him.

“There are risks, I need you to know that,” he says as Richie hands it to him.

Richie just stares at him, looking bored. “I don’t really care.”

“But it might not work. Or it could go wrong. Sometimes these spells… sometimes they don’t turn out the way we expect them to.”

And Jimmy was telling the truth. He’d heard some terrible things. Sometimes the spell didn’t take, and sometimes it took too well, driving the enchanted lover to the edges of hysteria, so obsessed with the object of their affections that they couldn’t eat or sleep. That they couldn’t function without being with the person who had cast the spell.

“Just do whatever it takes,” Richie says, his brown eye so dark it looked almost black. “I want him to be crazy for me. So crazy that he needs me, all the time. I don’t want him to think of anything else but me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jimmy says quietly. And for some reason he feels ashamed.

He jumps again when he feels Richie clap his hand down on his shoulder.

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it? You have a week. Or I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done. And your cute new girlfriend won’t be able to stand the sight of you.” He grins at Jimmy. "Sound good?”

“Yeah,“ Jimmy says, head nodding stupidly even as his stomach churns. “Sounds good.”

“Cool, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

On his way out, Richie gestures to Jimmy’s nose. “You might want to clean that up by the way. Get a cotton bud up there.”

In the silence following Richie’s departure, Jimmy stares at himself in the mirror and doesn’t recognise the pale, pleading face staring back at him. He thinks he might be sick, but instead he mops up the blood oozing from his nose and goes to gym.

A week later, he hides around a corner as he watches Richie hand Eddie the candy: a little bag of pink love hearts knotted at the top with a ribbon. Inside, one of the love hearts is special. Nestled inside the sugar is a drop of lamb’s blood, crushed belladonna, and the membrane of a baby bird. The potion Jimmy had made and injected into the candy the night before, the potion that would turn Eddie’s blood molten for Richie.

Eddie asks, "Why, Richie?"

"Can’t I treat you, baby?” Richie replies.

“Don’t call me that please.”

Eddie looks at the candy dubiously at first, but eventually he can’t resist, and he takes it from Richie with a mumbled thanks.

Jimmy has a thought of ducking round the corner and running down the hall, slapping the candy from Eddie’s hands just in time, of saving him. But he doesn’t. Because he’s a coward. So he hangs back and watches instead. Watches as Eddie takes the special love heart, the one that’s pinker and plumper than the rest, and pops it into his mouth.

The change is instantaneous. Eddie’s body goes suddenly taut, as if his limbs are being pulled together by a string, and his eyes go bright and glossy as he stares up at Richie. The frown between his eyes melts away, and in its place his expression softens, his mouth pink and lax as he mouths Richie’s name.

Jimmy feels like he’s going to throw up. He spins around and starts walking away just as he hears Eddie say, “Richie,” like he’s seeing the other boy for the first time. Like Richie is a bright, burning sphere of sunshine in an endless night. He walks down the hallway and all the way home. Tosses and turns all night with half-snatched dreams.

And the next day, when he comes across the two boys making out in the woods, Eddie’s mouth so wet and red as Richie bites at it, his hands grabbing as Eddie through his jeans while the smaller boy gasps, Jimmy doesn’t do anything. And when Richie’s eyes meet his over Eddie’s head, swimming with mirth, and something like greed, Jimmy stumbles and runs. He runs and runs, and not once does he ever think to look back.

#reddie #reddie drabbles #halloween reddie #love spells #tw dark richie #tw obsession #tw no consent #tw violence #tw homophobic language

105 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

The Great Madripoorian Snake Off - ch. 2

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: E Chapter count: 2/2

Read ch. 1 on Tumblr.

Chapter two summary: Sam and Bucky get tossed out of Selby’s bar and it’s the perfect (more or less) opportunity to discuss their kiss.

Sam sincerely believed that, between the three of them (including Zemo with his pompous swanning and Bucky with his identity a single glove away from being revealed), he wouldn’t be the one to mess this up. But there goes his phone, ringing away in his jacket pocket.

He reaches in and presses a thumb to the screen, swiping desperately as his heart rate climbs. Selby’s eyes on him are nasty things; she doesn’t rise from her seat and yet it feels like she’s bobbing and swaying, hypnotizing him how a snake would. The thought provokes a nauseated rumble from Sam’s stomach and maybe Selby hears that now that his phone is silent. Or maybe she doesn’t, what with the ominous sound of the handful of armed men in the room adjusting their grip on their guns.

“Answer it,” she orders.

Sam extracts the phone from his pocket and holds it up to show that the call’s already been declined.

“Well,” Selby says, unswerving gaze on his face, “call back.”

“I don’t think I better…” Sam hedges nervously.

“Listen to me, Smiling Tiger. I don’t trust you and my tolerance of your presence is really beginning to wear thin.”

“I know what you mean,” Bucky mutters, standing next to Sam.

“What was that?” Selby asks.

“I said, uh, don’t be mean. To him.” After an awkward pause, Bucky lifts an arm (thankfully not the Vibranium one, though based on how badly this encounter is going, Sam wouldn’t have been surprised) and wraps it stiffly around Sam’s shoulders. “My husband.”

What Sam would like to do is call Bucky an idiot, but what he does is lean slightly into Bucky’s hold. On the inside, he’s cursing Bucky to Steve’s rumoured moon base and back. This is how you do it, he thinks. This is how you exorcise your feelings about what a bonehead your associate is without running your mouth in front of the person clearly itching to shoot you.

“Call back on speakerphone,” Selby instructs, ignoring Bucky because she doesn’t seem to consider his fumbled response worth addressing. “Now.”

Sam redials Sarah. He better not be sweating. He can just fucking imagine a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead while he’s bent over his phone, visibly splashing the surface. Bucky’s shared anxiety is obvious in the way he hugs Sam more securely to his side. Not really a hug though. Feels more like Bucky preparing to yank them both to the floor when this terrible cover story goes to hell and the bullets start to fly.

By what honestly feels like a miracle, Sarah does the thing she always does, which usually irritates Sam, but today he loves her for it. She ignores his call. They’ve been doing this forever. It’s a subtle sibling fuck you to the other person whenever one of them returns a call only a minute or two after being called. It says, Oh, so you were close enough to your phone to call me back fast, but couldn’t bother answering it when my name popped up? Knowing Sarah, she’ll be standing in the same spot she was when he dismissed her call, staring down at his name on her screen, with that damn expression of sisterly superiority.

To Selby, Sam shrugs and pockets his phone when Sarah fails to pick up.

“I really have had enough of you. You too,” Selby says, looking pointedly at the pain in the ass who has his arm draped around Sam. “Get out of my sight while I have a discussion with Baron Zemo. In fact, get out of my bar. Someone’ll show you the way.”

“Easy,” Sam says in a low voice when a member of Selby’s security team puts a hand on his shoulder to hustle him towards the back exit. The guy does it to Bucky too, but Bucky says nothing. Sure. Being manhandled by an employee he could easily drop? Silence. Hearing a comment made by the boss and not even directed at him? The perfect opportunity to insult Sam. Bucky’s such a dick.

“Yeah, we got it,” Bucky finally says after Selby’s guy has the door to the alley propped open, prepared to shove them through it.

The guy backs off, but Sam and Bucky still step outside quickly to avoid the closing door.

Sam glances up and down the alleyway, then up the grimy walls. No sign of cameras and only one end of the alley is open to the street a dozen yards away. The other dead-ends at a hulking dumpster. With this very un-luxurious, private place to talk won at the cost of them pissing off an extremely dangerous player in a game to which Sam is still fumbling to open the rulebook, Sam rounds on Bucky. He jabs a finger towards his chest without actually touching him because he doesn’t actually want Bucky to feel threatened. Also, the last touch he instigated between them was firm contact between his palm and Bucky’s ass. So. He doesn’t really know what to do about that, or his hands, or Bucky standing before him in what’s seriously too narrow of an alley. Who designed this place?

“You can’t act like that,” Sam says. “Are you trying to get us killed? This is a mission.”

“You think I forgot? I’m not confused, Sam,” Bucky contends with a frown. “I know I didn’t accidentally go on vacation to fucking Madripoor, ok?”

“Well, then you better prove it by watching your mouth.”

“I was thinking about your mouth!”

The words erupt from Bucky and Sam nearly backs into a wall in surprise. He only stops himself because he remembers the expensive suit and that keeping up appearances is the best they can do at this point, since their acting as soon as they speak is a disaster.

“Now?” Sam asks when annoyance overtakes shock. “When I said we’d talk about it later, I was thinking hours, maybe days. Not while we were still on the premises!”

He motions at the wall, but Bucky cocks his head, looking unconcerned.

“We’re beside the premises, if you wanna be technical about it.”

“I don’t.”

“Too bad. Say what you wanna say,” Bucky encourages with a wave before planting both hands on his hips. “About us kissing.”

“I don’t have anything to say about that either.”

Despite the straight length of wall at his back, Sam’s feeling cornered. He wasn’t expecting Bucky to be the one willing to introduce a dialogue about this. He didn’t really think Bucky would have anything to say about the kiss period. But now the asshole has decided that the best way to spend their time exiled from Selby’s is to talk about their act of intimacy. With his face flooded by blue neon light and his stance sexy in how self-possessed it makes him look. They kissed and now Bucky Barnes—world champion of menacing, wordless staring—wants to talk.

The thing is that they kissed while Bucky was pretending to be his husband and Sam was forgetting to pretend anything. It felt too good. He’d wanted it too long. He wants it again, now, still, with Bucky against a backdrop of dirty bricks, dipped in light so blue it almost vibrates Sam’s eyes. Bucky looks like he’s trying to sell Sam designer cologne and Sam shouldn’t feel drawn in by this, but he wants to buy the danger this cologne model is selling. He wants to get a good grip on Bucky’s black jacket and hear him whisper “Madripoor Pour Homme” in his ear on a warm exhale.

“You gotta go first,” Bucky insists. “You’re the one who wanted to talk about it.”

“Because I thought you would want to explain yourself.”

“We’re supposed to be married, you looked like you were gonna upchuck looking at that snake, I ran interference in a way that seemed appropriate for our cover.”

Bucky’s method of laying it out so straightforwardly is absolutely infuriating.

“To stop me from throwing up,” Sam clarifies angrily.

“Yes.”

“If you were really worried about that, you wouldn’t have kissed me.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause you woulda been afraid that I’d throw up all over your face.”

“So what are you saying?” Bucky demands. “That I was hoping you’d throw up on my face?”

Sam laughs.

“God, I hope not. Just that your reasoning is bullshit and you must’ve kissed me for some other reason that you haven’t said.”

Bucky’s gaze flicks to the ground, then back up. His face is angled slightly differently and the blue light does his bone structure favours that it was already too beautiful to ever need to ask for.

“Like what?” he asks softly. And the noise of the people talking and shouting on the street at the end of the alleyway dims below the volume of Sam’s heart thudding in his ears.

Sam doesn’t get a chance to answer; the door they came through bangs open—a hollow clang as it hits the wall and the security guy sticks his head out to check on them, looking the wrong way first. Rougher than he was at the bar, Bucky grabs Sam’s face. Sam closes his eyes as Selby’s man glances towards them, cutting off sight to be hit all the harder by the urgent feeling of Bucky’s mouth moving against, then with, his own. It’s a mess because Bucky kisses like he’s being awarded on most vigorous performance, his tongue prodding eagerly between Sam’s lips in a motion more commonly seen in bullet extractions.

By the time he hears the door shut again—without the guy bothering to even try to interrupt (meaning Selby must not want them back in the negotiating room that badly)—Sam feels as if he’s had his mouth more thoroughly fucked in thirty seconds than the rest of him’s ever been.

Bucky’s even gotten him against the wall and Sam acts like he’s pissed about that, shooting Bucky a look as he gently pushes him back and brushes at the sleeve of his jacket. His first breath free of that kiss is a pant.

“Man, do you only know one way to solve a problem?”

Bucky looks back challengingly.

“I only need one way if it’s the best way.”

Sam attempts to ignore Bucky’s gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips as he says, “Based on what criteria?”

“Selby’s guy left us alone, didn’t he? That means Zemo’s in there flailing without us, without being able to… to rip the rug out from under me by telling her who I really am—”

“Were.”

“—or blowing your cover to see what kinda information she’d give up in exchange for an Avenger.”

“And kissing me was the best way to accomplish that.”

“Well… yeah,” Bucky decides. But his expression is squirrely, so Sam narrows his eyes at him.

“We coulda left the neighbourhood if you wanted to leave Zemo high and dry after flying all the way out here.”

“We still need him to help us get answers on that serum. If he didn’t think we were around, he’d go to ground. Wouldn’t be hard to find him again, just a waste of time.”

“You’re just… committed to our story then,” Sam tests.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not difficult for you.”

“Obviously,” Bucky agrees.

“Better or worse than having to take on everybody in that bar with your bare hands?” Sam asks. When Bucky just stares at him, he goes, “What? You know that’s what Zemo would’ve wanted from you if you’d consented to play the part of the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky exhales heavily and nods.

“Yeah, this is better.”

“Just the lack of violence or having to make out with me?” Sam pushes, grinning.

“I don’t have to.”

“Oh, so you want to then.”

Sam’s trying to be playful, finding loopholes in the slack rope of Bucky’s words, trying to make room for some humour, some levity, between these filthy walls and the beam of neon from above. There is something in Bucky’s eyes right then. Something understanding, something kind. Whatever it is, Bucky immediately shores it up with a metric tonne of intensity. His look now could pull Sam from a burning building while simultaneously being that burning building. It’s almost physically disorienting. The temperature rises inside Sam’s suit like the heat’s being trapped at every seam.

“So what if I do?” Bucky fires back.

“You don’t.”

Sam says it almost angrily, too warm and too confined in his Smiling Tiger disguise. At least the guy he’s impersonating isn’t into weighty coats with ostentatious fur collars like some barons Sam knows. Still, it’s too hot—the suit and Bucky’s stare.

“I don’t?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t think so,” Sam confirms, though he’s dizzy now. Needing to remove a layer of this suit, needing Bucky to step back to let him breathe.

“Why would you think that I wouldn’t want to make out with you?”

“Because you’re… you!”

“That explanation sucks.”

“Because,” Sam tries again. Bucky lifts his chin in a questioning gesture and Sam just wants to propel him back into the far wall and kiss his neck. “Because you’re an asshole.”

“Since when am I an asshole?”

“Birth, probably, but I wasn’t there when it happened three hundred years ago, so I can’t say for sure.”

“I was born last century, same as you, and you know that!”

“Can’t confirm it. Wasn’t part of the backstory.”

“Now who’s the asshole?” Bucky gripes. “You’re not supposed to know my fake birthday because you’re my fake husband, you’re supposed to know my real birthday because you’re my real friend.”

“I do know your real birthday,” Sam promises, taking a step closer regardless of the flush of heat he feels to be moving towards Bucky’s rigid posture and pinning stare.

“You my real friend?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Bucky repeats, quieter, barely looking away from Sam’s mouth now.

“We’re not telling the story out here,” Sam says. He glances up and down the alley again. “No witnesses.”

“Good. I don’t wanna pretend.”

Sam’s shoulders relax—not in relief but in disappointment—because that sounds like it’s the end of that. After all that talk, culminating in a short debate of which one of them’s an asshole: pretty much peak flirting, Sam would say, measured against their history of interactions. But then Bucky takes a step too soft for Sam to hear and hits him with a look too soft for Sam to misinterpret.

“Or we could say it was the snake drink’s fault if we want an excuse later on,” Sam offers.

Bucky quickly wets his lip with his tongue.

“We could.”

Sam’s hand goes to the buttons on his suit jacket. It’s a motion of self-consciousness, grasping the overlap of fabric between the buttons, but Bucky knocks his hand away with an easy backhand that skims over Sam’s fingers. Eyes locked on his, Bucky undoes the buttons while Sam’s arms hang tensely at his sides. Although the jacket wasn’t restricting his breathing, Sam inhales fast—a swimmer breaking the surface of a pool between strokes.

When he slowly guides Bucky in, hand on his hip, the open jacket doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference in what’s separating them. That’s what Sam thinks. Bucky’s cyborg brain has evidently done some data-crunching and come up with a different assessment; there’s more than just the length of a knife in the front of Bucky’s pants now as he presses up against Sam.

“You undid one button,” Sam teases. “Is that indecent by forties’ standards? That why one button’s enough to get you going?”

“Let’s see how you feel about one button.”

Sam’s abs seize when Bucky’s hands go—abruptly and confidently—to his belt. He’s as efficient getting it open as Sam’s seen him when dismantling and reassembling an assault weapon or tugging the straps on a tac jacket to secure his knives. Following the jingling and the slap of leather, Bucky opens the button of Sam’s dress pants with a single, silent tug. Sam’s cock jerks.

“Ok, I get it,” he says, breathing too hard over the way Bucky’s chosen to make his point.

He smiles and clasps Bucky’s shoulder, smoothing up to the back of his head, ready to pull him in for a kiss, but Bucky raises a hand between them. A hand concealed by a leather glove. As Sam watches, Bucky bites the tip of the glove’s middle finger between his teeth and pulls his hand out. It comes easily, the Vibranium experiencing little friction against the lining of the glove. He then retrieves the glove from his teeth and jams it into the back pocket of his pants, out of Sam’s line of sight.

“Keep going?” Bucky asks in a rough voice.

Is his tone sexy despite or because of it being choked with desire? Sam can’t decide, but he can nod and provide a “Yeah” while longing for Bucky to just press his hips closer.

Continued eye contact is too fucking much to deal with, so Sam does pull Bucky in now, angling his mouth to meet his. The kiss isn’t anything wild. It’s steady and apparently allows Bucky to concentrate on untucking Sam’s shirt from his unbuttoned pants. Sam’s cradling the back of Bucky’s neck, rubbing his thumb up and down behind his ear (after almost immediately discovering the way it makes Bucky subtly shiver) when the Vibranium hand slips up under his shirt to touch his skin.

The initial surprisingness of the texture is enough to reinforce how unexpected this whole thing is and Sam breaks the kiss. It’s like waking up from a really lifelike dream, except he opens his eyes to see Bucky’s right in front of him. Around them is an alley, a bar where Zemo’s trading money and ass-kissing for super-soldier secrets, and the terrifying lawlessness of Low Town, Madripoor. This is where they had to be for Bucky to look at him like that.

“We’re not done,” Sam states.

“Thought maybe you…”

Sam shakes his head.

“I want to too,” he assures Bucky. “Even if you are a bad husband.”

“What? I am not!”

“You didn’t get me out of swallowing a piece of snake.”

“And I’m damn sure we agreed that you forcing me to join you evened the score. You can’t decide now that it wasn’t enough.”

Sam squints at him, slowly blinking half a minute into the eye contact to prove that it’s not a staring contest. (If it were, he would’ve won.)

“Maybe you didn’t really drink it,” he says.

“Like hell I didn’t drink it. I know you can taste it on me.”

“You know what?” Sam says, fingers rubbing against the grain of Bucky’s hair as they skate up from his neck. “It’s fucked up that I still want to kiss you after you said that.”

“You want me to find a place to buy mints first?”

Bucky’s huffing a laugh as Sam leans in to kiss him. His mouth smothers the sound and by the time their lips part again—both Bucky’s hands up Sam’s shirt as far as his burgundy vest will permit—a quavering groan slips out. Sam wants to attribute it to Bucky, but he can’t be sure. Kissing him harder, Sam puts his free hand squarely on Bucky’s ass, bringing his hips in snugly, feeling the assertive swell of his erection.

“They’re gonna come looking for us again,” Bucky warns, forehead pressed to Sam’s as he pulls his mouth away to speak. “We probably only have a few minutes.”

Sam breathes, listening to the noise from the street, before saying, “How would Smiling Tiger’s husband spend them?”

“Since he’s not a real guy,” Bucky starts, “and I’m just making him up… I’m pretty sure he’d do this…”

His hands come out from under Sam’s shirt, only to settle on his fly. Bucky unzips him and Sam’s head falls back with a laugh of disbelief because they’re not doing this. No way, not here. But this bold motherfucker convinces Sam he’s serious when he pulls the front of his pants and briefs down; Sam looks downwards, alert and aflame, to watch Bucky crouch with one knee on the pavement, eyes level with his exposed groin.

“This seem in character to you?” Bucky asks nonchalantly, forehead wrinkling with the question as he looks up at Sam.

“As if I’m gonna start critiquing,” Sam says while grabbing the waist of his pants with one hand to keep his ass covered as he rotates to put his back to the open end of the alleyway—and the door, if anyone else comes through it.

Bucky repositions to be in front of Sam. His hand’s gliding up Sam’s thigh when Sam speaks again.

“Remember, the story is that you do this so well that I’ve postponed wearing a wedding ring.”

“No pressure then, huh?” Bucky checks in a tone full of complaint.

“It was your story!”

Bucky’s mouth is abruptly too occupied to shoot off a retort. All the air goes out of Sam’s chest with the warmth of Bucky’s mouth around him, his tongue making Sam fight not to twitch his hips forward and sink deeper. Glancing down, yeah, it’s not tough to appreciate the deal Smiling Tiger struck in that story of Bucky’s. This is not a sight Sam hates. He thinks it could only be better if Bucky would look at him while bobbing his head forward and back, but, first of all, being on the receiving end of a Bucky Barnes stare in this moment might actually be more than Sam’s ready to handle and, second, Bucky with his eyes closed in apparent pleasure is a damn nice view.

The door slams open behind them just as Sam’s raising a shaky hand to scrape his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky freezes and Sam straightens, hand aching with how tightly he’s suddenly holding onto his pants.

“James? Sam?” Zemo calls out. “You’re going to need to— What are you doing?”

“I dropped my… glove,” Bucky shouts back, looking up into Sam’s eyes in unfamiliar panic.

“Yeah…” Sam says, too slow but consistent with his subpar ability to lie. “…his glove. He lost—”

“Found it!”

“He found it.”

Sam glares at Bucky as he gets to his feet and withdraws the glove from his back pocket, waving it out to the side. He leans around Sam and gives Zemo a nod. Sam doesn’t turn his head far enough to get Zemo in his peripheral vision—and doesn’t turn his body at all because the only way he could hate Zemo more is if he had to live with the knowledge that he’d seen his dick, shining with Bucky’s saliva—but he’s plenty aware of the long silence the Baron does not fill following the delivery of the lie about the glove.

Eventually (and the wait is excruciating), Zemo says in a smug little voice, “Well, gentlemen, I await your return,” and closes the door. Sam doesn’t trust the Baron to have shut the door, but he does trust the sag of Bucky’s posture. They’re alone.

“Zemo’s gone,” Bucky says, returning the glove to his pocket, “and he knows.”

“Of course he knows, Buck! Did you just forget how to lie?”

“I…!”

Clearly floundering, Bucky motions to Sam’s cock with both hands. It’d be easy, and truthful, for Sam to admit that he was also too distracted to react well, but he’s not gonna throw Bucky that kind of lifeline.

Sam hitches his briefs up at the front; the discomfort of the band pushing against his shaft is worse than the awkwardness. Thinking about how many hours it might be until he and Bucky have an opportunity to continue this in a more private, Zemo-less space makes Sam want to do something really stupid, something Bucky would do, like punch the brick wall in aggravation. Problem is that Bucky’s Vibranium fist would go clean through while Sam might break his hand.

“Sexually frustrated?” Bucky asks bluntly.

So the punch-the-wall plan must’ve shown in Sam’s face.

“I’m fine,” Sam lies, belt buckle clinking as he starts putting his clothes in order.

A steady hand lands on his wrist and Sam glances up and into Bucky’s eyes. He swallows. Rather than help—refastening what he undid before—Bucky worms his hand into Sam’s briefs and wraps warm fingers around him. No, not again. Sam is not going to be the only one standing here with his dick out a second time. He runs his hand over Bucky’s chest and presses, turning them so Bucky has his back to the wall. Bucky’s hand stays loose on his cock until Sam grips him through his pants. Then, Bucky’s pumping away as Sam’s jerking his belt open—the material a sharp, ropey weave like Bucky’s tac straps in contrast to the buttery leather of Sam’s belt. Hastily, Sam gets into his pants, stretching and pawing, twisting his wrist to reach in and smooth his palm down Bucky’s length.

Their eyes meet and it’s holding hands in the car all over again.

It’s a race to the first grunt, the first groan, the first involuntary buck of the hips. Bucky’s zipper scratches at Sam’s forearm but that’s nothing, not worth letting go when he can see the glistening sweat at Bucky’s temple. Sam adjusts his grip to make a firm fist, completing long, merciless strokes that rip a rough gasp from Bucky. Of course, then he’s gotta retaliate and Sam can barely keep his shit together when Bucky pulls his hand out only to spit in the palm before thrusting it back into Sam’s pants.

“We can’t,” Bucky grits out.

“I know.”

But they keep going, Sam mentally crossing his fingers and his toes that Bucky won’t get to watch his knees wobble or his legs fold. He could swear he has Bucky on the ropes when that idiot starts pulsing his grip, tensing and relaxing his hold. His eyes are dark and unblinking as blue light seeps over them.

Sam’s overwhelming desire is to come all over Bucky’s hand, but the more responsible part of him reminds him that he’s going to have to walk back into Selby’s bar to somehow assist Zemo with the information negotiation and letting Bucky jerk him off in these expensive pants won’t help him accomplish that. He doesn’t want to bring what’s happening out here back in there, doesn’t want this thing between them reduced to part of Smiling Tiger’s fiction.

“Fuck, ok, stop!” Sam blurts.

Bucky stills immediately, not hiding his smirk when Sam takes his hand back. Bucky’s stays down the front of Sam’s pants until it’s in the way of Sam tucking his shirt back in. He clenches his teeth as he fixes his underwear, zips his pants to strain over the bulge he was so close to letting Bucky take care of. He catches Bucky with the same look on his face.

“The serum,” Sam says, attempting to refocus them both.

“Yeah. Maybe Zemo’s coaxed a lead out of Selby by now.”

Sam can’t contain his laugh.

“You better hope he has or else the only thing you achieved by breaking him out of jail was having him as a witness while you blew me.”

Bucky turns away from him so quickly that Sam knows he’s not mad; he has to be hiding his own smile. They stand there, shuffling in place for a couple more minutes. Right when Sam’s about to propose that they head inside, the side door flies open for the third time and Zemo staggers out, chased by the rapid, overlapping pops of several guns.

“Are you serious?!” Sam demands. The three of them sprint down the alley, heading for the crowded street.

Bucky channels his annoyance into a wordless shout at Zemo.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” Zemo yelps when Sam grabs his arm, hauling him around the corner as they emerge onto the street. “People usually find me very trustworthy, very persuasive.”

Sam glances at Bucky, who looks away guiltily.

“I don’t know…” Zemo pants. “…how to make this small… misunderstanding… up to you.”

“Just run!” Sam suggests. Feet pounding alongside Bucky’s as they dart down a side street, he says, “You think it’s time for you to use that knife?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says, like he only just remembered he has one.

Without breaking his stride, he slides the knife from his pocket, half-turns, and zings it backwards. Sam doesn’t turn to look, but he’s satisfied when the closest source of gunfire cuts off abruptly.

“This isn’t so bad,” Bucky says when they take a quick right, Zemo straggling slightly behind.

Bullets chase the three of them around the corner, ringing as they strike a fire escape and shatter a sign. Raising an arm over his head to protect himself from falling shards of glass, Sam glances at Bucky incredulously.

“I want a divorce!”

#rating has changed!#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #sambucky #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes #Helmut Zemo

21 notes · View notes

spitpr1ncess · 3 years

Text

BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 4 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

(not my image)

A week has passed since the “inspection” with Levi, and where any sane person would have buried the memories in the deepest, darkest part of their mind, you can’t help ascending into daydreams about it all day long. It was perverted and you expected that you would feel ashamed, but instead you feel curious.

After two days respite and a chat with Jools, you decide you are well enough to get back to work. Your fragile body still littered with bruises and Levi’s strangely territorial marks, you see men in and out of your little room. Each one you satiated, you tried harder than you had before, each time envisioning them to be Levi, imagining their clumsy hands away, instead picturing his careful hands, grasping you with calculated thought. You’ve been catching sight of yourself in the mirror more, admiring his marks and fearing that they will disappear, that any real evidence that your encounter had happened at all will cease to exist. It’s a late afternoon when you are approached by one of the girls you reside with. Tall and with olive skin, she was naturally very beautiful.

“Harmony, hey, are you okay?” you question her as she sits herself down on the soft, white sofa next to you. Harmony is known to have personal involvement with one of Boss’s men, Reiner. It was against the rules, but you and the other girls knew that her happiness was something you yearned for, so who were you to take it away? You always turned a blind eye when he arrived late at night and left in the early hours of the morning, as a result, Harmony loved you all dearly, like her own little dysfunctional family.

“I’ve given you a week to make your own way to me and explain about what happened with that Levi guy and you haven’t, and so here I am, waiting” she gives you a little eyebrow raise and laughs.

“I shouldn’t humour you, but I am sure that rumours are flying around these walls. You’ve probably heard the truth, although where everybody is probably making out like I am so feeble, pathetic and weak, I really enjoyed it. I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. What is wrong with me? I must be some kind of pervert” Harmony ruffles your hair gently, if you had an older sister, you imagine this behaviour to be similar to the way she might act.

“I think that you are used to men having their way with you, I think like most of us, you have subconsciously trained yourself to enjoy it, to associate validation with it. Which is totally normal. I also think you are strong on the hots for that Levi fella, and from what I heard, he is strong on the hots for you too. I-” Harmony stops herself abruptly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Go on?” You probe deeper and Harmony shifts uncomfortably, standing up just to tuck one of her legs underneath her bottom before she sits back down.

“I was talking to Jools, apparently he always looks at you, I'm just warning you, be careful. I should know” she looks around to look for unwanted listeners, she leans in close and whispers “He's not allowed to interact with us, with you, on a personal level. Boss will see to it that his life stops completely before you both get a chance at happiness.” You lean back, crossing your arms and snort.

“He's not even interested in me, Harmony, and why should you get to preach about fraternizing, huh?”

“How do you know? And I'm not being funny but that's exactly why I get to preach!!", her voice is quiet and serious, her eyes boring into your, you can tell that she isn't messing around, you continue, “He left a note apologising, like it literally just said "I'm sorry, what does that mean?”

“Oh” Harmony sighs “this is unfortunate, I think that he does like you, or if he doesn't, really he does, he just won't admit it to himself. I think he's intrigued but he doesn't know enough about you, or he's not sure how to approach you, we shall have to change that” you guffaw at her stupidity, as if she's forgotten that he's Boss's right hand man, and that he wouldn't hesitate to drag you to his office and have you disposed of.

“You are incredibly stupid Harmony, why on earth would I do that?” you're worried now, concerned that Harmony will want to get involved, that's the last thing you want, she shoots you a look, “Because, we are both bored and we have nothing better to do, besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” she gives you a knowing look that tells you it is a dangerous game to play, that it may end in a death, yet you are interested.

Your eyes widen and as you reply, “I am not you, and Levi is not Reiner, I doubt Levi is going to drop all of his duties and devote himself to sneaking around late at night just to date me, also you know that we could end up hurt, or WORSE.” the emphasis was suggestive enough but she waves you away, with this, Harmony stands up to leave, she takes your hand and leads you toward her room.

“We’re going out this evening, for a few drinks, I’ve got permission from Jools, and I’m sure you’ll be okay as you’ll be with me, they know I wouldn’t allow you to run off.” she's grinning from ear to ear and you can tell that she has something planned, butterflies begin to wake in the pit of your stomach.

“Harm, I don’t really fancy it.” You take your hand out of hers as you step through the doorframe and collapse down on her bed, you lift your arm and reach your hand toward the ceiling, you trace the barely visible bruises around your wrist and smile without realising.

“I don’t care if you fancy it or not, we are going, if you won’t indulge me in my little game of cat and mouse, the least you will do is have a good bloody time. Now, piss off and go and find something nice to wear, I’ll come get you at seven.” She pulls you off the bed and shoos you out, begrudgingly, you trudge down the long corridor, defeated, listening only to your soft footsteps and the occasional moan or grunt coming from various girls’ rooms, at first you used to cringe, but over the years its become strangely comforting, as the walls became more and more your home.

A little black linen sundress accompanied by a pair of platform heels was your outfit of choice. As a working girl you did not lack in the heels department, with clients often gifting you new ones regularly, the dress had a sweeping neckline with soft, loose, fairy like sleeves that gather at your wrists, you did not dress overly provocatively; you feel comfortable separating your working self and everyday self as much as possible. Filling a glass of water and placing it on your nightstand for later, you prepare for the possibility of a hangover, although you had no plans to get that drunk, you know Harmony has other plans, and being empathic, you usually indulge her. You walk to your mirror and give yourself a once over, your make up is soft but you’ve paired it with a deep, tantalising red lip. Your long brown hair cascades down your back, with two plaits starting at the front, clasped together at the back of your head with a beautiful silver butterfly clip, you notice that you look good and furthermore, you feel good.

You notice the window in the reflection of the mirror and swear you see a shadow pass by, you gasp and flip yourself around in a second. Slowly approaching the window, you push it open, the air is cold, and there doesn’t seem to be anybody there.

“…Hello?” you practically whisper, voice shaking and a lump forming in your throat, nobody answers, obviously, and you feel like an idiot, you pull the window shut and laugh.

“I’m going crazy” You speak to absolutely nobody. You pull a small white linen nightdress out of your wardrobe and fold it neatly on your pillow for later. A small note falls out of the little breast pocket, you pick it up and sigh, knowing it was the one Levi had left for you.

You mull over the two words, they were short and confusing, was he really sorry or was he just feeling guilty? You think back to Jools telling you he'd stayed to bathe you, waiting for you to come around. You shake your head as if you could wipe the thoughts from your mind, you rip the note in half once, and then again, and again, until it is in tiny little shreds, and throw all the pieces in your trash can, you decide that you’ve had enough of your little obsession, and that you’ll use tonight to have a flirt with someone of your choosing, you glance at your clock, it reads six-fifty-six, you open your door and step out into the quiet corridor, most clients come before five, unless there are extenuating circumstances, or they are of any importance, so it often is quiet at these hours. Most of the girls pass their time by reading, or gossiping together, but more often than not, keeping themselves to themselves. You lock the door and hear Harmony’s footsteps advancing towards you, you can tell by her hastened pace that she is excited and full of energy.

“Whew! Look at you lady!” She grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around, the movement causing your dress to lift and swirl beautifully, you feel a rush as she dotes on you. “And panties to match! What are you planning you little minx!?” She playfully lifts the hem and jokingly peers underneath. You laugh, and for the first time in a few weeks, it spreads throughout your whole body, you feel excitement and energy surge through you, you look at Harmony and grin, maybe this isn't such a terrible idea? She practically squeals at you, “C’mon then!” Giddy as anything, you both giggle and laugh as you make you way to the front desk where Jools is seated as he usually is, he looks up and his eyes widen as he drinks in your slender, pale legs and follows your soft curves until you make eye contact, he realises you have seen him checking you out he coughs and looks away quickly, embarrassed and with a soft pink heat to his cheeks.

“We’re going out for a few drinks, Jools, I hope that’s okay, we’ll be together the whole time so I will look after her, I promise!”

He looks up and smiles, Jools would trust Harmony with his first-born child, he waves you away and buzzes the door open from his seat.

“Have fun girls!” He shouts out to you, Jools follows you with his eyes as you pass through the wide glass doors and past the large windows, you fall out of sight and he goes back to his computer, absentmindedly mulling over that time he’d joked about fucking you and you’d gone ahead and straddled him, he wonders if he’d not pushed you off whether you might’ve… Gone further. He shakes his head.

“She’s like your sister, get a grip.”

You and Harmony are still locking arms as you shiver and pull yourself into her a little more, you huddle like little penguins outside in the snow as you wait to be admitted into the club. Harmony was a big fan of drinking, loud dance music and flashing lights, on this information alone you allowed her the luxury of choosing the venue, so you didn’t have to, and where you don’t particularly enjoy the club scene at all, you were happy to be out.

“Do you want a smoke while we wait?” Harmony asks you innocently.

“Usually takes me a few drinks before I crave one of those but if it’ll help distract me from the cold I’ll take one” She unlinks your arms and digs out two Marlborough straights from her clutch bag, popping one into her mouth and one into yours she fishes out her lighter, you press the ends of your cigarettes together and she lights them both. As the flame encases the paper and smoulders away the tobacco you both inhale, you close your eyes and feel the buzz travel through your veins, letting out a small groan.

“Jesus fuck that’s good” you say, holding the smoke between the very corner of your lips, you remove the stick and twirl it between your index finger and thumb and ponder your thoughts.

“Jools calls them death sticks, personally I think a man that smokes socially is sexy, there is something so primitive in me that awakens when I see a man enjoy the rush.” Harmony nods and makes a sound of agreement, you’re instructed forward by a bouncer.

“Identification.” Its less of a question and more of a request. You reach to your little clutch bag and pull out your photocard ID, Harmony mimics you, ou pass them to the bouncer, and he studies them intensely.

“All right girls, step over to the cross and my colleague will stamp you for re-entry, have a good night.” You eagerly obey and step onto the taped cross on the floor, you inhale another lungful of tobacco and mull over the figure with his back turned to you, it seems familiar, he is fairly built, strong shoulders and legs, shiny black hair with a subtle undercut…

Oh no.

Oh yes.

You realize immediately who is stood a foot away from you. He turns and you smell his pine scented cologne approach you.

Levi.

You make eye contact and his eyes bore into yours, his mouth slightly agape, a few seconds pass and you decide to take control, you won’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing he has disturbed your sense of normality, after all, you've decided to stamp out your little obsession, what's the harm in toying with him a little?

You roll your cigarette between your index finger and thumb again and step uncomfortably close to him, you remove it and flip it around, Levi glances at it and licks his lip, pre-emptively readying himself, you place it between his soft, parted lips and brush your thumb along his jawline. You’re sure he tenses a little and the thought makes you giddy, you step back in line with Harmony.

“Won’t you scan us in already, Mr Ackerman?” your voice is smooth and silky as it leaves your mouth, Levi drinks it in, desperate for the sound of your voice again, though he would never let on. He first puts his hand out to Harmony, she obliges, completely blown away by this mature and teasing version of yourself she has never seen before, Levi turns her hand, so her palm is facing down, he stamps the back of her hand with a little red signature stamp, it absorbs into her skin and she pulls her arm back.

Levi steps toward you, much like you did him. The butterflies are in full swing as he inhales on the smoke sat between his lips and holds it in, he runs his fingers from your shoulder to your wrist, sending waves of pleasure straight to the depths of your belly, he lifts your wrist and stamps his little red stamp, he exhales through the corner of his mouth and leans in to whisper in your ear, gently tucking your hair between your ear.

“I’m sorry for what I-, for what-, the other day-," he pauses and you see him visibly shift uncomfortably, "I was worried, I'm not actually a monster, and I know we got off on the wrong foot, are you okay?”

His words melt you into a puddle and you’re sure you feel yourself getting slick just from hearing him speak.

You take the smoke from his lips and take a gentle drag not daring to move away from him, you throw it on the floor and stub it out with your heeled foot, your pedicured toes twisting as you ensure it is no longer lit, you pause to regain control of your thoughts, you won't let him win.

“You were doing your job Mr Ackerman; I would expect nothing less. Have a good night.” its ice cold, and even you are proud, you can tell Harmony is in shock, you turn and link arms with her as you lead her into the lobby, you don’t see but Levi stares after you, mouth agape and strangely intrigued, he shakes his head and turns back to his job, choosing not to focus on your aloof behaviour. He knew you weren’t actually interested, he'd overthought it, it was just a stupid hunch after all, the note he left was so… plain. He regretted it more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t risk being caught. Especially because he doesn’t even know how he feels about you. Were you just an annoying, pathetic working girl or were you…more?

“Four double vodkas with cranberry please!” You shout across the bar; the music is pumping and the people are… Everywhere.

“Cranberry?!” Harmony pulls a face at you.

“For your lady health, idiot! Might as well drink responsibly!” You’re practically screaming at the top of your lungs at this point, you hand a crisp £20 over to the bartender and wave away the change, she has long blonde hair and a beautiful smile, she mouths thank you and turns to the next customer. You both grab two drinks and head toward the back of the large open space, finding a gap in all the dancing bodies. You tap your glasses together and greedily neck the first drink, you grimace at the bitterness of the cranberry, impatiently, you neck the second one too, Harmony staring at you,

“Should I be concerned?! Did that little encounter stress you out or something?!” She sips her second drink, grinning as she laughs at you, you place both of your empty cups on the tray of a passing-by staff member, closing your your eyes you allow the bass of the music to course heavily through your veins, you smile and mentally congratulate yourself for how you handled Levi. You open your eyes as Harmony drags you to the centre of the dance floor. Both of you being working girls, you know how to navigate a dance floor, gyrating rhythmically and hitting every beat, you noticed were being observed by a couple of guys from the group next to you. Both tall, one with long-ish deep chestnut hair, pulled into a messy bun, some strands falling loose and framing his sculptural jaw. The other one with ashy blonde hair, short but with enough length to be wispy and styled well, you two make eye contact and he winks at you, nonchalantly pulling the corner of his mouth up to give you a mischievous smirk, you lick your bottom lip, plump and coated in the glossy red you’d chosen.

“I think they’re coming over Olive! Oh my god!” Harmony squeals. Her and Reiner are “dating” in secret but realistically, they both know it wont work out, it can’t work out, they were in the middle of a big argument turned break currently, and the nature of their relationship meant Harmony would sleep with whoever she wanted, to try and fill the void. The tall ashy blonde approached you first, he leans in toward your ear,

“I’m Jean, this is my friend Eren, I think he has the hots for your friend, fancy introducing them?” His voice was smooth, and his breath was a mix of cool mint and whisky, you nod and pull Harmony in.

“Harmony, this is Eren, Jean here says he totally has the hots for you, give him the pleasure of indulging him so I can indulge his hot as fuck friend, won’t you?” Jean has leaned back and Eren is too far away for either of them to hear your exchange of words, she smiles and kisses your cheek, striding toward Eren, taking his hand and leading him off.

“Fancy a drink?” Jean calls to you, you roll your eyes at him but take his hand anyway, he leads you away to a private booth. You’re away from the masses and you can hear yourself think, Jean reaches toward a bottle of whisky sat centre on the table. He pours you both a hefty glass, you lift them, and they make a small “clink” sound as you gently touch them together.

Your nerves are piping up as you feel Jeans eyes on you, you neck your glass of sipping whisky to keep the buzz alive.

“You certainly know how to dance, little miss. You’re a working girl, aren’t you?”

You sigh. Here we go.

“Yes I am, look, if you’re going to berate me and make me fee-“ He interrupts you.

“No, no, no, sorry, it means nothing to me., I just noticed your branding. If anything, I’m impressed, to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey talking for me, but I’m a little turned on.” You laugh, genuinely.

“Thank fuck.” Your shoulders relax and you brush your thigh against Jeans, he tenses and you can see him fidget uncomfortably, you lick your lips as you stretch your arms above your head, tantalizingly slow, knowing the hem of your dress is rising and revealing the delicate black lace encasing your sex, Jean tries to look without being obvious but he’s basically gawking at this point.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stare?” You bite, playfully and he blushes.

“I’m sorry Miss. I couldn’t help it. You’re a tall, ice cold glass of water, and I want to drink you all up for myself.” Normally you’d cringe at something so… boyish, but thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol coursing through your veins, its charming.

“You smoke?” you ask, a few drinks in and you have that hankering, unluckily, Harmony has made off with Eren, and thus, your stash of death sticks.

“I do.” He stands and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. You notice his hands are large and sculpted, his fingers encased by a selection of silver rings. Immediately you remember Boss's fat fingers covered in his gold signet rings, you beg that the though leave you as you take in the different pieces Jean is wearing. You trace his ring and middle finger as your mind wanders. You imagine the sensation of his prying open you little hole, washing away any thoughts of Boss that were left. Subconsciously your legs rub together to create some wanted friction, but you quickly remember where you are and push the thought to the back of your mind and follow Jean out to the entrance. You are quickly reminded how bitterly cold it is outside tonight, the days have been warmer recently, but the night never fails to remind you just what time of year it was, Jean senses that you’re cold and wraps his large arms around you. You nuzzle in, closing the distance between you.

“You’re going to have to reach into my pockets to pull out the smokes I’m afraid.” Sarcasm coats his voice as the words fall out, you fully knowing he wasn’t expecting you to do as he says. You reach a nimble hand into one of his trouser pockets, they’re deep, much deeper than any woman’s trouser pocket, you fumble around, purposely rubbing against his thigh, playing the game, you look into his eyes as you complete your blind quest. Pulling out the box of straights you take two out, you place them both between your lips and lift the lighter up. Jeans body is warm and sheltering from any wind that might prevent them from lighting, completely transfixed by you, he watches as you light both and take a hungry drag, you take one out and pry his lips apart with the unlit side.

You can see the cogs working behind his shocked eyes as he tries to figure out just how he feels about you.

You take it in turns talking, laughing and smoking for goodness knows how long, you smoke though two, three, four cigarettes, loosing all concept of time, it must be around two when you realise the outside area was mostly barren apart from the two of you and a few other couples and friends dotted around.

You unanimously decide to move back inside, but not before Jean has crushed his hungry lips down on yours and you push back, meeting him with the same passion, he gently pry’s your mouth open with his tongue, you can't help but be shocked by the sharp taste of metal in your mouth, through the booze and smokes you missed that he had a tongue piercing. You let out the tiniest mewl as you mull over what that would feel like between your legs. Jean brings his hand up to the back of your head, tangling his carefully decorated fingers in your soft, chestnut hair.

You don’t feel the pair of eyes hungrily watching from across the courtyard, wondering why they cared so much, why he wished he were the one guiding you into his mouth, kissing you deep and keeping you warm.

Levi was beginning to get frustrated with how much he cares. Internally he was yelling at himself.

“She's a working girl, you have no interest or need for her, why are you so obsessed? Its obscene.”

He’d had enough. He turned and headed inside, making for the staffroom, he was going home. He needed to clear his head and have a drink.

7 notes · View notes