#there was barely anyone in my theater and it still felt like such a community there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

Text

The Sculptor

Chapter 10 - The Gift of Fire

[Final main chapter! I'll post the epilogue shortly and then this fic is done ♥ And please don't forget to check out @ceru-draws!! This fic wouldn't exist without their incredible piece The Sculptor (but Wangxian), and I seriously can't recommend their art enough, go give them some love! Follow them here, or on Twitter, or on Instagram, whatever you prefer, but just do it!]

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

“How was the party?” Lan Wangji asks Wen Qing when she arrives home on Saturday afternoon, and he can tell the moment she walks through the door that something’s up. He looks beyond her shoulder to spot Luo Qingyang following her in, and he relaxes. He likes Luo Qingyang, truly and genuinely, and though he’s not typically fond of unexpected visitors, how could he be upset to see her? “Mianmian,” he greets, more warmly than he would greet anyone else who isn’t his wife or Wei Wuxian.

“Hi Wangji,” she says with a sweet smile up at him. “I hope you don’t mind-”

“You know you’re always welcome in our house, don’t ever apologize,” Wen Qing reminds her before Lan Wangji can say precisely the same. “We have news for you,” she then says to him, and he can’t help but blink at the barely-restrained aggression in her tone.

He reaches out to take the shopping bag from Luo Qingyang’s arms with an inquisitive noise in the back of his throat. The pair of them follow him into the kitchen, and when he sets the bag down with a rustle of paper and a glance back at them he catches them in the middle of communicating something between them with nothing more than sharp glances in his direction and thinned lips.

“What happened?” he asks with no small amount of alarm - considering the panic he’d felt over the party in the first place, he’s not inclined to think that any news they might have to give him together the day after will be anything good.

“Wei Wuxian is definitely gay.” Wen Qing says it like ripping off a bandaid, sharp and quick, and Lan Wangji so thoroughly appreciates his wife and her no-nonsense attitude in that moment that he can hardly breathe. “Mianmian’s Family - they’re the painters he shares Yiling Collective with, the theater director at the performing arts center in town, and Wei Wuxian.”

“He was there?” Lan Wangji asks when he feels like he can breathe again. He’s not sure what he would have done if he’d gone to the party with them and seen Wei Wuxian sitting there, surrounded by part of their little underground community in such a way that there could be absolutely no doubt as to his place in it, but it likely wouldn’t have been very dignified.

“No,” Luo Qingyang says apologetically and Lan Wangji exhales carefully. “But Uncle Xingchen had to run out to the studio for something and he said A-Ying was still in his side of the studio moping around. Uncle invited him to come but he said he didn’t want to show up at the party all sad and accidentally spoil our coming out. He started telling us about the piece he saw on the workbench, and when he described it to us Qing-jie knew for sure that my ‘cousin’ he kept mentioning was your Wei Wuxian. I didn’t even realize you were down there working with him until last night!”

Lan Wangji stares into the space between their shoulders and just..tries to think.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes come to mind first, laughing and intense in equal measure, heavy whenever they rest on him for any reason. His hands, never straying but…lingering, on the rare occasions Wei Wuxian finds a reason to touch him. His blushes, his praises, the way each image he’s made of Lan Wangji yet has been done with so much delicate care that it makes him want to blush just to think of them.

He’d mentioned the end of their allotted time together twice within roughly 30 seconds of each other yesterday, and the reminder had settled uncomfortably under Lan Wangji’s ribs and stayed there, sharp as a razor whenever he breathes even today. Had it made Wei Wuxian just as upset? He’d seemed alright when Lan Wangji had left, but if Xiao Xingchen, who must know him well, had seen him just hours later and reported him back as ‘moping’ then what could have happened in the interim except Wei Wuxian thinking about their parting conversation?

“A-Zhan?” Wen Qing prompts quietly, and Lan Wangji forces himself to take a deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale slowly. “I want you to pursue this,” she tells him when he looks at her, her face as serious as it ever gets. “I want you to be happy. We can stay married, we can adopt A-Yuan, we can do everything we promised. And you can keep Wei Wuxian.”

“He’s single,” Luo Qingyang adds before Lan Wangji can attempt to get his feet back under him and he narrows his eyes at her - they’ve clearly coordinated this attack, but Luo Qingyang just smiles at him, falsely guileless. “And he told Huaisang forever ago that he was going to quit going down to the Corner Bar because hookups just aren’t what he wants anymore, he’s looking for more but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to find it.”

Lan Wangji wants to give him so much more that his knees nearly buckle under the weight of it, though of course only he knows just how close he is to losing his iron-clad control.

“Go sit down,” Wen Qing orders. “That’s a lot of information for 2pm on a Saturday, just go think about it, alright? We’re going to make Mianmian’s cookies to take across to Margaret, we’ll set some aside for you.”

Lan Wangji frowns a little at that, startled out of his spiraling thoughts by the utterly uncharacteristic decision from Wen Qing to not only bake cookies for someone, but specifically for a woman she claims to barely tolerate. As far as distractions go, it’s surprisingly effective. It’s Luo Qingyang who clears that up for him too, still smiling sweetly.

“I think Peggy’s one of us,” she says with a wink. “I’ve seen her snooping around the outside of the Corner Bar one too many times for her to have been ‘just a little lost’, I want her to know we’re here for her if she needs people to talk to.”

“Right,” Lan Wangji manages, and the only thing that keeps him from mumbling it is all his uncle’s comportment lessons as a boy. “That is…good. Mn.” He drifts out of the kitchen in a daze to return to his spot on the couch, mind churning uncomfortably through so much new information that he was in no way prepared for. He can hear Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang chatting quietly in the kitchen as they bake, occasionally breaking into laughter, and it soothes him to hear his best friend and her partner free to be themselves. Happy.

This is what he’d promised her. He’d sworn to her that they’d keep each other safe, that she could be herself with him and he would be there for her. Encourage her. He’s only realizing now that he’d never truly anticipated she would need to uphold her promises to do the same for him. He’d been so certain that he would spend his life entirely celibate, too afraid of being hurt, being in danger, to ever pursue a partner for himself. He had accepted that. But now, with the possibility of not having to accept it in front of him, it feels like his entire world has been flipped upside down. It’s terrifying. It’s uncomfortable.

But he knows Wei Wuxian. He trusts him. He, if he’s being honest with himself, loves him already. Desperately, in his own quiet, hidden ways. If pursuing that love means he has to feel like he’s falling up into space then he hopes he never finds his footing again.

“What are you going to do?” Wen Qing asks him quietly on Monday morning when he comes downstairs for breakfast, dressed for the day as usual in one of his most comfortable suits. “Will you tell him?”

“I do not know,” he answers honestly. He’s had a day and a half to think about it, and though he knows he wants Wei Wuxian, wants whatever the man will give him, he has utterly no idea how to go about actually getting it. Wen Qing had come to him on her own to ask him to start ‘dating’, and had proposed their marriage to him as well in her usual no-nonsense way. He has never once, in his entire life, practiced going after the things he wants like this, and certainly never with so much at stake.

Wen Qing, mercifully, leaves him to his thoughts without sharing any of her opinions on the matter (though he’s sure she has plenty). She sends him off at the door at the usual time with a reassuring squeeze to his hand and he appreciates it, the quiet reminder that no matter what happens he still has her. They’d promised - support and companionship. Security. He can be safe with her, even if everything else falls apart.

When he arrives at the studio it’s to find Wei Wuxian only just arriving to unlock the door, his shoulders a little slumped and his hair tied up sloppily in a red ribbon, much brighter than the faded maroon of his shirt. Lan Wangji thinks of Luo Qingyang saying that he’d been ‘moping’ on Friday night, and he wonders with a pang if that’s still the case.

“Wei Ying,” he greets, and the man turns to look at him over his shoulder, already grinning at the sight of him.

“Lan Zhan! Right on time as always. Sorry I’m not already set up, I slept in this morning.”

“No need, Wei Ying deserves to rest.”

Wei Wuxian just chuckles at that and steps into the studio. The first thing Lan Wangji notices when he steps inside is that the place absolutely reeks of cigarette smoke, and he glances automatically at the ubiquitous little cardboard box that had taken up residence in Wei Wuxian’s pockets a few weeks ago. He hasn’t actually seen him smoking, but now he supposes that’s just because Wei Wuxian does it on his own rather than because he doesn’t actually do it at all.

“Ah…I’ll just. Open the windows,” Wei Wuxian says sheepishly with a little wrinkle of his nose that’s unfairly adorable.

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji shuts the door behind them and begins undressing. After having done it so many times he barely hesitates at all, even when it comes to removing his trousers which is still such a new development. His hands are shaking today like they haven’t since those first few days of undressing here, but he knows that at least this morning it has very little to do with baring himself for Wei Wuxian’s gaze - which, now that he can be honest with himself about his feelings, had thrilled him just as much as it had terrified him when Wei Wuxian mentioned it during that very first meeting.

“So - before you get comfortable on the sofa for the day,” Wei Wuxian starts with a smirk to invite him to join in the joke that is ‘comfortable’, as his pose is far from it, “I want to let you know that since I’ll be moving onto the final piece now I need to take some um..measurements. Well a lot of them, actually. To build to scale.”

It hardly takes any consideration at all for Lan Wangji to see the logic of that and he nods easily, unsure why Wei Wuxian is blushing about it.

It takes roughly two minutes more for Lan Wangji to understand the reason for that too.

He’s been measured for suits his entire life, stood on many a tailor’s podium with his feet spread shoulder-width apart and grit his teeth until the process was over. He has never once had a handsome man’s hands on his bare skin, measuring every conceivable part of his body. It’s a very different experience, and one he has no interest in ending any time soon.

Wei Wuxian’s clever, lovely fingers skim across shoulders, ribs, down his arms, circle around his wrists…his neck. He finds a robin’s egg blue silk ribbon somewhere in all his many scraps of fabric and uses it to tie Lan Wangji’s hair up for him when it proves to be too inconvenient to ask him to hold it up out of the way in a loose bun on top of his head, and somehow the gentle hold of it at the back of his head, the bottom two thirds of his hair still hanging loose to drape over his shoulders, leaves him feeling more exposed than if it were all still gathered neatly out of the way.

He stands still in the middle of Wei Wuxian’s studio, in front of a mirror he’s never seen before but that Wei Wuxian seems to be using to help with the measuring process, and he settles into the low-simmering arousal of being naked for Wei Wuxian as the man, fully dressed, circles him slowly. Touches him, polite and businesslike but reverent in the same way he’s been every single time he’s ever touched him. Lan Wangji glances down on instinct when Wei Wuxian stops in front of him to measure the breadth of his chest from shoulder to shoulder and his next inhale catches when he sees Wei Wuxian’s sturdy leather boots so close to his own bare feet, a large fold in the stiffened skirt of his apron a hairsbreadth from brushing against his thigh.

Wei Wuxian has forgone his usual clay-stained overalls for the day, dressed instead in worn trousers and a sinfully soft short-sleeved button up, sleeves cuffed over the strong curves of his biceps, all of it haphazardly protected by a softened denim apron that does actually brush Lan Wangji’s skin in the next moment when Wei Wuxian steps just a centimeter too close. Lan Wangji’s hands are practically aching with the desire to push it all off him and strip him down as well, even as he thrills at the power dynamic of being so vulnerable in front of Wei Wuxian, still completely put-together and in control of Lan Wangji’s every movement.

Wen Qing’s question pings helpfully in the front of his mind again when he looks up from the narrow space between them to meet Wei Wuxian’s wide, dark eyes.

What are you going to do?

Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch on his chest and he swallows once before he leans back to scribble messily in his notebook balanced on the edge of his workbench, the furniture shoved aside for the moment to accommodate the mirror and give them room for Wei Wuxian to circle around him easily. They continue on in silence like that - nothing but their breathing, the occasional creak of leather or the wooden floor, and the slither of the tape measure through Wei Wuxian’s fingers to break it - for almost half an hour before Wei Wuxian finally takes a step back and studies him, color high in his cheeks.

“I have a few more to do,” he says, which Lan Wangji had expected considering he hasn’t even done his legs. He nods and follows easily when Wei Wuxian sits down on his stool sandwiched carefully between the mirror and the overladen table that Lan Wangji has spent hours looking at over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He’s meant many times to ask him about the family of statues on the top of it and is tempted to ask now, but whatever’s happening between them right now is..fragile in a way he can’t explain, but that he knows he doesn’t want to break. He stands silently beside the mirror as Wei Wuxian leans over - stretching out the lean line of his body for Lan Wangji to savor - to drop his tape measure on the workbench and swap it out for a pair of wooden calipers. Lan Wangji can’t resist raising an eyebrow when Wei Wuxian clears his throat and gestures vaguely at his hips.

Not that he needs permission, Lan Wangji would give Wei Wuxian anything, but he nods anyway and offers the man his usual quiet but firm, “Mn.” The familiar gesture makes Wei Wuxian smile up at him and Lan Wangji slides his hand up the side of the mirror to curl his fingers over the corner of the sturdy wooden frame - he’s afraid his knees will give out from under him if he doesn’t.

Wei Wuxian’s hands are visibly trembling as he adjusts the calipers a few times anxiously without bringing them anywhere near Lan Wangji’s cock (which is not nearly as soft as would be appropriate in a professional setting, though it’s thankfully not hard either) - and then he suddenly reaches into his pocket to draw out a brand new pack of cigarettes to pull one out and pop it between his lips.

What are you going to do?

Lan Wangji reaches out before he can think twice about it to take the lighter from Wei Wuxian’s shaking hands. As Wei Wuxian looks up at him, startled, he maintains steady eye-contact as he flicks the lid back on its hinge.

Spins the wheel under the side of his thumb with a metallic ring.

There’s a nearly inaudible whoosh as the flame catches, hot and bright in his hand, and then Lan Wangji holds it out at hip height, mere inches from his own pelvis.

If Wei Wuxian wants a light, he’ll have to lean in close to get it.

They spend an endless moment blinking at each other, and Lan Wangji thinks in that moment that an understanding of the sort they’ve been dancing around for two months, since the moment they met, finally passes between them. Wei Wuxian lounges sideways slowly, ankles crossed next to Lan Wangji’s bare feet, elbow resting on the back support of his stool. His calipers dangle carelessly from his relaxed hand as he raises the other hand to hold his cigarette steady between his index and middle fingers as he leans in, in, in - and holds the tip of it to the flame cupped in Lan Wangji’s fingers.

Lan Wangji tucks one ankle carefully in front of the other and settles in with a relieved little sigh, the weight of years lifted from his shoulders in the moment between Wei Wuxian lighting his cigarette and flickering his heated gaze up to meet his, eyes glinting with the warmth of the flame.

Lan Wangji flips the lid of the lighter over to snuff out the fire with another metallic little click, fingers clutching tight around the cool metal of it nestled in his palm. Wei Wuxian breathes deeply, takes the cigarette from his lips, and turns his head to the side to exhale again.

“Lan Zhan-” he chokes, his gaze fixed on the bare expanse of wall beside them. “I can’t-”

“My wife is a lesbian,” Lan Wangji blurts, panic moving him to speak bluntly. Heated glances and mutual understanding, one queer man to another, are all well and good, but he also knows that Wei Wuxian is a good man, a righteous man - he won’t step anywhere close to what he sees as an unforgivable breach of trust, but Lan Wangji can’t lose him. Not now, not ever. He can force himself to speak clearly for the sake of something so vital. Wei Wuxian will keep him safe. “She had her coming out just recently. Friday evening.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him again sharply, eyes wide with quick understanding.

“Mianmian?”

“Wen Qing’s girlfriend of three months, as of this week.”

Wei Wuxian exhales shakily and takes another fortifying drag off his cigarette - and the moment he does he seems to remember just how it was lit, and by whom, and his cheeks flush the deepest red Lan Wangji has seen on him yet.

“And you, Lan Zhan?”

“Pleased that my wife has found a lover to make her happy. And…” Lan Wangji swallows down years of shame, embarrassment, longing for something he’d never hoped to have in order to add, “I believe it is time I allowed myself to find my own.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at him for a breathless eternity, and then in quick succession he tosses his cigarette down to the floor to grind the lit end between his boot and the wood, jerks to his feet, and then his hands are on Lan Wangji again, firmer than before and without the excuse of the tape measure to mask his intention. Lan Wangji releases the mirror and the lighter clatters to the floor beside their feet in favor of having his hands free to reach towards the other man, to cup Wei Wuxian’s jaw, both hands curled tightly against that beloved face so he can pull him in and kiss him with barely-controlled hunger. There isn’t an ounce of hesitation left in either of them as their mouths meet, parted and perfect.

Lan Wangji may take a long time to make up his mind, but when it’s made he does nothing by halves; now that he knows what it feels like to have Wei Wuxian melted against his chest, lips soft and open in eager permission for Lan Wangji’s clumsy, amateur kisses, he knows he can never live happily without it again.

#the untamed fanfic #wangxian #mianqing #Wen Qing/Luo Qingyang #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Wen Qing #Luo Qingyang #artwork embedded with Ceru's permission #I have some slightly meta thoughts about this chapter and wangxian's dynamic here that I can post separately if y'all want #it's a little too much for the tags #Oh also the little aside about the neighbor Margaret - lots of sapphic women throughout history were married to men #who were none the wiser about their wives' desires #either out of safety or internalized heteronormativity or whatever #the reasons are as numerous as there are people who chose to do that #but gay spaces - in particular sapphic spaces - were frequented by many closeted women who were currently or had previously been married #to a man #I didn't want to get through this fic without giving a nod to these women who are so so so important to lesbian/bisexual history

27 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 3 years

Text

Soulmate AU: The First Drawing You See From Your Soulmate is Tattooed on Your Skin

A detective having a tell would probably be considered inappropriate to most people. Detectives were supposed to read tells, not have them. But then again, Benoit had never been much for keeping up appearances. Besides, what was the harm in rubbing his thumb along his right wrist? It helped him focus; it helped him think.

Or at least, that was what he’d told himself. He wasn’t entirely lying, either, rather the larger whole of it all was more so that when he rubbed that spot on his skin, he felt calm. Composed. He liked to think that that was the feeling his soulmate had intended when they painted that image, whenever they made or would make it. Whatever it was. After all, it had plenty of blue in it.

He was pretty sure it was meant to be a pond or some kind of body of water; that might explain the blues and greens and maybe the bits of white that he could make out. And if he squinted his eyes a little, he could swear there were little flecks of gold. Goldfish, maybe? Honestly, he had no clue. Benoit wasn’t much for complaining or expressing a lack of gratefulness, but he couldn’t help but sometimes feel envious of those whose tattoos covered a larger part of their body. Not a massive amount, but at least just enough to be able to tell precisely what the heck their soulmate’s image was trying to portray. Clearly, the image was larger than what that patch of his skin could afford, and honest to God, he’d spent a good part of his life trying to make out what it was!

(The embarrassment of it all, he would sometimes muse deprecatingly: That the acclaimed “Last of the Gentlemen Sleuths” could solve the most absurd cases in the country, yet had spent most of his natural-born life completely stumped by what might as well have counted as a body part!)

And yet, Benoit could never stay frustrated about it; not when his thumb gently grazed against the image, imagining the smoothness of his skin ebbing into the aquatic swirls of the proposed water. But just for extra precaution, he saw no harm in distracting himself.

That afternoon’s distraction? A quick skim of the local paper, accompanied by a mug of hot tea. He tried not to think of how such a method revealed his age, instead snapping the paper open to a page discussing the local goings-on. It was the usual sort of content: The community theater’s spring production was seeking house crew members, a mom and pop-style restaurant was having an anniversary special . . . It was the same sort of thing Benoit had grown used to expecting.

But what his pale blue eyes landed on next didn’t make the rest pale by comparison -- it downright washed all else from existence: An art show.

Benoit considered himself a well-rounded person, but it was more so in an almost tongue in cheek sort of manner: As a detective, it was his job to be appropriately versed in an assortment of fields. However, a jack of all trades was never truly a master of none. Benoit’s experiences with art theft and forgeries had lent him a hand in only about as much observation as was necessary for the respective occurrences.

But . . . he knew those swirls. He knew that blue, those greens, that white -- he recognized how the gold was patterned! Sure, the cheap ink job of a colored newspaper picture might have dulled the quality ever so slightly but there was no mistake to be made: That painting was his. No . . . It was theirs!

You tried to make calming breaths without making your anxiety obvious. A nervous but otherwise acceptable smile twitched into place, fooling the guests as they wandered about the gallery. Or, at least, you certainly hoped it was fooling them; but it was probably all to be outdone by the fact that you’d been nursing the same champagne flute for the last half-hour.

Is this what “making it” feels like? you wondered. Because if it was . . . you weren’t too fond of it. You felt bad for not relishing this opportunity; the art world was highly competitive, and you were more than blessed to have had the chance to not only display your work in a showroom, but to have said room be dedicated entirely to your pieces. But in that blessing was also a curse: The curse of criticism, of weary eyes, of people both waiting to pounce on you with ribbings of how you lack the magnanimity of the classics or the free thinking of the contemporaries --

Shitshitshitsmile! You did as you were told -- both by your brain, and by your manager earlier when they walked you through how you were to compose yourself through this entire ordeal. Just smile, enunciate when spoken to, and let the potential schmoozing flow and oh god, that Karen-looking lady who definitely owns a house in Martha’s Vineyard for when she wants to get away from her husband for a day totally hated that piece you’d spent months working on, didn’t she?!

The thought made your stomach twist, your already awkward smile along with it. You inhaled sharply. You had to find something to distract yourself with.

You turned and faced the painting nearest to you. Some might call it vanity, but you were actually quite pleased with this particular piece. That, and its blueness gave you a sense of . . . serenity. You imagined the ripples washing over you and into you, the scent and sound of the painted environment gently caressing your nose and drowning out both the stench of perfume and pretentious chattering . . . And also, apparently, the sound of approaching footsteps.

You hadn’t realized anyone had joined your side until the rumble of a southern baritone carded through the water.

“It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it?”

You hadn’t meant to jump and appear so clumsy.

“Oh, sh -- ” You cut yourself short as you eyed the droplets of spilled, room temperature champagne. If your manager found out that you had cussed around a potential buyer, they would’ve mounted your head on the wall. Thankfully, however, the stranger didn’t appear at all fazed. If anything, the chuckle he responded with sounded genuinely amused.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m terribly sorry!” he insisted, holding up his left hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you; I can imagine most anyone would be mighty transfixed over a piece like this.”

You gulped as you looked up at your unintentional scarer. His eyes were the same blue as the one that brought you calm just moments earlier, yet they had the almost opposite effect to you now. As you looked into them, you didn’t feel calm; not necessarily: Instead, you felt your heart beginning to ripple the pattern of the painting, your cheeks burning as bright as the gold swirling amongst the little waves. And yet you found yourself transfixed by them, only offered freedom when the older gentleman offered you a hint of a smile. A warm one.

Crap! Uh -- Answer his question! Think of something to say! your mind scrambled.

“Uh . . .” you stammered. The only way to save what atoms of confidence you still had left was to turn your eyes back to the painting. “I -- I should hope so.” Smooth. You tried to remember your calming breaths. You heard the man hum, shifting his position ever so slightly in your peripheral.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked, revealing just how close to you he truly was. You could feel the warmth of his person and the richness of his voice vibrating into you. Or perhaps it was butterflies? Maybe both? Well, whatever it was, it almost made you stumble over your words. You’d spent the entire evening up to that point rehearsing stories of your inspirations, recounting whatever education you had to people who probably didn’t give a crap.

But this instance was different: Maybe it was foolishness sourced from a sudden and sophomoric attraction, but you almost wanted to believe that perhaps this man genuinely cared. That he was genuinely interested in what you as the actual artist had to say and not you as some painting mannequin made to recite lines over and over.

The excitement of such a possibility broke through your nerves . . . and, unfortunately, right out of your mouth.

“I just really wanted to paint a mermaid in a mall coin fountain,” you admitted. You wanted to kick yourself. Up until that point, you’d been rather proud of your nifty little idea. But when you said it out loud, you sounded ridiculous! You could barely hide the reactionary wince, much less how your breathing hitched and hiccuped with nervousness. Just as soon as it had come, the hope that perhaps this man was different disappeared, leaving you awaiting his ridicule.

A ridicule that never came. Instead, there was quiet between the both of you. Perhaps he was at a loss for words?

“Mm,” he hummed, making you tense with expectation. You glanced at him just enough to see him nod, his blue eyes still focused on the canvas before him. “Go on . . .”

You blinked. Was he . . . for real?

“I . . . What more is there to say?” you wondered. The entire night, nobody had really asked for more on your part. They usually just took whatever purple prose you gave them and left it at that. Your initial assumption was right after all: This gentleman was cut from a different cloth from the lot.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “What inspired this?”

“Oh, uh . . . Well . . .” Was it worth telling him? Aw, hell: you’d already made a bit of a fool of yourself being honest, so what harm was there in doing it some more? “I did it because I never saw anything about a mermaid that lived in a mall fountain, collecting the coins people toss in there.”

You didn’t even have a chance to worry about his criticism before the man’s features broke into a smile. It wasn’t like the others’ more courteous grins; this one reached his eyes, making their icy coolness warm and welcoming. You hated the cheesiness of it all, but for a very split second you wished that you could be a mermaid in them.

He chuckled once again. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything concerning a coin-hoarding mermaid myself, let alone a professional art piece.” It was small, but the assurance made you offer your own smile.

“Well . . . But then maybe I have . . .” At that, your heart dropped. There it was: The anticipated criticism. He thought you were a hack after all: Uninspired, boorish, unskilled, whatever word there was to describe a person who didn’t know how to use a fan brush properly if any.

The wound stung as one so sudden should: Heavily and down to your core. You wanted the floor to open up and eat you whole. Or better yet: You wanted to climb into your apparently uninspired painting and drown in the mall fountain. But none of those could be an option, and neither was the possibility of hiding in the bathroom or an empty corridor. Instead, you had to put on a brave face and do your best to get through the moment.

“Oh?” you uttered. Your throat pained from the threat of anxiety. “Where do you suppose? I’ll admit, I’m not much into contemporary art so I don’t know the what’s what of what if you catch my drift.” You tried to weakly smile at your sad attempt for a joke. God, this so wasn’t what “making it” felt like.

But the man didn’t offer a courteous hint of laughter. Nor did he offer you a verbal response. Instead, he turned to face you. You did the same, even though you really didn’t want to. But it was the polite and expected thing to do when being confronted. Damn politeness and courteousness.

You weren’t sure how to respond when the man began to make work of his right sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff and beginning to roll the rest of it up. Your paranoia was unfortunately the first to respond due to your preexisting discomfort of the entire ordeal of an evening. You were just about prepared to scream, yelp, make any kind of distressed call -- only for it to trickle out into a gasp. An amazed exhale. The image the man presented to you on his wrist was small. Clearly, for it to be recognized for what it was, it needed a larger stretch of skin to belong to. But you knew what it was: You knew those swirls, the placements of those flecks of gold, those blues and greens surrounded by white.

For the umpteenth time that evening, your breathing changed. Only, you were pretty positive that none of your deep breathing would be necessary this time around; you would be more than happy to look at your painting on your soulmate’s skin for the rest of the night.

Epilogue:

“Mr. Blanc, please,” you insisted. “You’ve grown up with that thing on your arm, surely you’re bored with it by now. You can have your pick of the gallery. Hell, I’ll even make you something on request!”

Pickings hadn’t become slim, but the night had ended surprisingly successful. Well, surprising to you: You hadn’t expected anyone to buy anything of yours that evening, let alone six. You supposed that perhaps they just wanted to participate in the elitism brought on by owning newcomer art. Benoit, however, insisted that the buyers simply had functioning eyes. What a sweet-talker your soulmate was.

You watched as he shook his head stubbornly, eyes still fixated on the painting that adorned his wrist. He’d seen all the other remaining paintings, and even the ones that wound up selling by evening’s end. They were all gorgeous, he insisted, but . . .

“Benoit, if you will, Ms. (Y/N),” he corrected, apparently missing the irony. He gestured insistently at the composition. “And no. I . . . I truly would be quite satisfied with this one.” He heard you raspberry in defeat as you made your way back to his side, folding your arms in exasperation.

“Seriously, though,” you sighed. “Is a painting of a mermaid dwelling in, like, a fountain you can find nearby an Auntie Anne’s really . . .” You waved a hand as if searching for the right word. “. . . Befitting? Of a detective’s abode? I was thinking more of a bucolic piece or like a portrait of some kind or . . .” You trailed off, only to be met with an amused huff.

“Some detective I am,” Benoit muttered. He broke his gaze back to you and placed his hands on his hips. “Took me well over a damn decade or two to learn what it even was. And only because you told me!”

#benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #knives out x reader #regrettablewritings #for anyone wondering: I think Reader's tattoo would be of a flower. Or a random doodle.#something Benoit made while not thinking and they just so happened to glance at it

311 notes · View notes

gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

Text

PART 9: Time To Rest Your Weary Head

(or "Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday")

A few disclaimers:

In Brazil (where I'm from), we have an expression that says "SEXTOU!" which translates into something like "TGIF!" and so, giving that today if Friday, consider this my SEXTOU/TGIF gift to y'all, my dear readers!!

More importantly, this whole idea of the Orchestra was inspired on my love for visiting my hometown's theater and listening to our philarmonic orchestra before the pandemic + the beautiful, magical Max Richter's re-imagining of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, which you can listen to right here. I suggest you listen to it mostly during the next couple chapters, but I'll already leave this here for you to know <3 it is beautiful and i love it dearly.

chapter list: here!!! and tagging my girls @katiebellf @madie2200 and @starbornsinger :) anyone who feels like being tagged on the next chapters let me know! And thank you for your support, likes, comments and reblogging, both here and on AO3. You guys are awesome!

“Shadowsinger.”

When Gwyn showed up at the balcony, Azriel felt like all the air had left his lungs. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen; her hair was half pinned-up, showing more of her face and neck. That freckled skin looked like one of the constellations he used to track on the sky when he was younger. It looked like home. And for some reason, he felt the urge to tell her that.

His mate.

But she swallowed, and he realized he’d been staring for too long. His shadows were all around her now, feeling the same need to be near her that he did. He took one step further, and noticed her expression. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes lost focus for a moment, looking to the sky beyond him. To Velaris. She swallowed again before looking back at him. “I am.”

“We don’t need to…”

“No.” She interrupted, determined. “Let’s go. I want to.”

“At any time, if you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me and we head straight back. Ok?”

She nodded, and he reached his scarred hand for her. She took it, and he squeezed it slightly, never breaking their stare. She gave him a reassuring nod before he held her up, and then they were flying.

It was an exhilarating feeling. Azriel couldn’t remember a time where he felt flying as enjoyable as it was when she was in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder when they took off. The way her breath mingled with the cold breeze, her hands around his neck and eyes wide as she admired the city below them. He could get used to that feeling; he felt alive.

“I can always tell my shadows to cocoon us both, if you feel unsafe. This way, no one will be able to see us.” He breathed in her ear when they were about to reach the street, and she shivered at their closeness. Not in fear, he pleasantly observed as he scanned her face, her blushed cheeks, but something else. She looked away quickly, focusing her gaze on the theatre now almost in front of them.

As soon as they set foot on the sidewalk, he let her go; afraid to overwhelm her if he held on for just a second too much. She gaped at the majestic three-stored building that towered above them, while the crowd was beginning to enter the theatre. It was partially destroyed during the raid on Velaris, but now, much thanks to the union of the community, it was renovated. Its façade was covered in ivy and blooming flowers that colored it in shades of red, blue, purple and pink, and a big, red carped emerged from the inside and extended until their feet.

As they walked towards the entrance, he suddenly felt a light pressure on his side. He turned his head to see Gwyn leaning on him, their arms intertwined and a wary expression at her face.

“Is everything ok?” He observed the way her wide eyes swiftly scanned the crowd. The way his shadows were now placed protectively at her shoulders, coating her.

She nodded slightly, but her breath was uneven, and she was still staring nervously at the abundance of people in front of them, waiting in line to get inside the theatre. His grip around her arm tightened, only in reassurance. “We’ll be there shortly. Do you want my…”

“Yes. Just until we get inside.” He obliged, and soon enough his shadows wrapped around them both, cocooning them from the rest of the world. “Come on.”

And so they both smoothly passed through the mass of oblivious Fae and into the hallway as the shadows blinded others from their presence. Gwyn gasped as she absorbed the elegantly decorated theater, from the red drapes covering the walls to the big crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the dimly-lit room.

They headed towards the left staircase, right next to the entrance to the auditorium. As they reached the top, his shadows stopped cocooning them, and Gwyn’s borrows knit together at the narrow and almost empty hallway: “Are we supposed to be here?”

He smiled to her, who was still holding him: “This leads to the theater boxes. I have my own; courtesy of the owner.” Seeing the curious expression at her face, he added, leading the way “I told you I used to come here a lot, before everything went down.”

She laughed now, as they reached the last door on the left. “Enough for them to grant you your own private box, that is?”

Nothing but a sly smile as an answer as he opened the small door for her. He watched her every breath as she entered the small space, consisted of two chairs, suited for wings, and the perfect view of the stage below them. She leaned on the balcony and observed for a moment as the crowd gathered across the room before sitting in one of the chairs, and he took the seat beside her. He couldn’t help his sigh when he took in the theater. He missed being here, in his box; it was like a sanctuary, a safe haven. Not even Rhys or Cassian had visited; no, it was for Azriel and Azriel only. There had been two chairs from the start, but it didn’t matter to him: he always came here alone. Until tonight.

He side-glanced at Gwyn, who was beaming. He turned to her then, aware of how close their bodies were, of their elbows touching. She didn’t seem to mind, as she admired the musicians already setting up on stage and beginning to tune their instruments, the people who were now talking quietly while the Orchestra prepared. “Azriel, this is…”

Her gaze finally lifted up to meet with his, that awestruck smile still on her face. Mother, those eyes, that striking shade of blue making him feel like he was drowning in a deep, deep sea. Taking his breath away.

Beautiful.

His words echoed his shadows, a mere whisper coming out of his lips as he scanned her face. But something about how her pupils widened just a little showed she heard him.

Tell her. Your mate. Tell her.

He blinked at his shadows, barely containing them from reaching towards her face, her hair, her neck. Before he could say anything else, before any of them could do anything else but stare into each other’s eyes, a single heavy inhale was heard throughout the room.

And the music began.

#UGH i love them #gwynriel #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel headcanon #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth berdara #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #this is FLUFFY #AND ROMANTIC AF

95 notes · View notes

daydreaming-cheese-weasel · 3 years

Note

troy from community! (maybe what u hc his childhood was like?)

oooh! thanks for the ask!

as a little kid, troy’s cousin lived nearby and came over a lot. she was the same age as him and always begged his parents to watch a disney princess movie. so troy’s parents would throw on snow white or cinderella or whatever to keep her from throwing a tantrum. troy loved these movies as well, but his favorite was beauty and the beast because a) the soundtrack was amazing and b) there was a happy ending. he liked the idea that true love would save the day.

in the summer going into second grade, troy had already decided he wanted to dress up as belle for halloween. yellow was his favorite color and he wanted to spin around in the dress and let the skirt float around him like it did for belle when she danced with the beast. he asked his parents but they got mad. his dad said that boys weren’t allowed to wear dresses- only girls. and his mom said that she didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. troy wasn’t allowed to watch princess movies after that.

when halloween finally rolled around that year, troy still had his heart set on being belle. his cousin had gone to disney world that summer and she had the dress she wore when she met the princesses still in her closet. she let him try it on and it fit! she told him that on halloween, anyone can dress up as anything, and lent him the dress.

he wore it under his transformers costume to school so he wouldn’t get in trouble with his parents. everyone is going to love it! he thought as he bounced in his seat on the school bus. but it turned out that his classmates didn’t think his dress was as cool as he did.

after taking off the transformers costume in the bathroom, he spun around in front of the mirror and felt a jolt of happiness when he found the dress looked just as good on him as it did on belle. he rushed back to his classroom with his other costume in a plastic bag. when he entered, everyone was already lining up for the halloween parade where they would show off their costumes for their parents. they all stared at him as he bounded through the door, grinning.

“Surprise!” he exclaimed. “You guys like my costume?” he asked his classmates.

“Wait, you’re wearing a dress? You can’t do that,” Jimmy H. sneered.

“Yeah I can, it’s Halloween! Anyone can be anything today,”

“But dresses are for girls,” Lizzie McLough replied, fiddling with the hem of her Cinderella dress.

“Where’s Ms. Handi, she’ll tell you I’m allowed to wear it,” Troy said, his smile fading.

“She’s bringing Snitchy Annie to the nurse because she got a headache. Only babies get headaches.” Kevin Sandle, the feared second grade bully said from the back of circle that had formed around Troy as everyone laughed, as if on cue.

“I told you guys to stop calling her that. Plus, she gets stress headaches, she can’t help it,” Troy said clenching his fists. Kevin walked up to him. He was at least a head taller than Troy.

“Really? Why don’t you go to the nurse’s office tell her that yourself?” he gave Troy a shove.

“You can go paint your nails and play jump rope together like girls do!” Kevin said, barely audible over the laughter. Troy started to cry.

“T-there’s nothing wrong with liking girl stuff,” he stammered, forcing himself to look Kevin in the eye. His dad always said to stand up for yourself.

“Yeah there is; you’re a boy, stupid!” The class gasped. Kevin had said the s-word. While Troy was distracted by the sudden second grade profanity, Kevin pushed him. Hard. Troy tripped over his skirt and hit his head on the tile.

His head gave a sharp pain and then began to ebb like a swimming jellyfish. This must be how Annie’s headaches feel, he thought as he heard his classmates erupt into laughter. He felt his cheeks flush and he pulled himself from the floor, bumping into the doorway as he rushed out of the classroom, clutching the plastic bag, tears blurring his vision. He ran to the bathroom and pushed the trash can against the door so no one could get in.

Troy cried for a while, until his head stopped hurting. He changed out of the dress, which he now noticed had ripped, into his transformers costume. He shoved the bright yellow fabric into the plastic bag and tied it tightly, then threw it into the trash can and piled paper towels over it so nobody would find it. He wet his face and wiped away all signs of emotion with the scratchy cheap brown school paper towels. Boys didn’t cry. Boys liked boy things like football and transformers. Boys didn’t wear dresses.

Years later, he told Abed about that day. They were playing Truth or Dare in their bunk bed and he had picked truth and Abed asked what was something he had never told anyone about. Best friends didn’t lie to each other, so Troy told him about how his parents both took the day off work to come see him in a transformers costume at the parade and how he thought that they would change their minds about letting him wear dresses if they saw him in the parade. After he finished, Abed climbed up to the top bunk let Troy cry on his shoulder in the dark and let out everything he had been hiding since second grade. They fell asleep like that, Abed’s arm around him, and Troy’s head tucked under his best friend’s chin. The next morning they talked. For a long time. About how Troy didn’t feel like he was a girl- he liked being a guy and doing guy things like football and transformers but he liked girl stuff too.

When Troy got back from his boat trip in 2017, Abed took him to see the live action Beauty and the Beast remake in theaters. He knew how much Troy liked happy endings.

#ok i swear i did not mean for it to get this long-#hope you liked it tho!#also no idea why i randomly started capitalizing everything?#it turned a bit trobed-y at the end but i couldn’t resist #community #troy barnes #abed nadir #community headcannon #troy barnes headcannon #beauty and the beast #donald glover

30 notes · View notes

klance-fics · 3 years

Note

bestieeeee do you know any enemies to lovers fics ( been watching merlin and i realized i miss it )

bestie i found way too many i tried not to include ones i know you've read but I've prob added some you've read. they're also all under 25K. enjoy~~~

pepsicola

It starts like this: Lance looking up at the scoreboard only a few days into his Garrison training and muttering to himself, “What the hell kind of a name is Keith?”

Or, Keith and Lance fall in love. Eventually.

DAY 2: love // hate

A Touch of Christmas

Keith has never been particularly good with touch. He’s also slow to trust and even slower to open up. But it’s hard to remain on that path of solitude when you’re stuck in space fighting an alien empire with the same six people day in and day out, four of whom you depend on to keep you safe in a giant robot man made of giant robot lions.

Alternatively, Lance gradually gets Keith accustomed to the physical connection he hadn't realized he'd been craving for so long.

Take Me Away

“Sorry about that! Where were we?”

“I still don’t have anything written down for you.” Lance could hear the guy’s irritation through the phone, and felt himself bristle.

“Well well, someone’s testy! Spring has sprung, lighten up buddy.”

“It’s January, you managed to call 5 minutes before the end of my 8-hour shift, and I should have been home half an hour ago. Order something.”

// Takeout AU inspired by one too many 80s films. Lance is an astronomy student with a grudge, Keith works too many hours to deal with this shit.

forget me not

Keith and Lance are put into a simulation as punishment for insulting a king. There's only one way to get out, but they can't remember. In fact, they can't remember anything at all...

Of Friends and Rivals (And Lovers)

Lance McClain has a big family, and that means no one is really ever alone in a room at any point of time. This becomes unnatural for him to feel when he’s in space in a huge castle with barely any people. So, he tries to fill the hole in his heart by seeking out his teammates and lounging around them.

It strikes Keith odd one day when Lance begins hanging out with him instead of his other friends, and worst of all, it seems like Lance is caving in on himself without anyone noticing.

Or: 5 times Lance seeks out to hang out with a friend, and the one time he doesn’t.

sour beginnings, sweet endings

Keith’s a good noodle™ who just wants to watch a movie in an empty theater. He doesn’t deserve some motormouth asshole interrupting his peace and quiet. Or that guy dumping popcorn on his head. Or all his idiotic jokes. Or his kinda cute smile. Or the free packets of Sour Patch Kids. And he definitely doesn’t deserve the fact that he’s starting to enjoy his company…

i fall, i falter

“You’re Shirogane, right?” He asks, tilting his head with a curious look in his warm eyes. Keith nods, eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s what this says, yeah.” He replies, reaching up to fiddle with his nameplate, the cool metal almost a relief on his skin that suddenly feels overheated in Álvarez’s presence.

“No, I mean, you’re the Shirogane. Keith Shirogane?” Álvarez says, looking at Keith expectantly.

I'm waiting for the light of your supernova

Lance loves the idea of being literally written in the stars with another, but so far it hasn’t been the love story he’s dreamed of; the fated meeting, the instant and momentous connection.

A klance soulmate AU where each person is born with their soulmate's constellation on their skin, the marks changing colour as their bond grows.

Checkmate

It's when Keith sees his opponent, a boy with a bright smile and even brighter clothes, that he knows he's already lost.

Well, he'll win the match, but his heart? Yeah, that's lost for good.

Klance Chess Players AU

summer days, driftin' away

Lance works at the carnival, running a very rigged and quite unpopular bottle toss booth. Keith works at the much more playable Whack-a-Mole booth across from Lance. They have a rivalry, until Lance's truck stalls and suddenly Keith is some hotshot mechanic. Cue Lance's bisexual panic.

At the Bottom of the Ramp

Lance is usually the first person to befriend new rollerbladers at the skatepark; it's a small community, and he's a friendly guy.

But not this time. This new guy looks the epitome of edgy and unapproachable, and he's stealing all of Shiro's attention.

#klance #klance fic rec #vld lance #vld keith #lance mcclain #keith kogane #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #rivals to friends to lovers #rivals to lovers #canon compliant #alternative universe #au modern #au college/university

37 notes · View notes

everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

you are the music in me

rafe x reader

five times rafe shows you a song, and one time you show him

holy cow who let me do this:

okay huge thanks to @travisgermy who stayed up forever with me picking out songs one night, the list of “maybe this” or “idk does this fit the vibe” is insanely long but i think i got it right.

i’m very very proud of my playlists and my taste in music. music is also very important to me, so i decided to write this because if a man ever came to me and said “this song made me think of you,” i might marry him on the spot

finally, thanks to my two very good friends for encouraging me and reading it over @sunnypogue and @moldisgoodforyou you guys are the best

little warning: there’s some cursing

(also i tried to link the songs to the titles so you can click and listen while reading that part)

You met Rafe freshman year in an auditorium size Intro to Theater elective. He was giving off huge ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes and sitting alone in the top left corner of the room, pretty far away from everyone else. Not only was the lack of people appealing, but the rumpled boy with headphones in, chugging coffee, was cute.

Orientation was scheduled late for you, and theater was the elective you opted to take when all the music classes were filled. Unfortunately, scheduling last meant most of the seats were full anyway, and you had no choice but take it at 8 a.m.

It was easy at first, barely any work involved and minimal notes. You basically just had to show up and fill a seat for attendance. And then the ‘acting’ unit started and your professor, who had been your favorite until then, threw a partner project and suddenly the ‘not talk to anyone’ strategy you’d been employing backfired.

Holding in a groan, you looked over the lines of dialogue he’d given out with the instructions, “Make it your own.” People all around you were moving and chatting with the people they’d talked to in class already and you felt frozen. Until headphone boy suddenly sat down next to you.

“Wanna partner up?” he asked after a long sip of coffee.

“Oh, um, yeah, that’d be great.”

Thus, the shaky alliance formed. He was a little closed off at first, but you managed to get to know him a little more, and by the end of the semester, you’d even call the two of you friends. It was really solidified when he texted you first a few times over winter break.

Rafe was really easy to talk to, he had his own amount of trauma that he didn’t really talk much about unless it related to an issue you were going through and he felt his experience could relate to yours and comfort you. It was really nice, having a support system away from home in this new college town where you didn’t know anyone.

Study sessions together turned to lunches together turned to dinners together. He became your permanent bar buddy and you always felt safe with his steady presence nearby. You’d never really known anyone quite like him and it was exhilarating being with him all the time.

Where Rafe really excelled was music. He constantly had headphones in when walking around campus, when the two of you studied, and when you went to the gym together. It didn’t bother you, it wasn’t rude, he just liked it and he knew so much about artists and bands you’d never heard of. It was how he best communicated.

One: Let Me Down Slowly

Fall of sophomore year, you started seeing a guy in your literature class. It wasn’t like a super romantic thing, it started with just sleeping together after a football game to occasional dinners when you weren’t with Rafe.

His name was Brian and Rafe hated him. Casual sex was hard for you, separating feelings and intimacy wasn’t your style, but for Brian you tried really hard. It failed, just like Rafe warned you it would, but you vowed to keep faking it anyway.

Eventually, Brian, during dinner, asked if you had been seeing anyone else. You hadn’t, of course, and told him so. He seemed pleased and you thought that meant he wasn’t either. Where you went wrong was not actually getting clarification on that point.

He invited you to a party one Friday night, and you decided to go. Rafe was in your dorm room, watching you get dressed, as you chattered on about finally being official with Brian and this being the two of you’s big moment as a couple finally.

Rafe sat cross-legged on your bed, barely concealing his contempt toward Brian, but you ignored it, pushing through. Once you deemed yourself ready, you turned to Rafe, holding out your necklace to him, “Can you help me put this on?”

He sighed and hopped off your bed. Taking the necklace from your hand, he gently turned you around and stepped closer, brushing all your hair to one side. The metal was cold when it hit your collarbone and you shivered a little.

Rafe’s fingers danced over your neck as he fastened the chain and fixed your hair back. Putting both hands on your shoulders, he squeezed a little and smiled at you in the mirror, “Knock ‘em dead, gorgeous.”

Before you could respond, Brian texted you that he was parked outside, waiting for you. With a nervous exhale, you held your fist out for Rafe to bump, “Thanks for keeping me company, Cameron.”

He smiled and gently bumped your knuckles, “Anytime, bud.” You didn’t see his smile slip a little as you left the room.

Brian was blasting some club remix he frequently listened to when you got into this car. He smiled at you, leaning in for a kiss, “Ready, babe?”

“Ready,” you told him, buckling in.

The party wasn’t anything new or special, you’d been to many just like it, but it felt different. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe that you were finally officially on Brian’s arm, but the air felt odd.

Excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, you pulled out your phone to check and see if Rafe had texted you. He had, something short reassuring you that if you needed a ride home later, he’d be up. You breathed out a sigh of relief because Brian had started drinking the moment the two of you stepped in the door and you weren’t sure how he planned on getting you home.

Leaning forward and bracing yourself on the counter, you stared at yourself in the mirror. With an annoyed sigh, you hissed, “Get it together, bitch. This is supposed to be your night.”

And with that, you left the bathroom. Only to find Brian making out with some girl you’d never seen before on the couch. Which really fucking hurt. You didn’t even really know what to do, you’d only been dating for a few weeks, but you’d been emotionally connected to him for much longer.

Tears you didn’t want rose in your eyes as you stared frozen at the two of them groping each other. One of Brian’s friends that you’d met a few times caught your eye. His widened and he shook Brian’s shoulder. Brian, hazy eyed, pulled away and saw you standing there, clearly hurt.

He jumped up, fear in his eyes, and you backed away, shaking your head. You weren’t sure if he chased you, you hightailed it out of the house and down the street, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. Pity was the last thing you wanted from him or his asshole friends who did nothing to stop him.

By the time you’d gotten far enough away that you didn’t hear the music anymore, the cold had set in and you were shivering. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you sniffled several times, trying to get it together. Unfortunately, your tears refused to listen and streamed down your cheeks, not slowing in the slightest.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, a text from Rafe telling you he’d made it to season four of the show you recommended him and that season three’s finale had been heartbreaking.

How could you not give me even a little heads up, what the fuck

You choked out a laugh through the tears and hit call before thinking about how he’d definitely be able to tell something was up from your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, sounding a little concerned, “you still at the party?”

“Um, not really,” you said, trying to not give away your crying.

It didn’t work, you heard rustling in the background as he asked, “Where are you? Better yet, where’s Brian?”

You sighed, “Probably fucking whatever chick I caught him making out with.”

Rafe cursed lowly before saying, “Send me your location and I’ll come pick you up.”

Hanging up, you sent it to him and sat down on the sidewalk, pulling your knees to your chest. You kind of didn’t want to see Rafe because you didn’t really want the ‘I told you so’ likely to come as soon as you got in the car.

He pulled up, not too long after your tears stopped, and you hopped up to get into the passenger side. You weren’t expecting him to throw it in park and jog around to wrap you into a tight hug before you could get in. It took you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome. After getting over your shock, you squeezed him back tightly, cherishing the unusual show of affection.

It brought the tears back and you sniffled a few times, burying your face into his chest. Rafe held you tightly until you got ahold of yourself again and then pulled the door open to help you into his truck. While it wasn’t unusual for him to do, you couldn’t help but notice for the first time, that it was something Brian never did.

Before you could buckle up, he grabbed one of his sweatshirts off the backseat and handed it to you.

“How are you feeling right now, bud? Do you want to wallow for a bit or do you want to say ‘fuck him’ and move on?”

You sighed, “I don’t know, kinda in the mood to wallow right now.”

Rafe cranked up the heat and nodded before pulling up his Spotify to pick something out. A familiar sounding song started playing and he looked over at you, “This song really encompasses the lonely feeling of wanting someone, great for wallowing.”

You sniffled a few times and turned the volume up before sinking back into the seat. He smiled at you gently and started driving down the street. The words started up and you couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

Don’t cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel to the song as he drove. You quickly recognized his route to the coffee shop the two of you go to. Wiping your nose on the hoodie sleeve, you finally spoke up, “It’s closed.”

“Huh?” he asked, glancing over at you quickly before focusing on the road again.

“Coco Bean, it’s closed.”

“I’m just driving, no destination.”

“Oh,” you said, tuning into the song again.

Could you find a way to let me down slowly / a little sympathy, I hope you can show me / if you wanna go then I’ll be so lonely / if you’re leaving baby let me down slowly

With a long, shuddering sigh, you melted back into the seat and let Rafe drive. You were a little startled when he started to sing softly. He’d hummed in front of you but never sang, and he actually had a pretty good voice.

And I can’t stop myself from falling down

Twisting your fingers through the hem of the sweatshirt, you tilted your head to lean against the cold window as the song started its last bit.

Now I’m slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace / so please, please / could you find a way to let me down slowly

Rafe switched to something slightly more upbeat as you tried to pull yourself together. The two of you drove around for hours, songs switching from upbeat to sad, enough to keep you interested.

“One last song,” he told you, around 3 a.m. and All I Want started up. Rafe had showed you that one before. He reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly for a few seconds before adding, “Brian’s a dick and you deserve better.”

You squeezed back and nodded, not really knowing what to say.

Two: I’m Good

You’d stubbornly avoided Rate My Professor when trying to schedule a bio class, which was turning out to be a pretty hefty mistake. The guy you picked, mostly because of the 10 a.m. time slot, was a disaster. His teaching style didn’t match your learning style and he barely taught the information he used on the test anyway.

Needless to say, you bombed the first one. Like not a dramatic, ‘I bombed it’ and it turning out to be a C. Like a serious 40%. You weren’t sure how you made it through the rest of your classes, maybe adrenaline or just the pure stubbornness to not have a very public breakdown, but you sent Rafe a very vague text blowing off lunch and went straight to your room.

Face planting onto your bed, you shut your phone off, totally content to not talk to anyone for at least another day. Hours could’ve passed before you finally rolled onto your side, you weren’t sure what time in was, all you knew was that your stomach was growling.

At some point during your wallowing, you roommate had come home, and it had gotten dark outside. All of your weekend plans flew straight out the window and the idea of doing any work when clearly it would be pointless anyway was nauseating.

Eventually, you fell into a restless sleep, dreaming about failing classes and angry bio teachers trying to break your fingers until you finally understood cellular respiration. It was easily one of the worst nights you’d ever had, and by the time the sun rose, you were ready to just stop thinking.

You knew your roommate would eventually come into your room to ask about getting brunch, or to just see what you had planned for the day, but you really didn’t want to see her. What you didn’t expect when your door was finally pushed open, was to see Rafe standing there, holding a bag of food.

“Hey, bud,” he spoke softly, walking slowly toward your bed, “you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” you asked, voice cracking.

Rafe laughed, “No, you don’t. But I did bring your favorite.”

You perked up a little, looking at the bag curiously, “Chicken caesar wrap?”

“Yes ma’am. Would you like to join me on a walk?”

You sighed, but getting out of the room with Rafe sounded kind of good, so you stood and put on a pair of slides, not wanting to put in the effort of actual shoes. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders while the two of you walked down the hallway, and you cherished the closeness.

“What happened?” he finally asked, as the two of you made it out the building and over to a bench outside.

“I failed my test. I don’t know what happened, none of the material he taught was on the test and I just don’t know how to study for that.”

Rafe handed you half of the wrap and let you rest your head on his shoulder before speaking, “Did you check Quizlet, maybe someone who’s already taken it posted something for you to use.”

You shrugged while taking a bite, “Maybe. I mean I know I can come back from this, he drops the lowest test, but I don’t know, I’ve never gotten a grade that bad. It’s so discouraging and I just lost all motivation to do anything.”

He hummed softly and pulled his phone out. After scrolling for a few seconds, he offered you a headphone with a smile, “Maybe this will help.”

Trying to figure out who I am / or who I’m supposed to be / feel good about where I stand / so I can make the most of me

You drummed your fingers on Rafe’s knee to the uplifting beat. He bumped your shoulders together and started eating the other half of the wrap.

You only live once / I’m good with myself / I’m there for my friends / til the very end

Rafe reached out to lace his fingers through yours, catching your attention, before saying, “You know I’ve always got you right?”

You nodded, tears rising for the first time since the numbness gripped you, “Yeah, Cameron, I know.”

I’m good, I’m good, I’m good, I’m good / living life just like I should / wouldn’t change it if I could / I’m good, I’m good, I’m good

When the song ended, you lifted your head up and finished your half of the wrap. Rafe paused the next song playing and smiled down at you gently, “You are the smartest person I’ve ever met, if anyone can beat this asshole bio professor, it’s you.”

“I am pretty smart, huh?”

He didn’t answer, just laughed and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. You didn’t know what you could do without him.

Three: Blood // Water

It got out of hand before you could stop it. You were tired all the time because of work and your roommate was stressed from school, and her new boyfriend was a huge slob. He used your utilities and ate your food and didn’t pay a lick of rent.

You’d been fuming about it for months, but it really came to head when you realized how often he was staying over and she wasn’t giving you a heads up. One afternoon, you were watching TV on the couch, a rare free afternoon that you wanted to spend in your underwear, no one was home anyway. So you thought.

Your roommate had class, but she’d let her boyfriend in and he’d been sitting in her room without you knowing. Just as you settled in, her door flew open and you shrieked, grabbing for the nearest blanket to cover yourself up with. He stared at you, mouth hanging open.

“Dude, stop fucking looking, what the fuck?!” you yelled, and he slapped a hand over his eyes. Taking the opportunity, you ran to your room and slammed the door shut. He had to go, the boyfriend either needed to stop living rent free or stay out of your personal space.

By the time your roommate made it home, you’d had time to get yourself really really worked up, and you were ready for a fucking fight. Rafe had called at some point and tried to calm you down, but talking it out with him only made you angrier, and he eventually gave up, telling you to not let her walk all over you.

She walked in and toward her room, but you stopped her right outside it by clearing your throat. Maybe, for a more constructive conversation, you could’ve started it better, but you went straight in with, “So do I need to buy Marcus a housewarming gift or is he going to live somewhere else anytime soon?”

She frowned at you, “What?”

“I’m not paying 50% of the rent if your boyfriend is gonna be here as much as I am. I’ll gladly play a third of the rent, but I’m gonna need him to contribute if he’s going to use my hot water and eat my food.”

Your roommate took a defensive stance, “He’s not here that much.”

“Oh yeah? Well then why did I go to wash my work uniform, only to find his shit in the washing machine?”

“That was a one-time thing, he stayed over a few nights and ran out of clothes.”

Fists tightening, you drew yourself up, “Okay, tell me, when’s the last time he went home?”

She paused to think and you nodded, emphasizing your point. Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock at your door. Your roommate opened it and saw Rafe standing outside. With a huff, she turned back to you, “Well while we’re at it, talking about boys being over all the time, what about Rafe?”

Your jaw dropped, “Rafe isn’t eating your food and showering at 3 a.m. and WALKING OUT WHILE YOU’RE SITTING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, he’d never heard you yell like that before, it was rattling. Your roommate had, but never at her, and she looked taken aback before narrowing her eyes, “Why the fuck were you just sitting in your underwear?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to do that in the comfort of my own home?”

“Not when Marcus is around.”

You threw your hands up, “That’s the fucking point! I never know when he’s around or isn’t because you don’t have the courtesy to give me the heads up!”

She stepped closer to you as if to shove you, but Rafe stepped between the two of you, putting both of his hands on your shoulders, “Hey, bud, hey, look at me, okay?”

You fought against him, trying to get another look at your roommate, “Never compare that asshole to Rafe, at least Rafe can hold a fucking conversation. You’re dating a piece of wet cardboard.”

“Babe,” Rafe warned you.

“Babe,” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “you do everything he tells you to, doormat?”

Rafe’s hands tensed on your shoulders and he narrowed his eyes, “Marcus, better get your ass out here and help me. You’re the root of the whole fucking problem.”

Her bedroom door opened slowly and a very sheepish looking Marcus stood there with a pair of her shoes in hand, “Let’s go for a drive, huh?”

Rafe kept you in place until the other two had left and you sagged into his hold. You couldn’t stop the tears that started falling as soon as the door slammed shut, and Rafe pulled you into a hug. He stroked your hair, “You’re just tired, babe, it’s going to be okay.”

You sniffled pathetically, “Why won’t she just be fucking accommodating.”

He pulled you behind him to your room and shut the door behind you. It was nighttime, and the room went dark immediately, until Rafe turned on the fairy lights you had hanging around your bed. He sat down and patted the empty spot next to him, “You remember when you called me to come hang these damn lights up?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “Yeah, you hated me for it.”

“I didn’t hate you, but I wasn’t thrilled.”

Leaning into his side, you sighed, “Did I just fuck things up?”

Rafe wrapped his arms around you and laid down, arranging the two of you on the bed so that you were partially on top of him before he spoke, “I don’t think so. Y’all have been friends for so long, I’m sure she’ll come around.”

You played with his shirtsleeve for a few seconds before looking up at his face. He was already looking down at you, soft smile on his lips, and you stuck your tongue out playfully at him. Rafe laughed and lifted his hips up to fish his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh, you got a song for me?” you asked, leaning further onto him.

“Maybe. You want some angry vibes?”

“Hmmm, I think so, yeah.”

He picked a song after a few seconds and laid back fully, shutting his eyes while you started to hum along. It was catchy.

Look me in my eyes / tell me everything’s not fine / or the people ain’t happy / and the river has run dry

Rafe smiled with his eyes closed as you climbed off the bed to start jumping around. All your angry energy started to drain as you read from the lyrics on your phone.

The price of your greed / is your son and your daughter / what you gon’ do / when there’s blood in the water

You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up to jump around with you, but you weren’t nearly strong enough. Rafe laughed at you, eyes finally open again, until you huffed and tossed his arm back. He stayed down watching you as the song built.

I am the people / I am the storm / I am the riot / I am the swarm / when the last’s tree’s fallen / the animal can’t hide / money won’t solve it / what’s your alibi

It was probably for the best your roommate had left because if she was still there, she’d be furious with your screaming. By the time the song ended, you were breathing heavily and Rafe was laughing. Collapsing on top of him, you tried to catch your breath.

Rafe brushed an errant strand of hair out of your face, “That was beautiful, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, “Felt good, thanks for the assist, Cameron.”

The smile slowly fell from his lips as he kept staring at you, and you were confused. Before you could ask what was wrong, he shut his eyes and leaned up to kiss you.

It wasn’t totally unexpected. You’d thought about it a few times, and you were pretty sure he had too, but he’d never said anything, so you figured it was out of the question. So, while you weren’t prepared, you were happily surprised.

After a few seconds to work through the shock, you started kissing him back. He kept it short, you figured he would with emotions running as high as they were in you.

“Anytime,” he told you, brushing your lips with his thumb.

Four: Let You Down

Your boss informed you that there was nothing that could be done. That the department was going through budget cuts and they’d be laying people off. Unfortunately, since you were the youngest, you were the first to go.

The early shift was your normal gig, you always woke up around 5 a.m. to get ready and get coffee, and that morning, you woke up to a missed call and a message from your boss. Rafe was still sleeping, so you unplugged your phone and took it with you to the kitchen to listen to the message while you made coffee.

After turning the kettle on, you brought the phone to your ear, and immediately regretted it. You missed the first part of the message, but got the gist from, “So sorry to have to let you go, with the cuts in our department, we have to make hard decisions- “

And you didn’t really care to hear the rest. Three years of your life wasted on that place that promised you a job post-grad, and then just cut the rope. Your hands were shaking and you shut the kettle off, deciding to just go back to bed and cuddle with Rafe until his alarm went off.

Unfortunately, Rafe was a light sleeper and woke up when you tried to get back into your spot next to him.

“Babe, wha?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” you whispered, “go back to sleep.”

Rafe squinted at you, “Don’t you have work?”

You sighed, “Not anymore, I got let go.”

He sat up and you groaned, not really wanting to hash it out with him at 5:30 in the morning. Fumbling to switch the lamp on, Rafe pulled you into a hug with his other arm and you couldn’t stop yourself from sinking into his arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know you liked that job.”

“They told me like two fucking weeks ago they were looking at a managerial position for me. I just, I don’t know why I was on the first list of cuts.”

Rafe huffed out a laugh, “I wish I could tell you, but unfortunately, I can’t get into the mindset of actual buffoons.”

Your lips quirked up, “They are buffoons, aren’t they?”

The two of you sat in the middle of the bed for who knows how long, just hanging onto each other, and you were almost back asleep when Rafe moved again, this time to stand up. You glared at him, “Can’t we sleep?”

“We can nap later, but I want to see the sunrise.”

He grabbed his keys from the desk by the door and you followed him out to the kitchen. There was a place the two of you had gone before, near the reservoir, for sunsets, but you’d never done a sunrise before. You started the coffee making process again and pulled on one of his sweatshirts while he leaned against the wall, looking up what time the sun rose.

“It says 6:40 so we have plenty of time to get there.”

“Car sex,” you offered jokingly.

“Make the coffee, babe,” he dismissed, pulling you in to ruffle your hair.

You shoved him away, pouting, “I can’t make the coffee when you’re manhandling me.”

He didn’t let you push him far, grabbing onto your hand where it was pushing his chest and pulled you back to him. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as he hugged you. Your face was buried in his chest and the two of you just breathed together until he pulled back enough to catch your lips with his.

You pushed up on your toes, leaning further into him. He loosened his grip on your hands and you slid them up to cup his jaw. It was quiet in the kitchen, the only sound coming from the coffee maker and the slight hum of the air conditioner. You basked in it.

Rafe suddenly dropped both of his arms to your legs and lifted you to sit on the counter. The sudden movement startled you into letting out a little squeal of surprise, but he swallowed it up with another kiss.

You draped your arms over his shoulders and he leaned all of his weight on the counter. In the background, you barely heard the coffee kick off and your roommate moving around in her room. Rafe brought a hand up to stroke up and down your thigh, fully distracting you again.

The two of you only broke apart when Rafe’s alarm started going off. He pulled away, annoyed, and then cursed when he realized what time it was. Helping you down, he told you, “We’ve got 30 minutes to get to the res.”

After quickly fixing two to-go mugs, you let Rafe pull you out of the apartment to his truck. For once, he didn’t pick any music, just let the radio play softly in the background while the two of you sipped on coffee. You rolled the window down and let one arm hang out the side.

Rafe reached over and grabbed your other hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss softly without looking up from the road. You grinned at him, “You’re soft as fuck, Cameron.”

He laughed, “Only for you, sweetheart.”

The sky started to lighten as the two of you drove and you left turned your focus back out the window. By the time Rafe parked, the sun had started to rise, and Rafe finally plugged his phone in to play a song.

“Something soft?” he asked.

You nodded and queued up something before hopping out. Rafe grabbed a blanket from the backseat and pulled the tailgate down. It was the blanket the two of you normally sat on to watch the sunsets, so you assumed Rafe wanted to sit back there together for it.

Grabbing the coffees, you walked around the truck to join him just as the song started playing through the speakers.

Feels like we’re on the edge right now / I wish that I could say I’m proud / I’m sorry that I let you down / let you down

You climbed up with him and settled in, your back against his chest. Rafe rested his chin on your head and you shut your eyes for a few seconds to let it all soak in.

I feel like every time I talk to you, you’re in an awful mood / what else can I offer you / there’s nothing left right now, I gave it all to you

“What am I going to do?” you whispered to Rafe.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

All these voices in my head get loud / and I wish that I could shut them out / I’m sorry that I let you down

“But we’ll figure it out,” he told you, sounding totally sure.

The sun slowly crept up as the two of you sat in silence, both hoping that things were going to turn out okay.

Five: You Make My Dreams (Come True)

“I hate men,” you said from your spot laying on the floor, “why are they the worst.”

Rafe laughed, nudging your hip with his foot, “Come on, sweetheart, I think some Waffle House will cheer you up, huh?”

“Nothing can cheer me up right now. Maybe alcohol.”

“You can’t get drunk.”

“Why not?” you demanded, a little childishly.

“Because you have an interview tomorrow, and it’s just a game.”

You were offended, staring at him open-mouthed, “I know you didn’t just tell me that the Leafs getting eliminated from the playoffs is just a game.”

Rafe didn’t respond, just kept looking at you, hand held out to help you up from the floor. You huffed and stubbornly stayed down, “No, I will throw myself off a balcony before going with you for that disrespect.”

With a sigh, Rafe bent down and pulled you up, you fighting him the entire way. He shook you gently, “Knock it off, mamas.”

“No, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can carry you, and I will, so you may as well just walk.”

Which was a good point. You crossed your arms and tilted your chin up, “Fine, Waffle House it is.”

“Fine,” he agreed, following you out of the apartment. Rafe tried to start conversation a few times during the walk to the Waffle House down the street, but you weren’t having it. After blatantly ignoring his attempts, he finally gave up.

“Rafe,” you asked, after a few seconds.

“What?”

“Can you play Hall and Oates? I think it might be good for me to hear.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you going to have a breakdown on the side of the road if I play it?”

“No,” which was a total lie and both of you knew it, but Rafe, being the accommodating boyfriend that he is, played it.

What I want, you’ve / And it might be hard to handle

And your eyes immediately filled with tears, just like both of you knew would happen. Rafe wrapped you into a hug while you cried, still playing the song so you could let it out.

Oh yeah, well well you / you make my dreams come true

Sniffling, you told him, “I thought it was their year.”

“I know, baby,” he soothed, hand running up and down your back.

“I want them to succeed and be happy.”

Again, he said, “I know.”

“It’s mostly the refs’ faults anyway, you know the league is dedicated to sucking Bruin dick.”

Rafe snorted, “I do know, yes.”

Softly and sadly, you sang along, “You make my dreams come true.”

The song finished and Rafe tucked his phone away, giving you one last squeeze before pulling away. You sighed and the two of you resumed walking toward Waffle House. He told you, “My dad is a big Bruins guy.”

“WHAT?!”

+ One: Outnumbered

Throughout your relationship, Rafe was always the more put-together one. He always had his shit together while you tended to be a little louder and messier. While you had some experience with handling him in this state, it wasn’t much.

You figured something must’ve been wrong when he didn’t answer any of your texts, but you weren’t sure what. He’d flown home for Thanksgiving, he normally didn’t because it was only a few days, but his sister was going to be in town and he hadn’t seen her in a while. You were invited, but your parents wanted to visit you for the day, so you stayed behind.

When your parents left, you stayed in and watched football, not really wanting to do anything except talk to Rafe who promised to watch one of the games with you over FaceTime. Unfortunately, it was halftime and you hadn’t heard from him.

In fact, you didn’t hear from him until that night. You were getting ready for bed when your phone finally vibrated and you answered it, mid washing your face.

“Hey, bubba.”

“Hey, babe.”

“Get caught up today?” you asked, rinsing the cleanser off.

He laughed humorlessly, and you felt something in your stomach, “I did, my dad had some thoughts he wanted to share with me.”

“Bruins fan dad?”

“The very same.”

You grinned, “Well I’m sure they weren’t valid then.”

Rafe paused for a few seconds, “Well, maybe they were a little valid.”

“Tell me what he said, and I’ll let you know for sure.”

It was silent, you could barely hear Rafe’s breathing, before he continued, “Just that I’m wasting my time. And I’m gonna come running back to him when I can’t get a job with this pointless degree.”

Which, where the fuck do you even start with that. Then, you remembered, scrambling up, you told Rafe to hold on while you grabbed your laptop and pulled up Spotify. You’d found a song and been saving it to show him, but there was no time like the present.

“Listen to this song I found.”

He hummed in agreement as it started up.

Don’t tell me this is all for nothin’ / I can only tell you one thing / on the nights you feel outnumbered / baby I’ll be out there somewhere

You felt unsure as the song went on and he didn’t react. The song played on, you tapping your fingers against your knees anxiously. Normally you could tell what Rafe was thinking based on his facial expression, and you wish you’d switched to FaceTime before starting the song.

There’ll be days when it’s difficult / but I ask you never leave behind the reciprocal / we’re past that / love is not designed for the cynical / so we have that

Rafe didn’t speak again until the end and it sounded a little choked up, “You found that one for me, huh?”

Slamming your laptop shut, you hit the FaceTime button and waited to respond until you saw his face. Rafe’s eyes were red and his cheeks looked wet and you just wanted to hug him.

“Yeah, that was for you.”

“I love you, you know?” he asked, “probably should’ve waited to tell you in person, but.”

You laughed, “Probably so, but I love you too, Cameron.”

“I’m coming home tomorrow instead of Sunday, come over?”

Settling into your bed, you smiled at him, “Yeah, just let me know.”

His soft smile was burned into your memory that night as you fell asleep restlessly, ready for him to be home with you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe fic #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #college rafe

212 notes · View notes

shinisbestboy · 3 years

Text

was bored so I thought I'd try writing again since I liked it so much the first time :)

contains joemaru because there is not enough of them online

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a lazy weekend afternoon.. Joe was at his house, playing video games and relaxing as he ignores all the homework he knew Sara will kill him for later. he ate a slice of reheated pizza from.. last night? a few days ago? didn't really matter, he wasn't letting a good piece of pizza go to waste! he was quite engrossed in his game of Zombie Slayers V3 (return of the Chad plague) that he didn't notice his phone ringing.. it vibrated loudly, Joe needed to pause his game so he could pick it up

"Y'ello? your boy Joe here" he started, as he was a creature of habit. the voice on the other side didn't pay it much mind "Joe I need to talk to you about something" it was the familiar sound of Sara.. she seemed a little stressed from what Joe could tell so he decided to take it more semi-seriously "what's up? you decide to confess your undying love for me yet?" he chuckled.. he sure had a loose definition of 'semi-serious'.. lightening up the mood couldn't hurt tho

Sara huffed, Joe imagined her blushing pouty expression and it made him smile.. Sara always looked her best when all flustered "not that!! ugh, no this is important! do you remember that guy I was telling you about at school? the new transfer boy with the white hair?" Sara explained, Joe tilted his head back as he tried to remember "you mean that Ranmaru guy? kinda looks like a dandelion up top?" he asked "yes that's him! we were talking on the phone and he totally asked me out! like he called it a date and everything! I didn't know what to say, I mean I barely know the guy so I wanted to say no but I panicked! now I have a date *tonight* and I seriously don't know how to tell him I'm not interested!" Sara spoke very quickly, definitely needing to get this situation off her chest.

Joe needed a moment to process the words but this was regular panicky Sara.. he could decipher what she said easily. he hummed "so you need a wingman, huh? then I gotcha Sara! I'm a total love expert, you two will be communicating so hard that he'll forget all about the whole silly date!" Joe chuckled, not earning one in return "don't make me regret this.. just meet me at my place in 20 minutes" Sara sighed as she quickly ended the call. Joe stood up from his seat, pizza forgotten and the game saved, finally something exciting to do! I mean he loved video games but there are only so many hours you can handle killing zombies

after getting dressed and packing his bookbag of the dating essentials, he took his bike and quickly made his way to Sara's house down the road. it didn't take long before he parked his bike on the side of the house and went to the main entrance. Sara was obviously there waiting for him, she let him in so they could go up to her room. poor Sara was a mess.. she wasn't so good at the whole high school romance thing, it's a good thing she had her good old pal Joe! "so.. what's the plan? we getting you all pretty'd up to break his heart or we ditching together?" Joe broke the silence as Sara didn't seem to know where to start "I mean.. I don't want to be cruel! maybe.. when he shows up, pretend to be my dad? or just tell him I'm sick in bed! or uh.. make something up, anything will do! I just can't do it myself!" Sara seemed defeated already, usually problems always had a solution with her but this was way out of her comfort zone, Joe understood how she felt

"if that's all it is, then I can do that no problem! seriously, you don't gotta worry about a thing, your good pal Joe is on the case!" he confidently puffed out his chest, this did not give Sara as much confidence as he intended but it didn't matter. a loud ring of the doorbell could be heard throughout the whole house, Joe hummed "wow.. he certainly got here fast.. time to work my charm!" they both got up tho Joe was the one brave enough to venture down the stairs.. Sara was safe from her hiding spot with a view to make sure Joe doesn't royally mess this up

Joe opened the door to be face to face with the shorter fluffy male, he looked not very well prepared.. he probably rushed to get here just like Joe did.. he looked much nicer in more casual clothes tho compared to the school uniform Joe would see at school. Joe smiled "hey! you're Ranmaru from school, aren't cha? I heard so much about you! I'm Joe" he happily introduced himself, taking the nervous boy's hand and happily shaking it. Ranmaru was a little shaken as he hadn't prepared to see anyone but Sara at the door.. this wasn't what he was expecting at all "o-oh um, yeah that's me" he didn't quite know what else to say to that.. I mean he didn't think anyone really knew his name anyway, he shook himself out of his spout of nervousness tho as he had a mission right now. taking his hand back, Ranmaru tried to stand a bit taller "is Sara here? or do I.. have the wrong house..?" he asked, he chuckled awkwardly.. he would feel very embarrassed if he was bothering a random person right now! he was already nervous enough for this date..

"Sara? oh yeah, she uh.. she's super sick right now! barfin' her guts out, not fun at all. she wanted to say no but she's just too polite, you know?" Joe wasn't the best at lying but by Ranmaru's concerned expression.. it looks like it worked easily "oh no! I had no idea! oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to put any pressure on her like that! I just have these movie tickets, but if she's not free then that's totally fine I don't mind" Ranmaru quickly backpedaled, panicking as he realized he may have been too quick to think it'd be that easy. it was weird since Sara didn't sound very sick.. but he definitely had no right to doubt anything, that'd just be nosy and all

unfortunately Joe's interest was perked "ooh wait, movie you say? what kind of movie was it?" he asked, he knew it might be a little salt on the wound to talk about since Sara wasn't going but his curiosity got the better of him. Ranmaru didn't expect any sort of interest from Joe.. but he took the folded-up ticket from his pocket to double-check "it was just the new Zombie Slayer 4.0 movie, Karen vs Chad Jr.. or something like that. I got these tickets for free so probably not the best--" Ranmaru was cut off by an excited Joe "woah wait, you were going to take Sara on a date like that?? she's way not into the zombie slayer series, I have tried getting her into it! trust me on this one, it wouldn't have ended nicely" he chuckled, Sara, unfortunately, was not the cute 'oh no this is scary, I will cling up to the closest person.. she was more of an 'I brought my katana for this very reason' and the tv is covered in sword cracks because of it.. Joe couldn't imagine seeing that happen in a movie theater, tho it would be a funny sight

Ranmaru sighed "I see.. dodged a bullet there then, heh.." he tried to sound optimistic but this wasn't looking good at all.. I mean first, he hears Sara is sick and now the date he was all mentally prepared for was probably going to flop anyway? a great boost for his ego.. he's glad he avoided the worst-case scenarios but he still wished it could have gone better "well.. I don't want to keep bothering you.." the sheep mumbled as he stood back, ready to call it quits. Joe stopped him "oh wait if you've got two tickets then can I come? I mean don't wanna let them go to waste, right?" it was worth a shot, if Sara wasn't going to take a date with the cute boy then Joe will just have to do it for her! plus he seemed like a nice guy, might as well get to know him, right?

Ranmaru was definitely caught off guard by this "huh?? you want to watch a movie with me?" he blushed, the soft pink on his cheeks was very visible on his pale skin.. Joe thought it was cute "yeah of course! zombie slayers is definitely a best friends movie, you know? come on let's go!" Joe closed the door behind him with a smile.. leaving Sara unable to keep seeing what was happening. "well, what are you waiting for?" Joe asked the dumbfounded male, who was definitely speechless by the sudden change of plans but after a moment he thought maybe this wasn't so bad "nothing.. I'm ready to go" he nodded, catching up to Joe as they left on their "date"

((ooc// I will probably write the rest in a part 2 cause this is already getting so long, tysm for reading, and don't be afraid to send me asks <3))

#joe tazuna #ranmaru kageyama #joe tazuna x kageyama #joemaru #yttd joe #yttd kin blog #yttd #your turn to die #implied sara x joe #its only friendly flirting tho #implied sara x ranmaru #sara chidouin #fanfiction #drabble #yttd writing #yttd fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

thewalkingdead-imagines · 3 years

Text

My Take on TLOU 2

Warning: Major spoilers for tlou part 1 and 2 below!

Before I start: None of my criticism is meant as hate against anyone who loved the game. This is just my personal opinion, if you liked it or feel differently than me, that’s completely fine, to each their own! Also, this is solely about the plot, not the gameplay, the scenery, the graphics etc. because those were unarguably breathtaking and incredibly well done. Either way, here we go:

• Starting off with the elephant in the room: I absolutely hated that they killed Joel. I hated this so so much.

1. The fact that they killed him at all Killing off a main Character is rarely the right call and it most definitely wasn't the right one for tlou in my opinion. Joel and Ellie’s father-daughter relationship and its growth was what made the first game so special and by killing Joel, they killed a whole lot of the game’s essence already. Plus, and this is a personal thing, I (and I am 100% sure lots of others) loved Joel as character, which makes killing him off even worse. ...which lets me come to my second point

2. How they killed him First, the fact that they did it so very early on in the game. I spoiled myself on accident and knew he was going to die way before I even started the initial game but I can say that I was entirely shocked that it happened at the start. I thought it might be done towards the middle, which would have at least given us some time with him and a possibility to say “goodbye” in a way but instead you get very few moments with him at the start and then his death. That’s it. That alone is a punch in the face for anyone who loved this character and the first game. Then, they make him save Abby only for her to lead them into an ambush. I was also very confused that they made Joel follow her without questioning it, sure this one is debatable, but after years and years of being a hardened survivor, do you really think he would just trust a random stranger? He grew softer, sure, and he also grew to trust people more, but not enough to just follow a random stranger who said they had a whole ass group without questioning it at least for a moment. He didn’t even seem to be just slightly wary and to be honest, that just seemed unnatural to me. The brutality of his death is another punch in the face. Abby tortured him, for god knows how long. She first shot his kneecap off and then tortured him until he laid paralyzed on the ground, blood overflown and barely conscious. They did that to a character the whole first game lead you to love. Then they make Ellie come in to watch Abby give him the rest with a fucking golf curb while she pleads for his life. Sorry but what the fuck? We’ve seen Joel survive so fucking much, he’s survived being impaled by an iron rod for fuck’s sake and took out whatever people threw at him and he dies like that? Without even giving him the possibility to fight back? There’s so much going on in my head when I think about that moment that I honestly can’t even put all of this into words.

• I get that this all was done to set up the remaining plot and honestly, that was the next problem in my eyes. This whole story revolved around a revenge plot and how much you have to stop this circle of revenge. To me, that’s more of a predicable and overused plot but that might be a personal thing. My problem is even more that they made the whole story about this and that it felt like a severely forced teaching moment / moral of the story type of thing that lasted for 25(?) hours. I’m not against teaching moments per se, that’s not the thing, and I wanna be clear about that but I hate it when its a. forced b. way too obvious and feels unnatural, and to me that was the case in the second part.

• Now about 1/3 through the game, I didn’t want to completely give up on it yet. I thought/hoped there might be a chance for me to even somehow like it in the end. So I wanted to stay open and for a little I could still see that there was a bit of the essence of the first game left. I loved the cut scenes of Joel and Ellie so so much. I can’t emphasize how much I adore them. They did a great job with them, really. The scenes at the museum are pure perfection and they honestly made me despise the fact that they decided to kill him even more. I will never get over Ellie putting the hats on the dinosaurs and Joel, and I will surely not get over his gift to her. This guy went out and searched his ass off to find her a cassette with the first moon-landing, just to be sure that he has the perfect gift for her. This is beyond adorable. I’ve rewatched these scenes so often already and they honestly get me emotional each time. These scenes felt like the first game again, they gave you that cozy, warm feeling when you got to watch their relationship grow. I also loved the guitar shop (or their way towards it) cut scene, it kind of conveyed what I would’ve wished for for the entire game. A good bunch of action and horror when they have to make their way through but it still has the essence of their relationship and their story when they discuss the teenager’s deaths.

• In short, I really really wanted to see more of these cut scenes and kept on hoping for more until they switched everything up and a cut scene for Abby started.

• I already expected them to try and make Abby look better or made the thing she did to Joel kind of “understandable”, especially because I’ve seen that there were people who really started to love her character. So I kind of expected something big to happen. To me, it didn’t. So her father was the surgeon that Joel killed. Sure she hated Joel (fair enough, he killed her parent) but is that enough for me to understand, excuse etc. what she did in Jackson? Fuck no and that has several reasons. → Joel didn’t kill (nor fucking tortured!!) her father because of something small, like a few supplies etc. he killed him because he literally was about to kill his adopted daughter for a vaccine that might have not even worked out. He killed him to protect someone. Also: → Her father moreover visibly seemed to doubt that he would do this procedure if Abby was the immune girl, which is pretty much hypocritical bullshit. → Abby’s father didn’t give a shit about Ellie too, he could have let her wake up and make a conscious decision whether she wanted to do this, he didn’t. He just approved of killing her → He threatened Joel with a surgical knife → He would have stayed alive if he would have let Joel just go with Ellie / refrained from killing her So this honestly didn’t make me feel for her, this only made my rage for her grow. She had to know that Joel killed her father (and prevented the vaccine) because he didn’t want this little girl to die for something that might have not even worked. Then, he saves her ass from a sure death and she still decides to torture him to death? There was not one moment of doubt in Abby, not one and what makes it worse is that she doesn’t show any remorse about what she did at any time during the game

• I really hoped that they would stop after this but they really made you play all 3 days as Abby, the same time as Ellie. They really force you to play as character who has killed and brought so much pain over the characters you grew to love (probably as an attempt to force you to like her after seeing her side). So instead of using these hours to give you time to play with these beloved characters, they give it to her. Sorry but that’s bullshit.

• Besides this, it also absolutely threw off the pace of the plot. You just wanted to know what happens to Ellie now that Abby on top of it all also killed Jesse (!!!) and instead you get thrown back to square one. • I’m not interested in her weird love triangle with Owen and Mel, I don’t care how she got from Salt lake city to Seattle and I don’t care about her work out program. All these plots just frustrated me more tbh.

• Now, I wanna add that I tried to ask myself if I would’ve liked her if she hadn’t killed Joel and honestly, I’m 100% sure I wouldn’t. I just really don’t like her personality. All this time she just seemed bitter and boring, moreover she repeatedly said that she helped those others for herself and to top it off, she also fucked a guy with a pregnant girlfriend (fuck Owen too btw). So again, how do you expect me to like her?

• I did like Lev and Yara. Honestly, if naughtydog wanted to do something so very new, they could’ve just made a whole story about Lev’s struggles within this post apocalyptic community. That would have at least been interesting and wouldn’t have fucked your favorite characters over, just saying.

• Now flash-forward to the scene back at the theater. Abby’s just killed Jesse, she’s got Tommy hurt on the floor and then you’re forced to play as her and hurt Ellie? Fuck that (Also, the way they had Ellie walk around in that scene? C’mon that’s not how she’d walk around a room while she’s searching for her enemy)

• This thing kind of leads to one thing that wraps up a lot of the end well, Ellie was panicked and broke down when she realized that Mel was pregnant, Abby said “good” when Ellie plead for Dina’s life and said that she was pregnant. I’m not saying that there’s a general difference between Ellie killing people and Abby killing people, it’s obviously shit either way but there’s a clear difference in how they handle it. Ellie is clearly distraught while Abby stays cold, and after everything (also everything else I’ve mentioned) they still wanna make you sympathize with Abby and be angry with Ellie for doing all this. A lot of the game is set up to this (at least that’s what i felt like). Just one example: Abby plays fetch with dog, Ellie is forced to kill dog (also, weird how you’re just forced to kill dogs when you play as Ellie and not Abby, huh?)

• While naughtydog tried to make YOU (as well as Ellie, honestly) see all the different points of views they make Abby entirely ignorant to it, without any remorse and still try to make you have sympathy for her. She does not try to be insightful regarding what she’s done to Joel and see Ellie/Joel’s side just once. She actually mentions that Joel deserved much worse and suggests she did everything right in Jackson. This ignorance and complete lack of remorse...I think this is one of by biggest problems with this plot. Also, that very last attempt to make you feel for Abby when she’s lost her bulk and stand at those pillars? Really? Kinda cheap

• Again, I get where they wanted to go with the story. I get that they wanted to show that you lose everything when you just seek for revenge and that the circle needs to be broken, but it was so one-sided in the end. Both, Abby and Ellie lost a lot, but Ellie loses absolutely everyone and Abby still has Lev. Ellie loses even two fingers, which doesn’t even allow her to play guitar, which is another fucking punch in the face. It was more about letting Ellie face the consequences instead of Abby and to me, that’s just the wrong call to make after the entire first game lead you to love her and Joel. So, it felt dissatisfying to let Abby go in the end. I get why they did that but it felt like this whole journey was for absolutely nothing. Especially after they ripped her from a life with Dina and JJ to go back to hunting Abby down. She lost everything and didn’t even get to end it.

• Generally, what this game did...I don’t think that this is something you do with beloved characters. You just don’t do them completely dirty and they did so with Ellie and Joel. People loved this game majorly because of Joel and Ellie’s story and relationship and were excited to see more of it in the next part and they screwed those people, their viewers and players, completely over. You don’t have to be a complete viewer pleaser, don’t get me wrong, but you also don’t need to completely shit all over them. After all, these are the people who buy and support your game, it’s just not fair to them.

• This might be a personal thing but I’ve seen so many creators ruin good stories just because they wanted to do something super creative, edgy and entirely new with it. 99% of the time that goes horribly wrong. Don’t get me wrong, you have to do new things to keep it fresh but at the same time you cannot lose what made a story special in the first place. You have to make sure to keep the essence of the story alive and at the same time do something new with it. Unfortunately, i feel like the creators of this game didn’t even want to keep this essence alive, they just wanted to do something entirely new and they belong to the 99% who managed to ruin it.

• You know what I would have loved as plot for the second game? If they would have let Ellie explore that her life can mean something and matter even without a vaccine. The first game even perfectly set the second one up for this. Resolving Joel and Ellie’s conflict + making Ellie realize that she’s more than just her immunity + a new adventure...that would have perfectly continued the story. It would have kept the essence of the game going and mixed it with something new. Now, they pretty much ignored how Ellie felt about this part (except for two cut scenes and a tiny bit here and there) which was pretty much her main issue since she got bit. The last cut scene with Joel and her outside...it just made we wish so much that they got the chance to properly talk everything out. And by now, I kinda just pretend that everything after this night didn’t happen.

• So honestly, I’m just very disappointed and upset. It felt like they were mostly just trying to prove that they had the balls to pull a plot like this off, to show that they had the balls to kill a beloved main character and have you play with their killer. Sure, that might be ballsy and bold, but to me, that’s not what good story telling is about. Good story telling is not a game of “my dick is bigger than yours”. But maybe that’s just my opinion.

And there’s one more thing: Happy endings aren’t always bad, lazy and unrealistic And depressing endings aren’t automatically creative, deep and good I feel like that’s something a lot of creators don’t realize

#tlou #tlou2 #tlou spoilers #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou 2 #tlou part 2 #tlou joel

37 notes · View notes

andromedia5 · 3 years

Note

For the writing prompts, could you do BatCat for 13?

She came and went. That was her whole thing, that was the basis for everything. That was just how she was, just how they were. It was just Selina being Selina.

He couldn’t fucking stand it. And yet he understood it. He knew her, knew why she needed to feel like she could always leave. It was so he couldn’t leave her. Which broke his heart into about a million pieces.

Bruce tugged at the eyes of his cowl. He was going to have to ask Alfred about putting some padding or something to stop it from digging into his brow. His old one hadn't done this. Just because Lucius didn’t think the previous model was perfect didn’t mean it hadn't worked. Well, kind of worked. It’s not like a small concussion was that big a deal, he was only twenty one.

He didn’t have much to do tonight. Crime had gone down slightly in the last few weeks and he suspected that the general opinion of Gotham’s underworld was that if they waited him out, The Batman would go away. They had held off on anything major, leaving him with just a few low level thugs. All low level except her.

As much as he probably shouldn’t, Bruce admired Selina. Much of the initial awe at someone his age who could and did do things for themselves has worn off years ago but now as Batman. . .

He had gone halfway around the world, getting training from Cain, discipline from centuries old tests of indurence, and a God knows how many dollar suit, designed by one of the most brilliant men he knew. And Selina, true to form had side stepped the work, ignored or stole the resources she’d need and ended up being better then he was anyway. She was really good at this. Selina, or Catwoman had gone for simplicity and style over anything else. She wasn’t going out looking for a fight like he was. Her goal was to be in and out before she ever had to bare her claws. That didn’t mean she backed away from a fight when he showed up.

Bruce had tried reasoning with her at first. Tried to talk her out of this.

‘Just give me the necklace, Cat. You can walk, I won’t try to stop you,’

She hadn’t even answered, he just heard the crack of her whip and felt it wrap around his ankle. That had been when she pulled. Hard.

His head had smacked against the floor (hence the concussion from his first mask) and his vision separated before the two Selina’s morphed back into one and he jumped to his feet. She was laughing, and flipping backwards into slow backbends, dodging the lasers as they moved.

Cat got up gracefully at the entrance to the museums gem display, standing under the skylight she had cut a hole in, her dark tan skin glowing in the moonlight.

‘Shit’

“Let me help you Selina,” he had called out, feeling awkward and second guessing the cape. Was the batsuit, or whatever they were calling it too much? It felt like too much. Especially when she looked like that.

“Bat,” she called out, climbing up to the ceiling, “I appreciate the offer,” from where he was standing it looked like she was smiling. Why was she smiling, this was a robbery? This was a robbery, why wasn’t he stopping her?

“But I don’t need your help,”

That was the last time he had let her go (and he had let her go, no matter what Alfred had said as he held the ice pack to his head). It’s not like he was going to hurt her for real. Fighting with her didn’t bring the same frustrations of feeling more like a kid playing dress up then a white knight or whatever he was supposed to be. Fighting with Selina was . . . a game, kind of, he wasn’t sure exactly. It was confusing, she was confusing and he felt sixteen again every time, because she was infuriating.

And he loved every second of it.

Which is why he noticed when it had been weeks since he had seen her. On a rooftop, at a gala, in a bank, a jewelry store. He didn’t give a damn where, but if he went one more night without her trying to steal something-

That sounded bad. Bruce didn’t want her to break the law. But he wanted her to sneak into the manor late at night, wanted her to perch on the arm of his chair and ask about any scratches like they hadn’t come from her. He could act the part of the playboy but it was still Selina he wanted there in the morning.

Bruce sighed and checked the time. It was almost four am. She wasn’t going to show up. He should probably loose the cape.

It was too early when Alfred woke him up, afternoon sunlight pouring through the the windows as the drapes were pulled back by his very clearly sadistic butler who turned on the shower, told him to stop sulking and go shave, turned an abrupt 180 and left the room muttering something about teenagers. Bruce would have shouted back a reminder that he was an adult but the fact that he currently had burrowed into his covers to avoid the daylight seemed to hurt his point.

The rest of the day was filled with Alfred trying to fit all the calories he missed by sleeping through breakfast into one meal (he could live with protein powder but it didn’t belong in orange juice) and being quizzed on board members and their wives. Because on top of everything a bunch of people he didn’t care about were coming to his house.

If Carter Hearst didn’t stop talking about his newest secretary like she was a piece of meat he was going to stab a steak knife into his own thigh. Or the shriveled old man making his way through a bottle and a half of scotch. Both would work. Bruce was trying to silently communicate to Lucius a message to save who ever this woman was and have her work for literally anyone else, when he saw her.

Barely a second and it was only a glimpse of the side of her face before she disappeared back into the crowd but everything in him knew it was Selina. He didn’t even realize he was craning his neck till Lucius’s foot connected with his ankle disapprovingly. Right, yeah, people.

“You’ll all have to excuse me,” he said, grinning broadly trying to really turn on the charm, do anything to get him out of the table. She was not slipping through his fingers like this, not when he hadn’t seen her for months.

“I see an executive I really do have to talk to. You all know how it is, I’m sure.”

“Which executive?” Lucius asked, feigning interest as the old man tried to keep the laughter off his face. Bruce glared and desperately tried to think of a name off the Wayne Enterprises directory.

“David Clemonte,”

Lucius took a sip of his drink and rubbed his beard thoughtfully “I could’ve sworn I remember Daniel telling me he wouldn’t be able to attend tonight,”

Was there a way of him faking a medical emergency that would require him to get to Selina? No, right?

“Ahh no, he was referring to the benefit in July. My mistake,”

Bruce was able to manage a forced chuckle before he all but sprinted away. She was out one one of the balconies that opened from the ballroom. He ran a hand through his hair and walked out to join her.

“Cat,”

Selina turned and everything in his stomach tightened. She had her hair pulled up to one side with a clip and earrings made of tiny gold strands brushed her shoulders. Her dress was black with straps crossing back and forth over her back and two slits in the skirt up her thighs.

“Hi,” she said in a way that made it very clear he had been caught staring. “Nice party, don’t really know anyone but I guess that’s what happens when you gatecrash,”

“I don’t either, not really,” he pointed out, taking a sip of her champagne, which if he was being honest, he preferred a thousand times over to the dark amber whiskey he had drank with the board. “These things are boring when you’re gone,”

Selina looked uncomfortable but laughed it off, and it sounded fake and hollow “Yeah well, I am kind of your only friend,”

“That’s not why I missed you,”

She turned away from him, staring out at the garden “I’m sorry,”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he didn’t know why she was. It’s not like they were . . . she didn’t owe him anything.

They were silent for a moment before she turned to him, took her glass out of his hand and tipped her head back, finishing it off with so little class it made him smile.

“Do you ever feel a kind of deja vu? Ever since,” Selina’s eyes flicked upwards to the roof and she smirked, “you know. Like we’re starting again but we both know we’ve done this before,”

“Groundhog’s Day,”

Her brow furrowed “I’ve never seen that movie,”

Bruce rolled his eyes “Okay, this and Star Wars, really?”

“Why would I watch boring movies? I’m pretty.” she teased and everything seemed to fall back into place. “Besides not all of us grew up with movie theaters in our house.”

“I know that,” he said sheepishly.

Selina snorted, that weird little snicker she did every time she had him beat, but she was smiling.

“What do you know?”

“I missed you,”

#timeline what timeline?#I really loved this and I didn't expect to #you know a couple's iconic when they still work for a gay song #batcat #gotham #bruce wayne #selina kyle #brucelina #swiftie writing prompts #my wriitng #asks

30 notes · View notes

codevassie · 4 years

Note

i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride.

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all.

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe.

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater.

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater.

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat.

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing.

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love.

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one.

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined.

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst.

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there.

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas.

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning.

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing.

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste.

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire.

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved.

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything.

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother.

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved?

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness.

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed.

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place.

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself.

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore.

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him-

Virgil.

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible.

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets.

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all.

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him.

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated.

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said.

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep.

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze.

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts #tw weapons #tw trauma #tw injury #minor edits: realized the italics didn't copy over #but that's fixed #also i'm going to lose my shit if people don't stop walking behind me while i have writing on my screen #i have an allergic reaction to people seeing my writing when i'm not ready for them to #which for irl people is next to never #requests #tw angst #tw unhappy ending #ahhcc

243 notes · View notes

akimmito · 4 years

Text

I’ll still be with you

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

Master List

Chapter 3: Moon

Initially, I would only be in Paris for a couple of days, but that night changed everything.

No matter how much I think about it, I can't see that it was otherwise.

Nor do I want it to have been.

Red Robin jumps off Wayne Tower when he hears Red Hood calling for a backup in a showdown against Penguin's some goons, he's the closest to his location and the others are busy on the other side of town dealing with their own problems.

Nights like that, cold and with bright silver clouds that insist on hiding the moon, remind him of that night in Paris, of her blue eyes illuminated by a moon that managed to escape from the spongy trap in which it was. He smiles a little, even though he should be more focused on his mission, but the feeling of running and flying through the skies of Gotham is something he will miss, his nights are numbered.

Stopping the Penguin's goons isn't easy, they managed to cause them a couple of problems but they finish fast enough to hear Batman's words perfectly. Tim barely registers what Jason says next to him, focusing solely on Bruce's voice.

"When everyone's done, we'll see you in the cave."

Cold, distant, like a dagger lazily embedded in a lung. The tone he occupies when one of them has disappointed him, lately it's Damian who has received it, even though the teenager has stopped being the ten-year-old brat who came to the mansion, but what for them was four long years of struggle for Bruce it was just a few months. He didn't see Damian's growth, nor did he see his downfalls, nor did he see what ended up throwing down the barriers that had been created years ago between him and everyone else.

Batman doesn't see that his Robin is capable of leaving the nest, he just needs to realize that his wings are strong enough to fly alone. Tim had a hard time, but perhaps it was because of the chains with which he tied his wings himself, convinced that he needed them.

Back in the cave, Tim waits for Damian's arrival. They're not the closest, years of conflict don't disappear in months, but the last year has been difficult for Robin, stumbling again where it was already leveled ground and he cannot avoid the guilt generated by the thought that it was his obsession with bring back to Bruce what has generated the unhappiness of the youngest.

When Damian arrives, their gazes meet for a brief moment, but it's enough for him. Tim leaves the cape and hood on the back of the chair and walks out, not wanting to hear the inevitable debacle in which the Batman-Robin relationship will end, a relationship of partners that he fought so hard to reestablish and that, without being able to do anything to stop it, it has crashed into an unbreakable wall. This time it's not Damian's fault, no, it's Bruce's fault.

He enters the mansion and walks aimlessly, stopping in the dining room as he lets himself be invaded by the memories of his adolescence being Robin, then becoming Red Robin, the moments when he felt lost and the few times he thought were if not happy, enjoyable.

It feels as if tomorrow everything will disappear in front of his eyes, but it's only the inevitable goodbye to the only place he had ever considered home that forces him to reminisce about those times. These were not simple times, there is nothing simple about being a vigilante, but it was fun.

He settles into a chair and waits, the what? He's not sure, but he knows to wait. Learn to trust your instincts, she had said, you trust the facts too much, sometimes what the soul says can be right. Five months have passed since the last time they met, it will soon be her birthday.

"Master Tim."

"Alfred, how is Damian?" He doesn't look at the butler, knowing this is the last time he speak to him.

"Master Bruce has seated him on the bench indefinitely." The old man goes to the kitchen leaving Tim alone again, at that moment he directs his gaze towards him. He lets out a sigh before standing up, his gaze now fixed on the finely varnished table. "You know, Master Tim? The day you first arrived at the mansion, I didn't think you would become so important to this family. "

"Alfred..."

"Please take good care of yourself. Don't forget to sleep at least four hours a day, eat all three times of day, and send me photos of the family you will form. "Tim feels his eyes sting when he sees Alfred's kind smile, especially when the man hands him a small package of his name.

To: Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne

A memory of: Alfred Pennyworth

"I...Thank you…."

Tim hugs the butler tightly, feeling the hug, clinging to his understanding and affection.

"As soon as I settle in, I will get in touch with you.” He assures the man who became an example for him, Alfred was always a constant in everyone's life, always close, supporting them in the most difficult moments and comforting them when the anguish overcame them. The cornerstone of the Wayne family.

"I'll be waiting."

Tim allows himself a small smile, he will miss Alfred very much. He may be the person he will miss the most in the whole family, even above Dick.

"Al... Oh, Tim. Something happens?" Dick looks curiously at the hug, the atmosphere in the dining room feels gloomy, and it gives him the feeling that not only has he interrupted an important moment but he also just learned something that he should not, even if he does not know what it is.

"I'll go, Dick."

"You go? Why?"

"Master Tim has a very important mission." He smiles again, but without the shadow of goodbye reflected in his gesture.

A very important mission, indeed.

The next days he occupies to put Wayne Enterprise in order, weighing in whether to leave everything in the hands of Bruce or place Damian as a direct heir. He also begins to appear less and less as Red Robin, not for his family, but so that the city does not suddenly feel the disappearance of one of its vigilantes.

Subtly and gently he loses himself in his routine, cutting off communication with the family. The only thing that interrupts his final preparations is an unexpected visit from Dick, catching him off guard after returning early from a patrol.

Nightwing awaits him on the roof of his building, holding a box of cakes and two coffees.

The two guards settle on the old theater, both with a coffee and cakes in the middle of the two.

"When you go?" Dick breaks the silence, his gaze is fixed on the dark horizon.

“Two more weeks, there are still projects I need to oversee on Wayne Enterprise, plus an upgrade for the steeple that I want to get finished.”

"Alfred said it's an important mission, does it really require you to disappear?" Dick looks at him worriedly and Tim can't help wanting to tell him everything, to trust his brother like he used to, but he can't it.

"Yeah.”

"When you will return?"

"I'll not come back…"

They are both silent, focused on anything but each other. The truth told is too awkward and sour, the realization that it might be the last conversation they have and that they will never see each other again weighs heavily on their shoulders.

Small drops begin to fall on them, but neither is fazed.

"Tim. Take Damian with you."

"What?"

“He… Damian hadn't killed anyone, not even by accident, in three years; It sure feels bad on its own, but B doesn't make it any easier. I tried, Timmy, but I can't help him and if he keeps wanting to prove himself to B, it'll get worse. ”The rain begins to fall more insistently on them and is their signal to get up.

Tim lets him into his residence, allowing him to settle in while he goes over the words spoken by the older man, he removes the hood and leaves it on one of the sofa, revealing the dark circles and the paleness of his face.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Five days, I need to finish everything..."

"You must rest a little."

Tim smiles bleakly and settles on the couch across from his brother.

"I'll rest when I get out of Gotham… About Damian, are you sure you want me to take him?" He examines the older man's face, his mask has been removed, and his expression lines reflect the tenseness of his entire body. "The last word is his, but if he accepts, you will no longer see him. You adore it, if you could you would have adopted him."

"And that's why I want the best for him, if I take him to Blüdhaven it will be the same. I never get rid of B nor in another city, will the same happen to him... I want Damian to be happy, to find his own path without fear of disappointing someone, without the expectations that being a Wayne puts on him. "

"Fine." He gets up and walks into his little secluded workroom, the only computers that aren't connected to either WE or the cave or the bell tower, has his own technology designed by him and funded by Drake Inc., no way let Batman know about the information stored there.

And if you are taking Damian, he must include him in his plans and let her know.

"Tim, what are you doing there?"

"You asked me to take Damian, I must have everything ready to offer to come with me."

Later, he goes into his work ignoring Dick, even ignoring the goodbye and the request to rest; Tim has all his concentration focused on the new documents that he must write and the legal papers that he must forge in case of taking Damian with him.

Damian won't accept it, least of all coming from me.

If I have the documents ready tomorrow, I will look for him... I hope this doesn't delay my plans.

------

Tag list: @incredulous-reader @dnsakina

#ml x dc #maribat #maribat au

62 notes · View notes

keanuvibe · 4 years

Text

Professor Reeves (Keanu Reeves x Reader)

A/N: Okay, here it is. The full continuation of the teaser i posted earlier this week :) I'm v excited about this okee. Thank u @keanusreefs for inspiring me, ily<3

Words: 7.0K

Warnings: Swears, Age-gap, SMUT ;), teacher/student (does that need a tag?)

Disclaimer: all characters, places, and people are of my own imagination save for Keanu :) thank you for reading <3

The bell ringing overhead signaled the end of class and the shuffle of students erupted throughout the quiet room. The mild anxiety that came with first day nerves began infecting your veins again, and you took a deep breath standing up. You gave the teacher a nod on the way out, beginning the trek to your final class of the day.

You are a freshman in college, a newbie. However, the catch is: you’re twenty-eight. You started late, leaving highschool with big aspirations didn't turn out like you’d hoped. Being into movies and film since you were a young child, you decided a career in acting was your best option to maybe, eventually, move up in the ranks and get famous. Shortly after high school graduation, you moved to New York and began starring in small plays. Each night you hoped a scout would enter the audience and give you the break you were looking for, but over the years nothing happened. During the day you worked as a bank teller, having started after running out of money. The job was great, and you ended up staying at that location for six years before it got robbed.

You ended up moving back to your home state and with your parents at twenty-six. You were kind of a deadbeat for two years before your parents urged you to take a couple ‘fun’ classes at the local community college; mentioning how the school had a wonderful drama program. Having nothing better to do, you took out a small student loan, got a part-time job as a waitress, and enrolled at Tulip Ridge Community College focusing on Theater and Acting. You chose a few small art classes to fill the first few hours of the day, and a required English course as well, leaving your last class of the day to be Drama.

Luckily, the theater department wasn’t far from English, being that it is the class prior. You made it to the Drama room placed in a large room just off the hallway from the auditorium, greeting a hustle of students. The ages ranged, but for the most part it looked to be teens fresh from highschool. You scanned the room, greeting the over decorated space. Props from previous shows, you assumed at least, littered the painted white brick walls leaving barely any white to show. Long tables with cheap plastic school chairs sat in the middle of the room, parallel to a large prop presidential stand. On the wall behind the stand was the whiteboards with a projector screen pulled down covering the center. You assumed that was where the teacher stood. You didn’t even know their name.

In the back of the room stood a mock carpeted stage. It was most likely the place they either used to practice plays when the auditorium was occupied or sat an audience in when they did more intimate shows with a smaller crowd, like a dine-in show. You did plenty of those with your theater company in New York.

Picking a table that was empty, you quickly hustled to it before anyone else could and sat down in a corner seat. As a couple minutes passed, more rowdy theater kids had filled the room; greeting the others from their summer breaks. Most of the crowd seemed young, however the wonderful thing about community college is there's always going to be older people.

“Hi, I’m June.” A high-pitched tone spoke, catching your attention. Turning your head, you noticed a lady had taken the seat next to your own. She looked older, maybe early thirties. She donned long brunette hair and was dressed as though it was the year 1984.

“Oh, uh, Hi.” You smiled back, holding your hand out to shake instinctively, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” She smiled wide. “Not to pry, but, I haven’t seen you at Tulip Ridge before, are you new?” June seemed like a preppy type, but very vintage.

“Oh, yeah. I’m a freshman.” You responded with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, well, welcome!” The woman responded, cheer evident in her tone. You were about to respond and ask her a few questions, however you were interrupted before you began.

“Good afternoon class, I’m Professor Reeves.” The humble, deep voice of the teacher startled you and you quickly glanced in his direction. Eyes widening, you greeted the sight of the delicious man. He was tall, towering over the presidential podium prop he stood behind. His hair was long and disheveled framing his face perfectly. He donned a dark brown tweed jacket with a soft green button up underneath, however, and unfortunately, you couldn’t see the bottom half.

“Welcome back, how were your breaks?” He asked, looking around the room. Students that seemed to know the man chimed back with colorful answers, prompting the man to laugh. You looked over to June who seemed engaged and intrigued by whatever the man was doing. So, is Professor Reeves the hot teacher of Tulip Ridge? What makes it even worse is he’s the Drama teacher. You’ve always had a weakness for theater boys; probably just the inner thespian in you. You had a few boyfriends back in New York, however their ego’s always tended to get the best of them and you’d have to break things off.

“I see a few new faces in the crowd this year, let’s see,” Professor Reeves’ dark eyes scanned the class once again; eyes connecting with your own. You felt a chill run down your spine as the swarm of dormant butterflies in your tummy rushed to life.

“What’s your name, breaktaking?” You felt your stomach drop as the teacher gestured towards you. A nervous snort escaped your throat and you felt your cheeks gain heat like a house on fire. You could perform in front of hundreds of people; yet the single attention of this one man was eating you alive.

“it’s- it’s (Y/N).” You nervously chuckled in response. The eyes of your classmates didn’t help the heat retaining in your cheeks. June gently patting your back snapped you back to reality and you looked in her direction. She gave you a reassuring nod, humoring the teacher still.

“And what compelled you to pursue acting, (Y/N).” Your name rolling off of Professor Reeves’ tongue made the butterflies excite even more and you cleared your throat in an attempt to brush off some embarrassment.

“Um, well, I’m not exactly new to acting and drama. I’ve been doing this medium since I was seven. After highschool I even performed in New York for a bit, but um, just small shows.” You answered with a shrug, keeping focused on the teacher. The stares from the other students were burning into your skull, but you ignored them.

“So, what’re you doing at Tulip Ridge then?” The teacher pushed, his dark eyes gleaming into your own. He leaned forwards on the podium a little, his attention still burning at you. You sat up in your seat slightly, not really wanting to admit to a room full of strangers that you feel like a loser and deadbeat and are only here because your parents convinced you.

“Well, I-” You paused, “I want to further my education, that’s reason enough. Plus, there’s no better place to start than community college.” Typical answer, but it hides the truth enough, you guess. Professor Reeves’ stare indicated he knew you were hiding something. You kept eye contact long enough before another student spoke up breaking the stare.

The abrupt bell ringing interrupted the movie that was playing on the projector screen. The class erupted as everyone began to gather their things and shuffle out for the day. Shortly after all the new and old students had been introduced, the Professor had quickly jumped into the curriculum for the semester. He went over the syllabus as well as the first project you’d be doing in the class; which is to perform a quick, no longer than three minute, scene from your movie of choice. It has to consist of at least two characters and be school appropriate, obviously. Of course you and your new table mate decided to partner up for the project with high hopes of good scores.

Speaking of the enthusiastic woman, you and June had talked throughout class slowly learning about the other. You discovered that she is thirty-one, works part-time in a bakery and has a four year old son. She isn’t married, but her and her son’s father are on good co-parenting terms. She’s been going to Tulip Ridge for one year now, making this her final year before she moves on to a four year college. She decided to go back to school after her and her son’s father split, leaving her with half an income but a full child to feed.

“Where are you headed after this?” June asked, tossing her long hair over her shoulder and grabbing her backpack.

“Back home, I’m sure my mom will want me to do some chores for her. I’ll research a scene for us and send you a link, as well. How about you?” You smiled at the woman. Being only a couple years younger than June felt nice, as most of your class as previously mentioned is overenthusiastic teenagers.

“You have got to move out, Sugar.” June laughed with a shake of her head. “I’m going to pick up my kid from daycare and spend a few hours with him before work tonight.” You could tell the woman loved her child a lot. Her voice and demeanor always softened at the mention of him. It almost made you feel the rush to be a mother; but you’re still young.

“Trust me, I know.” You responded with a chuckle. Shortly after, June said her goodbyes and excused herself. As she exited with the main crowd, only a few stragglers remained including you. You scanned the room, greeting the sight of Professor Reeves standing by the door saying his goodbyes to the students. You scanned him up and down now, actually being able to see his bottom half.

He was attractive, there was no doubt about that. The man was goofy too, as you’d expect a Drama teacher to act. During class you asked June if she knew anything about him and she actually gave you a quick rundown. Apparently he used to be a famous Hollywood star back in the mid-eighties to nineties. He did quite a few indie films, and one or two blockbusters. He fell off the radar in the year two-thousand after his wife died; resurfacing as a teacher in your rinky-dink hometown seven years later. The catch is, nobody knows his real name; at least locally. He keeps it hidden, only going by as Professor Reeves or Mr. Reeves. The fact you’d never heard of him kind of shocked you, but it really seemed like the fame world had moved on from your teacher. Students somewhat reacted to him, if they were film buffs, but otherwise he seemed like he lived a quiet life.

Your teacher's eyesight meeting your own caused you to stop staring finally. As a hot blush covered your cheeks once again, you quickly focused back down onto your backpack acting as though you were doing things. The room now sounded mostly quiet, and the pad of the Professors shoes echoed louder to your person.

“Miss (Y/N).” The deepness of his voice gave your spine a chill. You shyly looked up, greeting your teacher. Up close he was stunning. Gorgeous dark hair framed his face and dark full eyebrows covered his fierce brown eyes. You, however, were loving his salt and pepper speckled beard.

“Professor Reeves.” You greeted back, swallowing the intimidation. The man towered over your smaller frame, you couldn’t help but want to climb him like a tree (it’s been seven months since you last got laid. Things have gotten heated).

“It’s always refreshing to see new students.” He gave you a small grin. “You said you’ve done shows in New York? What’re you doing back here, superstar?” The man joked. The familiar hot feeling flooded your cheeks and you released a nervous chuckle, quickly casting your eyes to your shoes.

“Well- Like I said earlier: to further my education.” You managed, gathering the courage to make eye contact again. “I could ask you the same. You were a blockbuster star.” When your eyes met, butterflies erupt in your stomach again. What was it about this man that made you so horny and shy at the same time. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was saying touche.

“Well, I’d love to see your work some time.” The deep tone in his voice gave you another shiver down your spine as you kept the eye contact.

“I’d love to see yours. And, uh, then I’ll see if I have a copy somewhere. I did Phantom back in New York. Well, I was ensemble, but…” You trailed off, chuckling to cover the nervous feeling.

“Ensemble is the backbone of theater, darling.” Professor Reeves’ hand gently tapped your arm after his comment. You felt the shock of his touch and immediately made eye contact as you did so. The man must’ve felt the same, as his eyes shot to yours as well.

“I-I’d better get going.” You spoke so quietly, quickly shuffling past your teacher. However, you felt his hand linger as you pulled away. You felt as each individual finger dragged against your body before you were out of reach. That’s definitely going to help some tension releasing activities tonight.

It’s been three weeks since the first day and college isn’t too bad, you’ve come to discover. Befriending June was a good option, as you two easily got along being similar in age. You even met her son the other day after school. Plus, your classes are simple too; only taking Art and English credits was a smart decision. Drama had quickly taken place as your favorite class, however. Acting was fun, but your Professor also had taken part in your sway on the choice.

“Alright, we’re going to be doing the quick-minute scenes today, I hope you all came prepared.” The drama teacher's voice settled the rowdy crowd of students as he walked into the room. June slunk back into the chair next to you and you glanced towards the woman. She didn’t have as much performance history as you, she’d mentioned at one of your practices that she was nervous for today. You leaned over and gave her a gentle pat on her shoulder.

“Run over the lines again, it’s gonna be great.” You smiled gently. The woman pulled out the sheet you’d been using to run lines and you saw as she began to mouth the words.

Looking back towards the front of the room, you caught your teacher's eyes. He stood up by the podium, a student clearly trying to converse with him although his eyes seemed fixated towards you. Realizing you were staring in return, he quickly turned his attention back towards the student, consciously adjusting the way he was standing. You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing the smile that dared to take over and quickly cast your eyes towards the desk again.

The professor quickly got the class into order, quieting everybody down. He stood behind the stand, now facing everybody as they adjusted into their seats. The man shuffled a few papers around before looking back up and tucking some hair behind his ear. You sighed quietly, slinking further into your chair and crossing your legs. Your crush was only getting worse.

“So, before I start calling names, who’d like to present first.” Professor Reeves made a point to look directly at you. You raised your brow, shaking your head ‘No’ slowly. June would die if you two went first anyways. His eyes then moved on, looking at the other groups of students before he clicked his teeth and shrugged, choosing one of the fresh-from-highschool kids.

The kid sighed loudly, tapping his partner on the shoulder and standing up. Professor Reeves pushed the podium out of the way and to the side so the students could stand front and center.The two of them introduced themselves as Travis and Mike before jumping into it. As they started, you easily recognized the scene to be from the third Lord of The Rings installment, when Gandalf gives Pippin the speech about death.

June’s phone sitting on your table vibrated and she quickly picked it up to avoid any more distraction. You glanced over to her, watching her read the text and her expression turn more sour with each word. Furrowing your brow, you scooted your chair closer and quietly whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

The woman didn’t answer right away, instead you could see as her eyes reread the text before she finally seemed to snap to reality.

“M-My son got into trouble at daycare- I need to go. I can’t perform our presentation today.” She seemed annoyed by this but started to collect her things. I guess it was the last class of the day anyways, and you’re sure you can convince Professor Reeves to extend your scene to tomorrow.

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out, go.” You gave her a reassuring nod and she smiled back. After gathering her things and waiting for the current group to finish, she stood up and quietly made her way to your teacher, asking to be excused. The man seemed to comply as she thanked him and quickly turned to leave, giving you a small wave and smile on the way out the door. You let your smile linger before a quiet sigh escaped.

Class proceeded normally. A few groups went before the Professor ended up calling your name. He clearly saw your partner leave, so what is he planning?

“(Y/N), why don’t you give your presentation?” His deep voice always had some sway over you. But you resisted, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Uh, my partner had an emergency and left.” You spoke, furrowing your brow. Your teacher nodded, acting as though it was new information in front of the class before he looked back at you.

“Well, maybe I can be your partner today. What were you going to perform?” The coy expression that covered his face said all it needed to. You felt the mock anger that covered the romantic feelings you felt made itself present and you let out a sigh before answering.

“Alright, well, we were going to perform an excerpt from ‘Moulin Rouge’, um, right before they burst into ‘Silly Love Songs’. I have a copy of our lines if you want.” As you spoke, you’d already gathered your copy of the sheet and made your way to the front. Ignoring the stares of your classmates was the best way to deal with your nerves, even though their eyes were burning into you like you were a demon and they were holy water. You were about to perform with your teacher, and that needed all of your focus currently. Handing over the sheet, your fingers brushed and an electric feeling coursed through your body starting from your fingertips. It gave a jolt to your heart, stuttering your breath for a moment.

“Um, June was a bit scared to do the minor singing part, so I’ll be playing Christian and you’ll be Satine.” You spoke, first looking towards the Profesor then glancing across the class. A few muttered laughs came from the immature minds humoring at the gender switch. The man let out a low chuckle himself but nodded, holding up the sheet so he could read the lines.

“Christian, I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.” Your teacher began, his eyes cast between your reaction and the paper. You quickly got into character, prepared to react.

“Yes. Silly of me, to think y-you could fall in love with someone like me.” You spoke with a sigh, feigning to be sad.

“I can’t fall in love with anyone.” The man responded with a sad chuckle, stepping closer towards your figure. You felt your heartbeat raise slightly.

“Can’t fall in love? But a life without love… That’s terrible!” You lightly exclaimed, leaning into the character more. You and June chose the movie having seen it as young girls and loving the romance of it all. Of course you ended up doing a romantic scene with Professor Reeves.

“No!” The man reacted, “Being on the street, that’s terrible.” His tone suggested he was getting defensive just as Nicole Kidman did playing the line.

“No, love is like oxygen!” You reacted again, stepping towards the man. As you got further into the scene, your nerves began melting away. The second hand feeling that came when you did act was starting to kick in. It's been a while since you last did a show, since you left New York two years ago.

“What?” He spoke, furrowing his brow. You started pacing towards him more.

“Love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!” By now, you were in his face, arms spread with determination; just like you’d practiced with June.

“Please, don’t start that again.” Professor Reeves sighed, his hand placing itself on your shoulder and lightly pushing away.

“All you need is love,” You began singing softly, leaning closer to him.

“A girl has got to eat!” He exclaimed, taking a step away.

“All you need is love,” You sang again, a smile overtaking your face. Your teacher stepped back, turning away from you, really leaning into the character. You assumed he’s seen this move before by how well he was acting.

“She’ll end up on the street!” He spoke again, turning to face you again. You got up close again, capturing his hand into your own, your faces positioning closer than they should be.

“All you need is love…” You sang softly to finish off your lines, eyes connecting with your teachers. You hadn't noticed the slight wrinkle around them until now, and couldn't help the endearment that rushed your body.

“Love is just a game.” The professor didn’t sing the part like in the movie; instead he spoke it, but the emotion that line carried still was present. You were getting swept away in the intensity of the scene. His dark brown eyes stared back into your own, hinting his own feelings of lust and want. The sound of someone's chair scraping brought you back to reality and you quickly stepped away to a normal distance. Clearing your throat, you turned towards your classmates and took a quick bow before making your way back towards your table. The burning stare of your teacher's eyes into your back definitely didn’t help.

“Good job (Y/N). I’ll go ahead and give June the credit too.” Professor Reeves spoke as soon as you sat down after the class had finished clapping. You nodded towards him, trying to catch your breath from the whole situation. You wish June were here to witness that, though. She wouldn’t believe it, and to be honest, you could barely believe it either.

The library was surprisingly empty for prime studying hours, then again, it is a Friday afternoon. Most students are probably drunk right now, pregaming for the weekend, anyways. You, however, decided to study for some test in English at the library instead of going home. You didn’t really want to deal with your parents anyways. Ever since you started school, they’ve been more helicopter-y and won’t leave you alone when you’re home. They want to know everything and it’s exhausting. You honestly miss living alone. Your parents are treating you like you’re in high school again, over eleven years ago. No matter, it was nice to escape the insanity with the quiet, always warm because of the broken heater, library.

Plus, the escapism helps with distracting your brain from a certain someone. Ever since your presentation in Drama with Professor Reeves about three and a half weeks ago, you’ve been kind of avoiding him. That happening did nothing to help your crush, in fact it only made it worse. He is so handsome and you just can’t help it. His dark, lengthy hair that he often tucked behind his ear; His dark, fierce and sultry eyes that lured you in every time you caught stares. You, without a doubt, are smitten for a man whose not only an authority-ish figure in your life, but twice your age.

The acting exercises you did in class were not helpful either. You noticed he’d minorly started favoring you to play roles. Of course the students hadn’t caught on yet because he hid his favoritism so well, but you just went along with it. Secretly, you kind of wanted to see how this would play out. It’s been nearly two months since the semester started, and the spark you seemed to have acquired hasn’t fizzled.

“Miss (Y/N)? Not partying?” Professor Reeves spoke behind you. Jumping slightly, you sat up and turned around to look at the man. You already saw him in class today, well, avoided him in class today. This is like a waking nightmare to see him in a safe space. Hiding your feelings, you swallowed before answering. The look on his face was innocent, but you never know what feelings he could be hiding too.

“You scared me,” You commented before continuing, “And, uh, no. It’s not really my scene anymore.” You muttered with a chuckle, turning back towards the table. The echoed footsteps from your teacher indicated he was going to take a seat at the table you currently occupied. Sitting up, you glanced around the library as he did so, but came across nobody.

“Anymore? You look quite young.” He spoke, setting a few books down that he’d had in his grasp. You didn’t notice them before.

“I’m almost thirty, I’m not young.” You commented with a dry chuckle, finally gathering the courage to look at your teacher. He gave you a laugh, prompting you to let a smile break.

“Well, I’m in my mid-fifties so what does that say about how old I am?” He rebuttaled with humor lacing his tone. You finally broke the resistant act and chuckled, looking towards him. He gave you a soft smile in return, enjoying seeing you filled with humor. The man didn’t want to admit that he also had developed some type of emotion for you as well. Since the moment you introduced yourself he knew you were going to be an issue. Not necessarily a bad thing, just a hindrance. He’s seen a lot of students come and go over the years he’s been teaching, but you’re the first one that’s captivated his eye, ever.

“Right, sorry.” You laughed, looking back towards the notes you’d been writing on. The two of you fell into a silence before your teacher spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay? It seems as though you’ve been avoiding me... If I’m overstepping as your teacher let me know-” The deep voice of your teacher has gone quiet, you knew he wanted to keep this private.

“No- No… You’re right.” You cut him off, sighing and rubbing your temple quietly. “I, uh, I have been.” The silence of your teacher caused you to look up at him. It was kind of strange to be having such a candid conversation with this man, though he’s just like any other human on earth.

“Well, may I ask why?” He asked quietly, almost sounding hurt from your choices. You nodded hesitantly before proceeding. Were you about to admit your feelings? Can you even do that? Is it even legal for faculty and students to date? Well, that is if you even date.

“Ever since our... well my presentation… There's been this weird energy between us and I honestly don't know how to react.” Your voice remained quiet as you spoke and your eyes kept pointed towards the table. Though, you could feel Professor Reeves’ eyes boring into the side of your face.

“(Y/N)...” The voice of your teacher caught your attention and you looked up. His eyes glanced around the room before he stood up in one quick motion. The towering height of the man was slightly intimidating, however he leaned over swiftly, capturing your face with both of his hands and connecting your lips.

Fireworks. Explosions. Electricity.

These were all the words you could use to describe the way his lips melded perfectly with your own. His stubble scratched your chin and upper lip so wonderfully and his hands help your face gently.

The man was the first to break the kiss, as you could've stayed there forever. He parted and stayed only an inch or two away from your face, however.

“Wow,” You softly breathed, feeling your body physically relax. A slight giggle escaped your throat as you did so. The man smiled back, gleeful from the event that just occurred.

“I've been wanting to do that since the first day.” He spoke hushedly. You captured his lips once again before quickly shoving your things into your backpack. If things were going to escalate, there was no better time. You cast your eyes up to his, staring through your lashes hinting at the lust you were feeling.

“The drama room, now.” You rushed, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. You felt your teacher's body heat behind your figure as the two of you quickly, but trying their best to remain inconspicuous, made your way across campus to the Arts building.

Your teacher shoved open the door, his hand hooking onto your backpack and pulling you in. He swiftly shoved the door closed and locked it shut, making sure it was actually locked. You quickly rushed towards an old prop couch in the back corner of the room, tossing your bag and jacket off. You heard your teacher's footsteps quickly follow and the heat of his hands as he grabbed your arm, flipping you around and shoving you back onto the couch. You grabbed his jacket, pulling him down on top of your figure as you fell. Your bodies felt electric causing your heart to beat faster.

His eyes glanced down at your chest gazing delightfully at your cleavage. It only gave you confidence as you tangled your fingers into his dark locks, pulling your lips together. His hands then moved and melded firm on your ass, as he didn’t want you to get away. The scratch of his beard only added pain to the pleasure, enhancing the overall experience. Your hands found their way to Professor Reeves’ jeans; slyly unbuckling his belt and with one motion undoing his button as well. Your hand began to explore, finding his member semi hard and still tucked away behind his underwear. You gently began to rub over the cloth, prompting the man to moan quietly into your kiss.

In the meantime, the man's hands found their way to the zipper of your pants, he’d managed to unzip it entirely and then shifted his hands to unclip your bra through your top. You broke the kiss while he sat up slightly and pulled the apparel off, freeing your legs and top, leaving you in panties and a bra.

“Jesus, you are… breathtaking.” He muttered, eyes scanning your figure up and down. You felt the self-conscious feelings start to fill your brain and subconsciously hid your figure. Professor Reeves’ large hands grasped your arm, however, and kept you from hiding your gorgeous body.

The man’s mouth was swift to latch onto the swell of your breast, intending to mark the flesh. His fingers gently latched onto your bra, exposing your breast more. He gently kissed down the skin before his tongue swirled your nipple, occasionally flicking it with the muscle. The sensation only fueled your fire down south, and you quickly gathered the courage to gently slide your hands underneath his underwear. Your hand first met the feeling of pubes as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, beginning to pump slowly.

Professor Reeves carefully maneuvered his shirt off his body, tossing it somewhere in the classroom. You admired his body; he was slightly toned on his chest, however his shoulders and arms were more defined. He donned a small patch of chest hair, and a dark happy trail that led to a nice patch of dark pubic hair. His hair was messy, and he combed his fingers through, desperate to remove the strands from his eyes.

The man now stood up on his knees, quickly shucking off his pants and underwear leaving him completely nude. After that, You took the moment to ogle him and come to the reality that you're about to sleep with your teacher. This is a good idea, yeah?

Professor Reeves linked his fingers into the sides of your panties, gliding them down and off your legs all while staring at you through his lashes and fallen hair. Afterwards, his fingers gently made their way to your heat, fingers toying and exploring, eyes gazing you up and down. He bit his lip, as a single digit ran up your slit, hitting your clit at the end of it’s journey. You squirmed and gasped at the sudden sensation, earning a whisper of praise from your teacher. He redid the motion, this time with two fingers. You reacted the same, a squeal and squirm, gripping your hand onto his thigh.

“Darling, so wet for me already.” He commented, voice heavy. “How would you feel I…” He trailed off, slinking down and scooting back until his head came level with your stomach. With the last word escaping his lips, he kissed around your navel, working his way further and further down until a light kiss peppered your clit. Your hands flew to the man's head immediately tangling themselves within his long hair. He took this as an eager invitation, and began to suck your clit with excitement. One of his free hands worked its way up and began to twist your nipple gently. The sensitivity of your body caused you to moan and tighten your grip on the man's hair. His free hand left your nipple and moved down to your vagina. He continued to lick and flick your clit with his tongue as he slowly inserted a single digit. You tightened around his finger, enjoying the feeling of it all as he began to finger you carefully.

“Oh, Professor,” A breathy moan left your lips. The man’s reaction was to finger you faster while he sucked your clit harder. His beard rubbing against your inner thigh felt so wonderful, and you nearly suffocated the man between your legs. The teacher began to move his fingers skillfully. He kept tapping your g-spot as he did so, earning even louder cries of pleasure from you. He could tell you were getting close, as you kept tightening around his fingers and were basically giving him a head massage. He gently pulled them out, and gave one last sweet kiss to your clit before sitting up on his knees again. His dick was now fully hard and he nonchalantly touched himself, scooting closer to your position.

You sat up a little, reaching out to grab his member. Your hand replaced his and you switched positions once again, landing you on top. You moved your hair from your face and leaned your head down so your lips were just above his cock. You gently licked the tip, earning a shudder from the teacher. One of your hands gently rubbed your clit while the other held you up as you sucked the bass player off. Your tongue swirled around his member and you bobbed your head, making sure to keep your mouth as airtight as possible. He kept releasing delightful moans, occasionally letting his hand hold your head or fix your hair. He even used it to guide your bobs, keeping you on beat.

“Oh, love,” The man breathed. You cast your gaze up to his face, making sure to stay within rhythm. His eyes were turned dark from lust as he watched your pretty mouth circle his cock. You then stopped playing with yourself and used that hand to rub him while sucking. His moans only increased and became more frequent with each nod. You finally popped off, finishing with a few kisses around his navel. You wiped the corners of your mouth with a slight grin, sitting back on your knees. The man was only harder now, periodically causing his member to twitch from need. You lazily jerked him with one of your hands as you straddled his lap again, placing you into the cowgirl position. You lined yourself up with him, your entrance just barely touching his tip.

Professor Reeves gently placed his hands onto your hips, guiding you down onto his cock. You instantly moaned; his hard member filled you so perfectly as you sat down on him, giving you the warm feeling deep in your stomach. The man’s hand stayed firm on your hips as he began to help you bounce up and down on his dick. He even began to thrust up, only resulting in his member going deeper and harder in you.

Each ram seemed to make his hard cock find your g-spot perfectly. Your stomach kept twisting with every thrust, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. The teacher kept averting his gaze between your face and breasts while you fucked, enjoying the bounce of your figure. When you were able to, you would look into his eyes showing you how much you were enjoying him.

Professor Reeves surprised you by wrapping his arms tightly around your bum, trapping his cock in your pussy as he lifted and laid you on your back again. He then began to thrust more rapid than you'd ever been handled before. Slaps of sweaty skin echoed around the room but you didn’t care at all in the throes of pleasure. You moaned loudly, the Professor as well, only fueling both of your satisfaction. One of his hands found its way to your clit and he began to rub with his thumb. Swirling sensations began to fill your tummy, prompting louder moans. The deep warm feeling before orgasm began to fill each of your limbs.

“Oh, baby, I’m going to cum.” You moaned, opening your eyes long enough to see your teacher's reaction.

“Darling, cum for me.” He raised his eyebrows in bliss, immediately rubbing your clit faster and harder. In response you tightened around his cock as he thrust, causing the man to close his eyes in pleasure. The pressure was building fast and before you knew it, an orgasm overtook your entire body. You wrapped your legs around the man's back, trapping him deep within you. He let out a pleasure filled gasp as his thrusts became staggard. You could feel his cock throbbing in you as he collapsed and lay with his head snug in your neck. You both lay still, but breathed heavily trying to recover from the incredible orgasm you both just experienced.

Professor Reeves slowly sat up and pulled himself out of you, wincing from how sensitive he was. You felt his hot cum slowly drip out of your pussy, but you didn’t care. The man groaned as he laid down next to you, now both of you laying on the couch, you tucked into his side.

“That was everything I imagined it to be.” The Professor commented after a few moments of silence. You couldn’t help but let a giggle escape as you turned on your side to face the dark haired man.

“I don't even know your name, Professor. You’d think I would've figured it out by now…” You trailed off, studying the man’s face. His eyes caught yours and he let out a short chuckle.

“I keep it hidden… for reasons.” He trailed off, mindlessly playing with a section of your hair.

“June told me you used to be a Hollywood actor. I never did a google deep dive to respect your past and, well, you. I wanted to ask you about it instead.” You cast your eyes towards his chest and mindlessly drew shapes with your fingers.

“It’s Keanu.” His voice was quiet, scanning your face for a reaction. You gave him a soft grin, looking up to meet his gaze.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You spoke in a whisper. He kissed the top of your head as a response, holding your figure tighter. It felt nice to be held by someone again. Keanu was the perfect man for that. Ever since the first day of class he’s made you feel safe. Most encounters with men haven't been pleasant, especially as a female actress.

“So, when are you going to show me the tapes of your shows?” Your teacher's deep voice gave you goosebumps, and you let out a short chuckle, sitting up and reaching for your bra. In the odd chance anyone was the show up, you wanted to be dressed.

“When you show me your movies.” You responded cheekily, eyes turning to give the man a wink. He let out a laugh as his large hand landed on your still exposed back, rubbing gently and avoiding your bra straps.

“I remember a certain lady telling me she started in and has a copy of Phantom, and it was mine.” He smirked, sitting up as well and pulling his clothing back on. You shook your head, laughter leaving your lips.

“How about this, over the course of the semester we…” You paused, eyeing the tall man up and down, “Keep whatever this is going on.” You paused for effect, “And once in a while we’ll watch one of our shows. Deal?” It appeared as though Keanu was thinking for a few moments before he answered.

“Deal.”

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu x you #keanu reeves smut #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fan fic

258 notes · View notes