#I don’t know maybe I should sit on this for a while but there’s seven identical posts saved to my drafts from the recent weeks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

figsnpassionfruits · 2 days

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Paint Away, My Little Dove - Chapter 4

A/N: yay, longer chapters! quick warning as the fic is now creeping into darker and darker directions. also a reminder that rqs for drabbles are always open :) i have answered an ask about that in a previous post pls check that out to know what characters i refer to! word count: 2.8k tags: arthur morgan x fem!reader, fluff, angst, age gap, sexual elements, implied rape, sa, canon-typical violence, explicit language dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Saint Denis. What a city. You truly hated being here. Sure, you have had good times with some friends; going to the saloon to drink and sing all night or walking around downtown, trying on every dress the tailors had to offer. But ever since you were practically kicked out of this very city, you swore to yourself that you would never return. Unfortunately, that was before Arthur. He had sent you a letter, the first after the scary night of him riding to Hamish’s cabin. He wanted to meet up with you in the grand saloon to catch up. Apparently he had been staying near the city for a while, not that you would know.

A chill was sent down your spine anytime you passed an alley. You were wearing a coat over of your dress, shielding your face with its hood from strangers. There was no such thing as being too careful when it came to being in Saint Denis. Especially for you. Angelo Bronte had eyes all over his streets. If he would find out about you being alive, you would have been doomed. This time, for good.

After what felt like an eternity, you had arrived at the saloons entrance, eyes roaming your surroundings before finding the courage to push the doors open. You did not need even a second to find Arthur. He leaned over the bar, playing with a bottle of whiskey. The pace of your feet picked up as your rushed over to him, throwing your arms around his back, chest pressed tightly to it.

“Whoa, easy, girl.” Arthur laughed, trying to put a hand on your shoulder. Sensing that you would not let go, he turned within your grasp, returning the embrace. “How’s my favorite artist?”

“Missed you.” You said, your voice muffled by his plain black vest.

Arthur let out a small chuckle while moving you so you would end up standing next to him. “Ya hungry?”

You nod, placing a hand on the older mans cheek, loving the feeling of his rough stubble on the palm of your hand. “Only if you eat with me.”

Arthur smiled, tilting his head a little, silently agreeing to your proposal. He put his own hand over yours only to transfer it to his lips to kiss it. He loved how small your hand was compared to his. He loved how while his created blood and damage, yours created art and love.

“I’ll sit down at that table over there to wait, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Maybe this was not as bad as you thought it would be. The second you saw Arthur it was as if all your worries disappeared. Even if you were in Saint Denis out of all places. You felt safe around him. He was still not physically all the way there. You would notice him shifting around while waiting for the food at the counter, putting a hand over his left shoulder occasionally. But would he still be able to defend you? Absolutely. This man was huge. If anyone should feel unsafe, it would have to be the ones who dared to lay a hand on you.

“Alright, there we go.” Arthur goofed, placing a bowl of lobster bisque in front of you, while putting down some sort of a rib for himself.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Aghhh. Don’t mention it.”

This was going to be a night to remember. You and Arthur in a saloon in a big city, eating, drinking and giggling. What else could you possibly want? At this point, you had already had three drinks. If it were not for Arthur, you probably would have been at number six or seven. Either way, you were tipsy at most. But the outlaw thought that that was already enough. So he intended to keep it that way.

“Why don’tcha sell your art over here, sweetheart? Lots of people- I’m sure you’d make some money.” Arthur whispered in your ear, his hands on each side of your waist, swaying back and forth.

He was right. But telling him the truth was not something you could handle now. His body still had to heal from all the damage done to it from two weeks ago. You would not allow his mind to go through more than that for now. “Too much competition.” You lied. Your hands were on his face, your knees bending to match the rhythm he was swaying you with. Deep down you knew that you wanted him. Badly. You were young, but not naive. It was easy to see through his thoughts. He was worried about the age gap that the both of you shared, thus why he was so hesitant with any sort of physical touch unless you initiated it first. But you wanted him to touch you. Oh, how so desperately you wanted him to give into his own cravings and just take you as he wanted. Nevertheless, he would not. This mans self-discipline was just too strong for his own good.

“Where are you stayin’, darlin’?”

“A camp right outside of the city. My horses and wagon are there waiting for me.” You replied, your hands now leaning on his chest. Gosh, if only you could rip off his clothes right here and then. Maybe it was the small amount of liquor talking in your head but those were just your sober thoughts being represented.

Arthur cringed at your words. “The hell y’are. I’m getting the both of us a room.”

“Arthur-“

“No, sweetheart, no more talking. End of discussion. We’ll go on and get your horses ‘n wagon and then come back for some sleep. Sound alright t’ya?” He cooed, putting his big hands on the sides of your face.

Subconsciously, you leaned into his touch, nodding to his words.

“Good girl. Now tell me- ya want yer own bed?”

………………………………………..

“Arthur, this is beautiful!” You gasped, entering the room he had organized for you.

All you got as a response was a chuckle and the sound of the door closing behind him. Seeing your excitement brought joy to his face. The way you were looking into every drawer as if you had never been in a hotel room before was adorable.

“Never know what valuables some people leave in rooms. These rich folks- Ah!” You exclaimed, pulling out a golden watch from the back of a cabinet. You turned to Arthur, showing it to him with pride. “Told you!”

“Okay, sweetheart, we both oughtta get some sleep.” Arthur remarked, taking off his boots as he sat on the edge of the bed.

As you watched him place his bag and hat on the nightstand in front of him, an idea popped up in your head. Your long and black dress had buttons on its back. Obviously you were perfectly capable of taking it off yourself. Arthur, however, did not know that. Why not use it to your advantage?

“Arthur?”

“Mh?”

“Could you help me take off my dress?”

His eyes shot up, turning his body slowly to not alert you. Arthur let out a small cough, possibly out of nervousness, before giving you an answer. “Uh- sure.” And another one. “Sure.”

You took your time walking over to him. Arthur moved a tiny bit back, creating some space between his groin on the mattress for you to sit on. Gladfully, you accepted, sitting down, arching your back more than you needed to while doing so. Your ass was leaning against his inner thighs, your hips moving to cause some friction, which caused you to bite your lip. “Sorry.” You mumbled, hiding the tiny giggle that was about to escape your lips.

Arthur ignored your apology and gulped as he moved your hair from your back to the front of your shoulder.

Your neck and upper back were now almost fully exposed to him. His face was close to your skin and even while trying to be the one in control, you could not help but feel your hairs in that area stand up.

Arthurs fingers were slow and careful. Button after button he opened, struggling to not let index finger and thumb touch your skin. It was as if you were holy. Even brushing against it felt wrong to him. He was withholding from you as much as he could. In his world, he did not want to be the outlaw taking advantage of a tipsy young woman. He could not do that to anyone. Specifically you.

Once you felt the dress loosen, you stood up, thanking him quietly while tiptoeing to your side of the bed, still holding up the fabric with your hand to cover yourself.

Arthur let out a quiet sigh, palming his cock through his pants for a split second, trying to release some of the tension that had formed. Thank every power in the world that his back was turned to you.

After he heard you get under the covers, Arthur started to take off his vest, handling the situation with skepticism. “Ya sure this is okay with you?” He stuttered, stopping himself from removing more clothing off his body.

“I am the one who likes sleeping naked. I should be asking you that.” You teased, playing with your nails as you stared at the back of his frame, silently begging for him to hurry up. You heard a sharp intake of a breath coming from him as you watched him run a hand through his hair. “I want you to, as well.” You affirmed, trying to calm down poor Arthurs nerves.

He nodded twice before he swiftly took off his white long sleeve shirt, revealing his robust yet toned back to you. He looked like a dream. The sheer size of him made you want to swallow him whole. The hairs on his back could make you bite your hand off. He was the embodiment of a gentle beast.

“I’m not looking.” You said as you sensed his hesitation when it came to his pants. To respect his space, you turned to your side, allowing him to move freely without worrying about you. Once he was done, you heard him throw the clothing item to the pile of the rest.

He climbed underneath the blanket as well, both of you now sharing the same body heat under one cover.

“I really want you to hold me.” It came out of your mouth before you could even think of what you wanted to say next. The liquor from before had cleared the path from your brain to your tongue, allowing anything to pass through.

“Ya really want that?” Arthur quietly asked, waiting for a verification.

You nodded, moving your whole body an inch or two closer to the center of the bed, still facing away from him. Your eyes were glued to the laced curtains that were flowing with the rhythm of the wind passing in the Saint Denis climate. Finally, you felt his bodies heat on yours, hearing a small groan leave his lips. The sound alone made you lick your lips and scrunch your eyebrows together, his arms wrapped now around your torso not helping. You wanted him to touch and feel you so bad in the ways that you have been thinking of. But you knew he would not. Not tonight.

“This okay?” Arthur asked, pulling you out of your thoughts with a kiss placed on the back of your naked shoulder.

“Yeah.” You whispered, wiggling yourself closer to him. “This is perfect.”

………………………………………….

Your heels clicked on the pavements of Saint Denis once again, the light morning breeze grazing your face. The sun against your skin felt warm and friendly. Your arms were swinging back and forth with the tempo of your strut as your hand held on tighter to the paper bag of pastries you had gotten for Arthur and yourself.

He was still asleep in the hotel room when you left. Arthur had done so much for you last night, paying for every meal, snack and drink. Since his body was not fully healed yet, you figured that you should let him sleep and surprise with something sweet for him to wake up to.

To be sure of your safety, you stayed on the main road, attempting to blend in with the rest of the high-end society. Your sage green dress and your open hair fit in quite well. No one should have bat another eye at you. You even went as far as to walk right in the center of the street, not wanting to be too close to any alleys or buildings. But even that was not enough. Your fast pace was unexpectedly stopped when you walked into the chest of a man, dressed in all grey and black.

He put a hand on each shoulder of yours, ushering you to the nearest alley all while chewing on a toothpick. “M’lady, if you would come with me, please.” He demanded, looking around to make sure he was not drawing any unwanted attention.

Once you were out of the sight from civilians, he slammed you against a wall, his forearm glued to your collarbones. It knocked the breath ouf of you. Any other man you would have sassed and tried to fight off. Yet you knew this was one of Brontes men. Who else would it be?

“I knew it was you when I saw you at the bar last night.” The stranger spoke through clenched teeth, getting high from the way your breathing got heavier. He looked you up and down slowly, like a predator would to its prey. “You wouldn’t understand the surprise on Senior Brontes face when I told him about you. He’s real’ happy to hear of you again.”

You moved your head to the side, the pressure on your chest still massive. You refused to look him in the eyes, your upper lip pulled up from the disgust you were feeling. This could not be real. Not with Arthur just down the street. Your hands to your side were shaking and as cold as ice as you tried to calm yourself down.

“What a pretty little thing you are…” The man hissed as his pupils dilated from watching you in fear. Lazily he leaned down, burying his face in your neck as he took a big inhale of your scent.

No, this could not be happening. Not again. The tears in your eyes were now pouring as you hitched a breath, unable to contain a sob that broke through.

The stranger moved his forearm from your collarbone to replace it with a hand on your neck, squeezing tight enough for you to not squirm, but loose enough for you to breathe. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t cry.” He whispered before placing his wet tongue on your neck, giving it a small lick, sending a shiver down your spine. The brunette smiled against the soft skin, seemingly liking the panic it caused in you.

It was as if a switch was turned on in your brain as you remembered the holster on your thigh that held a dagger that Hamish had given you months ago. You allowed yourself to relax for just a moment, trying to trick your attacker into thinking you would not run.

“There we go, that’s better.” He said, loosening his grip on your neck as he started sucking on the skin there, his raw hands moving to cup your breasts.

You cringed as you felt him knead them painfully hard, swiftly grabbing the dagger from underneath your dress and delivering a stab to his stomach. Without wasting any time, you pushed him off, hearing him cuss as he cupped his bleeding wound. You grabbed the pastries you had previously dropped on the cold pavement and ran as fast as you could to the hotel.

Once there, you breathed in and out, slowing down the rate of it before delivering a gentle knock to the room Arthur was sleeping in. He did not need to know about this. Not now. To your surprise, the door was opened almost immediately, Arthur greeting you with half-shut eyes and scruffy bed hair.

“Where were ya?” He asked, watching you enter the room.

“Just got us some breakfast.” You smiled, not facing him. The squared table near the window is where you headed to, placing the bag on it before seating yourself on a chair next to it.

Arthur observed you, recognizing right away that something was up. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your neck, which was already starting to bruise heavily.

As if you had noticed, you moved your hair, covering the spot Arthur was looking at. “Join me.” You said softly, making effort to forget about what you had just been through minutes ago.

He looked sceptic yet took a seat across from you. His eyes were scanning all over your features. You were too hectic and frantic, your usual calm demeanor not in the room with your body. “Sweetheart?”

“Yea?” You put one of the croissants in front of him, as you took a tiny bite from your own.

“What’s that bruise on yer neck?”

- 🍯

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #paint away #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan fluff

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criminalskies · 2 months

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I am so badly fighting the urge to let the depressive episode win but I really feel like I’m being forgotten by everyone I care about (it’s definitely mostly a delusion but my sick little brain does not know that)

#oversharing on main #this happens every placement #I become so convinced I don’t matter to anyone bc I’m not here #and it sucks how many of you I am losing contact with because I love you #I mean it #it’s not just a thing I say #I don’t know maybe I should sit on this for a while but there’s seven identical posts saved to my drafts from the recent weeks #so maybe I already did think about it plenty #I don’t know #not cm

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marvelouslizzie · 7 months

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Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.

You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard.

Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.

“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”

His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order.

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.

He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”

He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.

“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.

“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features.

“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”

That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.

“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”

“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.

He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.

“For how long have you been working here?”

“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.

“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”

“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…

His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.

“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.

“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.

“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”

You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.

“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”

“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”

“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.

“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”

“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.

“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”

The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right?

“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”

“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”

“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him.

“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.

“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.

You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.

“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.

“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”

“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”

“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”

You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved.

“How does that taste?”

“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.

“Yes, I am curious.”

You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down.

“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious.

“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.”

You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.

“So considerate of you. Thank you.”

You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that.

What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.

“Your hands are still so cold.”

“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”

“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.

He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.

“What do you want then?”

It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.

“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.

He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.

You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck.

“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.

But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.

“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.

“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.

“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”

“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”

“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”

For him? Sure. But for you?

“The bed is better.”

“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.

He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.

You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.

“That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”

You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.

He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.

“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”

“But you kinda are.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.

He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.

His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.

He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”

You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.

When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.

He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.

“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.

“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”

Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”

“I told you, I am not.”

He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”

“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”

“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”

“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”

You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”

“I just know what I want.” And this is it.

He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.

“You’re taking me so well already.”

“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”

He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”

“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”

“That I am not made of glass.”

“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”

“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.

“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess.

“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”

“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.

“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.

“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.

“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.

“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.

“What do you want?”

“Just… harder.”

“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”

“This! Yes! Just like this!”

“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”

You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.

There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.

His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.

You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”

He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too.

“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.

“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”

You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”

“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.

You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.

“Now, I can get used to that.”

“Say my name again, please.”

You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”

“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”

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soobnny · 10 months

Text

ten things lee know says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, squint of angst

one. ah, i forgot to tell you, there's a new barbecue place that opened recently. i saw it while i was walking with hannie, and i heard they have really good meat. we should go there soon, maybe have it over a few drinks. i'll buy you meat, let's go eat it together.

two. yongbok tells me i should tell you 'i love you' more. i think he's right. i'm sorry if i don't say it enough. i'm just—new to this. but i really do love you, more than you know.

three. i never feel like i'm wasting my time when i'm with you. even if we're just sitting beside each other in silence, even if we're just drinking tea, even if we do nothing for hours. every moment i spend with you feels so fulfilling. it would be hell with anyone else.

four. soonie, doongie, dori need a mom, hm? they already love you anyway. sometimes i think doongie loves you more than he loves me. i think it's because he's most like me. ahh, do you think they'll love our kids in the future too? do you think they'll get jealous they won't be our only kids? (sigh) i can't wait to marry you.

five. when i'm having a really hard day, i feel healed just by having you with me. how do you do that? how do you make my day better just by talking to me for a minute? i think... wait, i know life is less of a hassle because i'm living in it with you.

six. i've never been the type to wish for time to stop, but there is something about being with you that makes me consider it. when i look at you laughing, unaware that you look so beautiful, i understand for a moment.

seven. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. please don’t leave me. i’m sorry. i hate seeing you cry. i hate that it’s because of me. i’m sorry. please stay with me.

eight. i always find myself describing you when someone asks me what love is.

nine. you promised to eat well, didn't you? did we promise? i guess it wasn't a promise, but i asked you to do so. are you eating well lately?

ten. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. and for as long as i’m alive, you will always be loved.

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months

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I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.

Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.

Que pranks!

I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.

-🎃

"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.

Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.

It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.

Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.

Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.

Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.

It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.

"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.

Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.

He can't afford to anger the beast any further.

"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.

Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"

The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.

"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."

"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"

"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.

Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.

"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"

"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.

"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."

"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.

He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.

It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.

The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.

Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.

"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.

Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.

Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.

His little Timmy is growing up-

"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"

"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.

"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"

"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"

"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.

Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.

Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.

Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"

Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.

There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."

"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.

Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.

Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.

"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."

Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"

"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."

"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.

Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."

Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.

Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.

The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.

It's a nice dinner.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Super Robin #Part 1 #Kon/Tim #The family were ready for a announcement #Alfred is stressing about marrying off his the Waynes #Dick's pov #Danny is Kon and Tim's son with no memories of his past life #Meeting the family #Yeah Kon and Tim elopped #Tim was in a crazy era

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honey-milk-depresso · 4 months

Note

Hello! May I request Diasomnia boys dealing a very sick S/O? Like they will get sick every month. High fever, vomiting, headaches, blocked nose, sore throat, you name it and they have had that illness before. And they're also very behind on their studies because of this.

I had a friend like that too, and she’s currently in another school but we still talk to each other once in a while. This might be a little bit of my own experience mix in this so hopefully it doesn’t sound weird :”))

Diasomnia looking after a really sick s/o

Malleus Draconia

The smallest of a little sneeze from his precious child of man already makes him panic. Seeing you bed-bound with a runny nose, sore throat and headache, he’s getting an actual heart attack.

How can one be so frail??? Malleus might offered casting long lasting healing spell, or try making an elixir to make you permanently well again that no sickness can touch you no longer. But even you think it’s a bit too much when he elaborates how hard it is to find all the damn ingredients.

But Malleus is insistent. “It’s alright, my dear. I will scour the whole continents to find each ingredient.”

After much convincing from you, he reluctantly agreed to just help make simple, healing potions that can last you for a few days before you need to consume them again from him.

He might also consult Lilia on what he should do to entertain you while your bed-bound, and I swear to the SEVENS that he will bring his whole violin as entertainment while having many other brass instruments playing a whole orchestra of soothing music for you like you’re royalty or something like-

He might’ve also consulted with Silver for help and he told Malleus that you probably only wanted his company. To talk to him while you’re stuck in bed for a while until the potion boils finish so that’s what Malleus do. It’s rather peaceful just sitting there and talking to you quietly. It makes his heart feel at ease and he hopes he makes you feel at peace too. <3

Lilia Vanrouge

He’s experienced in taking care of sick people because he had young Malleus and Silver, so he’s pretty much equip to look after you.

Although Lilia has never quite experienced someone who can REALLY get sick and stay sick for a long time, he’s up for the challenge if it means to care for you. You’re his S/o after all!

Lilia is actually really good! He knows how to make the bed super comfy for you to sleep in, his voice always soothes and calms you down, he always remind you to take your meds and drink lots of water while you’re at it. Maybe he’ll ask Malleus to make you a potion to cure your sickness for a while or do it himself!

Just errr…. Don’t eat his cooking because, well, we all know how ominous it looks. And tastes.

Lilia has the habit of reading bedtime stories to you, mostly because he did that for Silver and Malleus when they were younger and he projects that action into you to comfort and soothe you while you’re sick. After all, you won’t feel better if you’re heart isn’t at ease, either.

When you finally fall asleep, Lilia smiles softly before kissing your forehead, sitting on the chair beside you bed and watch over you. <3

Silver

He panics a little, but the first thing he’ll tell you is to get lots of good rest and sleep.

He also tries to mimic what Lilia would do when he was sick during his younger days: singing you a lullaby, try reading bedtime stories (although he might fall asleep halfway), reminding you to take your meds and drink plenty of water.

Silver may also seek Malleus help in making a potion that could help you recover for a while or even lend one of Lilia’s storybooks to help you.

Would stay around you to be company while you’re bedridden, even if he gets sleepy and tired he’ll never leave your side or stop taking care of you.

Might’ve also tried to cook for you, but he only cooks soup because he doesn’t really know what else he can do. He just hopes it can make you feel better at least.

While you rest in bed, Silver, although succumbing to falling asleep, still holds your hand while you rest as both of you fall into a deep slumber together. <3

Sebek Zigvolt

Panicking beyond belief. How can one be so fragile and sickly?! He can hardly believe it and he doesn’t know what to do when you are bed-bound. The smallest sneeze of you already has him all over you with concern, so with your really sick nature, he’s practically made it a point to just be in your life now. Like he shares with you.

Initially, Sebek might’ve come off a little bit insensitive, saying how you should exercise more or something to build up a better immunity system. However, Lilia taught him otherwise to put you first. He knows the boy cares about you so he’s helping him show care in better ways.

He learns to cook soup, pray to Malleus for help in making a potion for your sickness (which the latter helped obviously), might’ve also pulled off the “I WILL TRAVEL THE WORLD FOR THE RARE POTION INGREDIENTS TO CURE YOU FOR GOOD” thing like Malleus which you have to keep on insisting for him to, I don’t know, not be stupid to get himself killed and he RELUCTANTLY listens to you.

He watches over you despite being tired and despite him not being the most lovey dovey or romantic boyfriend out there, you know he cares about you, maybe much more than you know. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

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foreveralbon · 5 months

Text

“my model, my inspiration, my muse, my everything” - ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader

in which lando becomes a stranger’s muse and more

word count: 3.5k

content warnings: swearing, i am not an art girlie so very limited (and crappy) descriptions of artworks enjoy!! <3

masterlist

lando doesn’t want to be there. sure, he’s never going to turn down an invitation to go to the club with oscar and the rest of the team, but is he always going to want to be there? not really.

because between what felt like a shit sprint, an even shittier race and the shittiest weekend he’s ever had with the car in qatar, he’d rather be at home, wallowing in his own self pity, half asleep while watching friends reruns. but things don’t always go his way, so being dragged out of the hotel by oscar and the others to a club he doesn’t want to be at against his will seems quite on brand for lando norris.

he’s decided to make the shadows his hiding spot, sitting at the corner of the bar where he can drown himself in enough shots and self-pity that it could rival charles’ mood after a dnf with ferrari. he makes it through five shots, seven songs, and manages one pathetic rundown of the race in his head before two bodies slide up to the bar beside him. he’s known max too long to not be able to tell when his best friend is to the left beside him, so he instantly assumes pietra’s to his right.

“p,” he says, not turning to look at the girl. “do you reckon we can-”

there’s a small pause before an uncertain, “me?” is said in his direction. the unfamiliar voice has him raising his head to see a girl who is definitely not max’s girlfriend staring back at him. it takes him an extra second to register that it’s a very pretty girl staring back at him.

it probably must be the alcohol giving him a boost of unexpected confidence because it takes just the smallest of glances at her before he’s blurting out, “can i buy you a drink?”

he can hear max sputter behind him because where the hell did that come from, lando? yeah, definitely the alcohol.

but her eyes can barely hide her amusement and she can barely contain her giggles, a bubbly laugh that’s music to lando’s ears. “i’m sorry, but i don’t even know your name.”

with his cheeks tinged pink, the man holds his hand out. “i’m lando.”

her grip is strong in his, the rings on her fingers cool against his warm skin. “y/n. you don’t look like you’re having too much fun, lando.” she jerks her head toward the exit, turning back to him with a smirk that has lando’s insides melting. “how do you feel about ditching?”

her hand never leaves lando’s as he tells max he’ll call him when he gets the chance and then she’s leading him out the bar and onto the main street. he finds himself questioning whether he should trust some random girl he just met to take him around in a foreign country but the voice of reason in his head shuts up when she looks up at him with a smile that instantly has his knees weak and his dimples on full display.

maybe this weekend might not end so bad after all.

—

they converse over sodas and shawarma because nothing else is really open at that time of night in qatar, and with every passing minute of their “date”, lando finds himself more intrigued by her than he ever thought could be possible.

maybe it’s the way her hair falls over her shoulder when she leans forward to listen to him and give him her utmost attention. or it could be the way her eyes soften whenever she makes him laugh. maybe it’s the way her lips curve up into the most beautifully cheeky smile whenever he says something so out of pocket that it makes her head drop down as her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“so, what do you do?”

her question comes as a surprise to lando. not that he expected her to really know, but qatar is a small country and he wouldn’t think much would happen at the same time as the doha grand peix.

“i’m a formula one driver,” he says.

“that is so cool,” she gasps. “i wish i could have a cool job like that. i’m an artist, and i guess there’s not much to say about that. i’m in a bit of a slump though, that’s why i came to qatar, for inspiration.”

“and have you found any? inspiration, i mean.”

“not yet. but if you want, maybe you can be my muse.”

he just laughs and moves the conversation along, but his mind doesn’t stop racing, keeps screaming, yeah, maybe i can.

—

lando decides it quickly: he’s had y/n for two weeks and he would go to the ends of the world and back for her.

after their late night date in qatar, they exchanged numbers after finding out they both live in london, under the promise they would see each other again when they were both back home.

since then, they’d spent hours messaging each other. lando talks about his driver friends, his childhood in karting and his favourite places to visit. she talks about her art, university and her favourite foods to eat. she makes him promise her that he’ll take her all around the world, and he makes her promise him that she’ll never make him eat any foods with fish.

he tells himself it’s not normal to feel like this, to tone it down a little bit. when, really, all he wants to do is just giggle and swing his legs like a little schoolgirl with a crush.

“guys, i’m in love,” he announces two weeks later, falling onto the couch of oscar’s driver room in the austin gp.

“are you now?” oscar muses, pushing lando’s legs from off the couch so he can sit down beside him. lando throws him a snarky look but continues talking when he realises the aussie’s on his phone and paying him no attention.

“no, seriously. her name’s y/n, she’s from england too. she’s funny, kind, smart, talented, artistic. she’s a painter and all that.”

“a painter?” oscar looks up. “where’d you go that you met an artist?”

lando quickly fills oscar in on the last two weeks, from leaving the celebrations early to their nightly conversations. he even mentions her creative slump, how he’s trying to help find ways to inspire her.

he doesn’t register the look of affection oscar’s giving him, but when he does, he stutters to a stop. “oi, why are you giving me that look?”

“i’m glad you’ve found someone, mate.” he stands up and heads toward the door before stopping slightly. “just don’t fuck it up, yeah?”

the door swings shut behind oscar and lando slumps back onto the couch, a smitten look on his face. “me too, mate. me too.”

and when his phone lights up with a photo of her smiling face taken the night they met, he’s never felt more lovestruck.

—

lando asks her to be his girlfriend over the phone in oscar’s driver room in texas. he could’ve sworn his heart doubled in size hearing her laugh out the sweetest chorus of “yes” he’d ever heard in his life.

he spends the next four weeks leading to the winter break on the phone with his girlfriend - his girlfriend! - and his first day off on a plane to see her. she greets him at the airport, practically jumping into his arms when she sees him.

from the moment he gets her in his arms, he knows he’s never going to let her go. and he quite literally doesn’t the first few days. his hand is glued to her thigh in the car, his arms wrapped around her shoulders or waist whenever he can get behind her, or he’s got a hand in her pocket as they walk around. it’s only until she has to go to art studio that she manages to peel him off her.

“listen, lan, baby,” she says between the kisses he presses onto her lips, “i need to go now, but i’ll be back to pick you up later.”

“but i don’t want you to go,” he whines. she presses her palm to his cheek lovingly before walking out the front door of his london home and leaving him alone.

but true to her word, she’s back a couple hours later, urging him into the car, and when he asks where she’s taking him, she simply says somewhere.

it doesn’t take long for them to pull up in front of a small building, and he doesn’t question it when she tells him to close his eyes before she takes his hand and leads him inside.

“promise me you’re not looking, lan.” her own hands now cover his eyes as she guides him through the building.

“promise, love,” he says.

it’s not until he feels her hands moving away and the creak of a door swinging open that he opens his eyes and is meant with a paint-splattered room full of used and empty canvases. but then she turns his attention to a certain corner of the room, a display of canvases stood on easels staring back at him - it takes a moment for him to notice that it’s his face staring back at him. multiple portraits of close up shots, to him on the podium, to even a formula one car going around a corner of the track.

“i have an art exhibition coming up and i didn’t know what to do, but when i saw you, i just knew i had to paint you,” she explains, following him closer to the paintings. she lets him brush his fingers across the fabric, watches him trail every detail along the curve of his painted faces, the glint of his p2 trophy from his podium in brazil, the shape of the car - max’s, he realises. he tears his gaze away just as she continues talking.

“i know it’s not a lot, and it might seem a bit creepy because i did go through pinterest for a bunch of good photos of you, and i took screenshots of you whenever skysports showed you on screen. but you’re just so pretty, and i really, really wanted to paint you and-” she registers the look he’s giving her, arms crossed, head tilted to the side as his face stretches into a smile so big his eyes squint. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“you think i’m pretty?”

she scoffs and pushes him back, a laugh bubbling out of lando’s mouth as he grabs her wrist and hold her to him. she loops her arms around his neck before saying, “you know, i almost forgot why i loved this.” she pauses, and he gives a look, prodding her on. “but you’ve reminded me why. it’s like being with you makes the world seem different. brighter. better. happier.”

lando wishes he had his camera, wishes he could be a painter like her just so he could capture the pure joy in her eyes and keep it forever, because even if her face in that moment was the last thing he saw, lando’s sure he would die a happy man.

he doesn’t know what to say, so he just kisses her instead, letting her know all he was trying to say with that one sweet motion. and when he rests his forehead on hers, he grins cheekily and says, “looks like i became your muse after all, huh?”

—

the gallery is bustling with noise as he pushes past the double doors into y/n’s art exhibition four months later. four months of late nights and long days, multiple stress breaks and even more mental breakdowns. though most of the work took place during the winter break, lando wouldn’t have traded it for the world, because no matter how he spent it, there was nothing better than being by his girl’s side.

oscar stands to his right, a woah of appreciation escaping his lips as they take in the gallery.

paintings in shades of orange, pink and yellow hang along one wall - her perception of him watches everyone from its place on the wall opposite. oscar and lando stand tall in their own separate large frame, and it’s hard to miss the signature colours of mclaren, but dimmer, almost warmer, a style lando would recognise anywhere as y/n’s having spent so long around it.

the way everyone marvels over his girl’s artwork is music to his ears and he can’t help but flush when people recognise him as the man in the portraits.

“young lando norris,” someone booms from behind him. he recognises y/n’s art professor emerging from the crowd and greets the older man with a firm handshake.

“sir! good to see you,” lando says politely.

he gestures around him. “your girl’s done well, lando.”

lando nods. “she has. i’m very proud of her, i always knew she could do it.”

“have you seen her yet?”

“no, i haven’t, actually. i came with oscar, so.”

the older man ahhs, giving him a knowing smile. “well, don’t let me hold you up. go get her.”

lando leaves them with a gracious nod, moving through the crowd to his girl, all the while accepting handshakes from supportive friends and small wishes of “congratulations”, “well done” and “tell her we’re proud of her”. he finally spots her, hair pinned to perfection and dress perfectly hugging every curve of her body, making small talk with a well-dressed couple in the corner of the room.

he catches the exact moment she realises he’s there, revels in the grin that splits her face as she excuses herself. it’s barely a minute between that moment to when she’s barreling into his arms, head furrowing in the crook of his neck as she mumbles, “you made it.”

he presses her tighter to his body. “i wouldn’t miss this for the world, love.”

their moment short-lived though when someone kindly taps on her shoulder. y/n pulls away from him and, with one glance at the woman, turns back to him. “i have to go make a speech, but i’ll be back right after.”

he lets her go with a quick kiss to her lips and forehead and never takes his eyes of her as she makes her way through the crowd to the front of the room, his cheeks flushing when she catches sight of him and blows him a quick kiss. he feels oscar come up beside him, handing him a glass before resting his now-free hand on lando’s shoulder, muttering a low, “simp.”

shut up he shoots back, just as y/n taps the microphone in her hand once, twice, getting the guests’ attention.

“hello everyone, i just wanted thank you all for coming out here tonight. it means so much to me.” she pauses for the ‘you’re welcome’s’ before continuing, “i know i’ve already addressed everyone here and said my thank you’s, but i’d like to mention two more people. oscar, who was patient enough to pose for me for one of my paintings. it means the world to me, thank you, osc.

“and to lando, the boy who inspired me to do all this. if you don’t know who he is, just look around, you’ll find him, he looks really similar to the big guy on the wall.” a chorus of laughter rings out. “without you, lan, i couldn’t have done any of this. thank you for sitting there on facetime so that i could sketch you because i was scared i wouldn’t do you justice from memory, thank you for bringing me takeout when i was stuck in the studio late at night, hyper-fixating on the smallest of details and so much more. i love you, so so much.”

and as the crowd erupts into applause, he just raises his glass in the smallest of gestures to her, and whispers, “anything for you, baby.”

—

it’s later that night when they’re both in the comforting darkness of their room, still tipsy off too many glasses of champagne and each other. he runs a hand through her hair, her naked body warm against his. they’re already so close he can’t even tell where he starts and she stops, but he needs to be closer. he tugs her toward him, bringing her leg over his hip and tucking her face in the crook of his neck before wrapping his arms around her torso.

“lando, i can’t breathe,” she laughs, but she still furrows closer to him.

“it’s a great way to go, don’t you think?”

“mmm, the best way.”

“baby?”

“yes.”

he knots his hand through her hair once more, pulling her away from his neck and forcing her to look at him. “you know i live for you, right?”

“do you?” her voice is incredulous, like she can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

“only you, because of you. no one else.”

she’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of their even breaths filling the room. and then she’s pressing the softest kisses to his face. his eyes - “my model” - cheeks - “my inspiration” - nose - “my muse” - and then his lips: “my everything.”

“i love you, lando.”

“i love you, too, baby.”

“only me?”

her voice is small and muffled and he can’t help but laugh. “yeah, darling, only you.”

—

author’s note: helloo, firstly, thank you soso much to @disneyprincemuke for encouraging me to finish this mwah <3

secondly, i don’t normally write fics, i mainly write other original works and my main genre is normally thriller and suspense so this is very far off what i normally write. feedback is so appreciated so please don’t hesitate to critique :)

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #actually reading it back i kinda like it #liyah writes

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iateyourparents · 6 months

Text

new girl | c.b.

pairing: colby brock x fem!reader

summary: colby goes live on instagram but not everything goes as planned.

warnings: nothing really, just bad writing and grammar(sorry, english isn’t my first language)

an: colby was pacing so much on his ig live and it gave me this idea <3

pictures are from pinterest and colby’s snap:)

Your and Colby’s relationship was still somewhat fresh. And mostly important, hidden from his fans.

It wasn’t that you wanted to keep it hidden forever but you were together for seven months so you both didn’t feel ready for viewers reaction.

You knew he had many fangirls and some of them would probably eat you alive but you were ready for that and didn’t really care, but it didn’t change the fact that hiding it was making it even more exciting for you two, more special. So you didn’t rush to announce it although sometimes you wished you could just say to world he’s yours.

Currently you and Colby were sitting in the living room of your airbnb, waiting for ordered food while Sam was sleeping upstairs.

“I think I will go live on instagram for a few minutes.” Colby told you but didn’t move from his place under you on a couch.

“Okay, do you want me to go to our room?” you asked grazing his bare chest with your fingers.

“No, you can sit here. I will be careful to not show you.” he promised and you smirked at him.

“You better do, I’m not sure if your fans would be happy with some girl wearing only your hoodie.” you both laughed and you rolled of him so he could get up. He quickly kissed your lips and told you that he would start live on the balcony.

You were sitting silently on your phone, sometimes looking at Colby and listening to him answering people’s questions. He moved from outside and now was pacing around the room trying to not show you on his phone.

You started reading something on your phone only giving half of your attention to Colby’s words.

“Let Sam sleep.” he laughed and he didn’t even noticed his mistake, but fans surely did. The little, short flash of you lying on the couch in black hoodie was visible for his viewers for only a second but it was enough for them, they still caught it and started asking about you.

Colby noticed the comments and cursed himself but tried to act like there’s no comments about you. Until there were only comments about you and he just had to adress that.

“What?” he acted surprised “I’m alone here guys.” he looked at the couch where you finally looked at him and immediately understood what happend so you quickly but silently got up and went upstairs “Look, there’s no one on the couch. Maybe it was just a screen glitch or something.” he laughed.

Next day whole fandom was talking about mysterious girl on Colby’s live and him trying to play it off.

“You are screwed.” Sam laughed looking at tweets “Or maybe not. Some girl’s theory says it’s prank, like the one we did with Jake.”

“Maybe Sam could act like your girlfriend again and we would just act like it’s actually a prank again?” you offered looking at Colby.

You knew he was worried that the hate you would get after announcing your relationship would scare you off, so you didn’t want to press him into announcing even if you felt like you wanted to just go in public with him holding your hand and kiss him freely whenever you felt like it.

“We should think about it.” Colby agreed “Would you do that Sam?”

“Sure bro.” Sam shrugged and announced he’s heading to the store.

“Do you think we should do that?” you asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Colby looked at you after placing kiss on your forehead.

“Wouldn’t you want to announce it already?” you squeezed his hand “I know you’re scared I won’t be able to handle the hate but I’m afraid I even more won’t be able to handle not being able to kiss you in public, hold your hand and hug you.”

“You’re sure?” he looked at you with a hope “I really want to tell the world you’re mine girl but I don’t want you to be hated on by my fans, it would kill me.” he placed his forehead on yours.

“I’m sure love. I love you and I don’t care what your fans think about me as long as I have you on my side.” at your words Colby smiled widely.

“I love you baby.” he kissed you “I’m sure Sam will be sad he’s no longer have to be my girlfriend.” you both laughed.

“How do you want to announce it?” you tilted your head looking at him and playing with his rings on his fingers.

“We are supposed to be exploring a house this weekend, would you like to go with us?” he smirked and you nodded with a smile.

“Sounds fun.” after a moment of silence you added “I hope your fangirls won’t be haunting me after the announcement.”

Colby laughed at that.

“I’m sure they will love you, you are just impossible to not love.” he kissed your nose.

“Yeah but they also hoped to be your girl some day.” you giggled.

“Well, this place isn’t available anymore, sorry.” he shrugged “Let’s watch something.”

#colby brock #colby brock x reader #sam and colby #snc #colby #katrina stuart #samuel golbach #sam golbach

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paperultra · 6 months

Text

eye to eye.

Pairing: OPLA!Monkey D. Luffy x Reader Word Count: 781 words Warnings: None

He’s been staring for five minutes now.

Five minutes and thirty-three seconds, to be exact. Twenty-seven more seconds and it’ll be six minutes, and you don’t know if you can handle six minutes of him looking at you; everyone on this ship has fallen prey to those big brown eyes, and you are certainly no exception – how many times have you scraped off the last portion of your meal onto his plate, or let him trail after you and chatter away while you did inventory, or sat on the figurehead with him despite your fear of heights because of those eyes? The answer is more than once, and you know you’d do it again in a heartbeat as you finally look up from your newspaper.

“You need anything, Luffy?”

“Nope,” he says.

He continues to stare at you, that achingly wide, sunny grin on his face. You blink. He does too.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“... Well,” you say slowly, more befuddled as the seconds tick by – surely, it’s now been over six minutes – “do you want something?”

(There is always a ninety-two percent chance that Luffy wants something, concrete or not. Seventy percent of the time it is concrete, and the thing he wants is food.)

Luffy shakes his head. He props his elbows onto his knees and rests his chin in his hands, and you swear you see his eyes sparkle underneath the tattered brim of his straw hat.

“I just like looking at your face,” he chirps.

The force of those few words is enough to stop your heart in your chest. It stutters in place, then starts again, jumping with glee.

“H-Huh?”

“I like looking at your face,” he repeats as if you didn’t hear it the first time.

You lick your lips, grappling for something to say in response to such a strange answer. “It’s … it’s not much to look at,” you finally say, curling up out of habit. “There’re better faces out there.”

“But I want to look at yours.” Luffy jabs a finger towards you. You shrink back a bit, cheeks beginning to warm. “And there’s lots to look at, like your nose and eyes and stuff.”

You wonder if you should take that as a compliment. But Luffy doesn't do compliments; he only does the truth, and maybe that makes what he’s said infinitely more valuable.

"Thanks for noticing," you reply, awkward but fond. He nods happily, and you find yourself adding, "I like looking at your face too."

It's not a lie, nor an attempt to return the favor. You do like looking at Luffy's face. You like the wild, coal-black curls framing it, the perpetually goofy smile, the scar, the eyes that turn into dark honey in the sunlight. The eyes that look back at you and promise freedom and joy and everything good the world has to offer.

"You do?" He sounds very pleased and scoots closer. "That's great! We can look at each other."

"Won't that get boring after a while?"

"If it does, we can go and eat something."

You snort, face now very hot as you move to sit cross-legged. "You're funny, Luffy."

And so you look at Luffy, and Luffy looks at you, knees touching and the room still with a few rare seconds of contemplative silence. A few seconds, because that is all you can take before you dissolve into giggles, half flustered and half entertained. (This is how you often are around him nowadays.)

It isn't long before Luffy joins you, and the two of you end up lying on the floor, cackling until you're out of breath.

"Ahhh! That was fun," Luffy gasps once he can speak coherently again. "Now let's get something to eat!"

"You're bored already?" you ask in between gulps of air.

"No, but I'm hungry." With a grunt, he rolls back and catapults himself onto his feet, then picks you up and sets you down to stand before tugging on your arm. "Let's ask Sanji to make us a snack."

You nod, and soon enough, the floor of the Going Merry thrums with the sound of two scruffy pairs of shoes running over it, laughter bouncing off the walls as Luffy's hand grips yours. It's the same way he holds your heart, tightly but kindly. You squeeze back.

Three words balance on the tip of your tongue. You swallow them.

One day, you think. One day, he will look at you like he did today, and you will tell him how much a person like him means to a person like you.

But right now, you're going to ask Sanji to make you and Luffy something to eat.

#opla #one piece #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy #opla luffy #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #this could also be read as platonic tbh #i think all of luffy's friends are platonically in love w him a lil bit :))#finally wrote a fic for our favorite captain of the straw hats !!! he's such a silly guy lol i love him

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jymwahuwu · 7 months

Note

(Ignore this if this isn’t your thing)

I think about sugar daddy Yan jing yuan- man got money I know it I know he also prob has more then 2 black cards and lives in a nice home. He be such a sweet sugar daddy but also manipulative and sneaky too honesty. Yan sugar daddy jing yuan pays for EVERYTHING and I mean everything- bills? Done, high education degree?, paid for all the years you take, food? Done, shopping?- just know you can buy whatever you want with daddy money but you also have to get him a nice and cute pair of lingerie for him to see on you UwU.

And it’s not even thag hard for him too- he has the money and the status I mean- if the great general makes dinner reservation I just know the owner will literally be the one to physically be the host, take your orders, cook the meal themselves with their best chief, and serve it with the best personality and smile. Honestly it be no suprised you get the best views or the entire place is slightly empty bc of his status

Shops will absolutely bend over back for him when he walks around, if he ask if there’s a specific peice of lingerie set that they say it was out of stock- suddnly it’s there-

Always he makes sure your given the best in life UwU

He does all this with a few conditions that you have to follow. Each day 8 kisses, always hold him when in public, sit on lap when he’s in his office reading documents, and most importantly take his cock every hour 7 days a week. Yan sugar daddy jing is essentially molding you to a pretty wife for him.

don’t even think about ending this with him because you may see him as a only cash and sugar daddy but to him- your practically his girlfriend soon to be bride to soon to wife. If you do try all that money he given you will just be gone all of a sudden and your left with practically nothing. You’ll have to come back to jing since he always provides you so well.

Once you crawl back he’ll go UwU ofc baby one thing. And that one thing is he gonna fuking you Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday week- every hour, every minute, every second night after night sevens days a week (totally not a song reference 🫢) because after all that it so your too fucked to ever think you could just end things with him like that

You be play and be his pretty little wife and he will absolutely spoil you beyond your dreams. (Ik those dinner dates he takes you have to be SO NICE and these are def just mt extremes dreams to be his wife)

Thank you for writing such length of thoughts, it was a pleasure to read, sugar daddy jing yuan is something I have never thought of before because I was not interested... but 🫣 But this one is good, I added some background stories 😚💖

CW: yandere, non-con/dub-con, manipulation, abuse of power, fem! reader

You need money, really, you need this. You need to pay your bills, maybe it's an accident, maybe it's medical bills for your important person/pet, maybe you're too exhausted to meet those credit requirements, or some other reason. You move into smaller apartments again and again, eat fast food, and sigh while watching space TV. You need to move to a planet with more opportunities, but how? As you swipe your phone screen, a dating social media ad appears in front of you.

You hesitated for a while, but you still signed up, feeling a little nervous and apprehensive. You simply filled in the information. This application should be very popular. There are users from some cosmic species you have never heard of. The photo only shows a blurry profile of you. Out of place among all the pretty, confident headshots. The introduction simply states your hobbies, you… just want to do things like kissing, cuddling, and dating. Sex is the last step. You don’t think much about it for the moment.

A few days later. You're still going about your life, only getting messages from weirdos saying things like, "I want to cum on your face," "Can you give me a clear picture of your thighs?", "It's mating season on our planet. you can come here”. You always delete and block them directly, which is a bit frustrating. And you get another new message, but this time it's a little special.

Anonymous: hi

Anonymous: want to see a picture of my little lion? 🥺 she is adorable.

You: …?

And then you do receive so many adorable photos of his pet lion that your heart melts. You open a series of topics with this user. His profile picture isn't a real person either, but a picture of a kitten showing her belly to invite pampering. You gradually learned more about him and you felt relaxed talking to him, but of course he didn't forget to discuss...intimate things with you.

Then, the user invites you to meet to discuss more details, and even the cost of traveling through space is prepared for you. That is an electronic certification of a VIP ticket. The stewards of those spaceships bow to you and are concerned about your needs, preparing exquisite meals, blankets and pillows for you. You've never been so far away from your own planet and treated so considerately.

The arrival place written on the ticket is Xianzhou Luofu...?

You quietly search for information about this space civilization, and shyly imagine what kind of person "he" would be. After you got off the spacecraft, you thought about finding public transportation, but someone was waiting for you there and took you to the General's Mansion.

You: Wait...did you take me to the wrong place...

The assistant smiled slightly and left, leaving you standing helpless in the garden of the General's Mansion. The one you've been chatting with for months (the one who was even sending you uwu and kitten love memes last night)...is - one of the seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance. General Jing Yuan?

But you knew it was him as soon as the burly, majestic man with long white hair opened his mouth. When he caught a glimpse of you, his eyes like the golden sun lit up, and he rushed directly in front of you. He put his right hand on your soft hip and took you off the ground. "Baby, I finally meet you…" You squirmed, feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed, "You-you put me down first..."

"Oh… sure, my bad." After being reminded, Jing Yuan carefully put you down so that your legs could stand balanced on the ground. “We can’t kiss while I’m holding you like this,” he said before kissing your lips deeply. Your heart felt like a lightning strike, and you were frightened by such a meeting.

Is this normal? Is it developing too fast…?

The words and topics you prepared have no effect at all. After a luxurious dinner and confession (?), Jing Yuan carried you in his arms, entered the room and started caressing and breeding. You wrap your hands around his neck and stare at his sculptured, delicate face, his eyes flashing with some unknown desire. Those long white strands of his hair fell on your chest and tickled. Your legs were stretched out and were sore from being pressed by his balls and cock. The white seed kept flowing out unbearably, but you were required to keep your legs clamped around his waist to better receive the seed. Your lips parted, tears kept flowing down your cheeks, moans and cries were faintly heard in your throat, and your lower body was filled with sticky and loud pounding. The previous agreement (only kisses, hugs and dates) was ignored.

You have been living in the General's Mansion since then and have no plans to return to your planet. Once you have such a plan, Jing Yuan will plead with you with puppy eyes to stay, even though he has no intention of allowing this. Then as you describe, the general pays for all your expenses, even before you ask for them. There are no credit points in your bank account (you don’t know why it became 0, and the account was even canceled later…). You can only use the two cards he gave you. Now, even though you are thirsty while shopping, you use his card to buy drinks instead of your own money. He pampers you and you can buy any beautiful clothes, shoes, whatever you want. Of course, you must also carefully select a set of underwear before you finish shopping, spread your legs on the bed and wait for him, otherwise Jing Yuan will not reimburse you for those expenses.

Kissing him at least 8 times a day and holding his hand are still required, but asking you to be by his side all the time is a bit too much, even though Jing Yuan wants that too. He is considerate and knows that you need some time to yourself, enjoy your hobbies and rest. If you want to listen to music, read a book, have a party, exercise, shop, watch a movie, just do it. As long as you don't take too long and can come back to him every night, Jing Yuan won't mind. Sitting on his lap while he reads papers is a perfect plus. You need to warm his cock, comfort him, or hide under his desk and service him for hours. Once Jing Yuan returns to the General's Mansion, it will be the beginning of a long night.

You've tried to change and leave him, but that ultimately failed. After all, you can't open a new bank account right now, and no bank in the galaxy would. There is no way to buy a return ticket...

If you do try to leave in a situation like this, you will only find that returning to him is the only way. Jing Yuan has to punish you a little and put you on the bed to start the sex marathon. When the general had to go to work, you were placed with an electric dildo the same size as him, bouncing and squirting until you learned your lesson and married him. You will be trained to be a pretty little wife, snuggling in his arms, forgetting that you just wanted to pay the bills.

Maybe you should ask him about the purpose of downloading this app in the first place. Jing Yuan is smart, but he won't lie about this. He wants you, wants to love you, and wants you to be his spouse for the rest of his life.

#yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan #yandere hsr x reader #yandere jing yuan x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you

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derpy-dogs-n-cats · 5 months

Text

Christmas Wish.

Main Masterlist

Obey Me Masterlist

Simeon x Fem! Reader/MC.

Warnings: Sexual themes, smut, dry humping, clothed grinding, teasing, orgasm denial, cumming in pants.

Summary: After pining for each other for so long, Simeon's Santa outfit on Christmas sets in motion something to finally happen.

W/C: 1.8k+

A/N: Tried to get this done DURING Christmas, but here it is.

Loud voices fill the dining room of the house of lamentation with pairs of footsteps being heard back and forth, some slow, others as loud as the banter in the room with the steps being heard rushing into the kitchen in attempt to prevent the need for damage control. “Solomon no! I can handle decorating the desserts!” You hear Luke’s voice fade into the kitchen followed by a muffled chuckle and small protests of how Solomon doesn’t mind ‘helping’.

“I’m hungry…” Beel whines as Belphie yawns. “Don’t worry Beel, Simeon’s almost here.” You comfort him. All seven brothers and everybody from purgatory hall were already at the house of lamentation, except for Simeon who’d gone to pick up Diavolo and Barbatos for christmas dinner, having insisted on accompanying over. “No one’s touching any food until Diavolo and Barbatos show up.” Lucifer informs to which Beel whines again.

“But what about Luke?” He complains with a frown which causes Lucifer to give him a stern ‘you know what I mean’ look. “Hello.” A familiar voice says that has you and the brothers looking over to see Simeon walking in the dining room with Diavolo and Barbatos beside him. Everyone greets each other as they approach one another for a warmer welcome in a hug or small talk to fill the gap of dinner getting finished but none of it is registered in your head, to entranced in Simeon.

He’d always looked breathtaking in his usual attire- any attire, but tonight was even more so than usual, dressed in a beautiful white suit with baby blue patterns topped with small golden colored designs pairing with the golden ornaments adorning the wool at the end of his sleeves and edges of his snow white hooded cloak matching with a Santa hat of the same design. “Sorry we’re so late.” His gentle voice apologizes before he calls your name in a questioning tone, opening his arms for you with a smile after a small pause.

You finally react and walk over to him and wrap your arms around his torso with his falling to your upper back and holding you close to him, embracing you in his warmth and letting you feel the soft fabric of his clothes. “How do I look?” He asks when he finally pulls away, still somewhat holding you in his arms by keeping his hands on your arms. You open your mouth to answer him only for nothing to come out, still at loss of words at the sight before you, though there’s someone who was never at loss for words.

“Oh Simeon!” Asmodeus practically moans and steps in front of you, breaking Simeon’s hold on you. “Well aren’t you a cute little Santa, darling. Tell me, am I on your naughty list tonight? Do you think you should punish me? Or have I been good this year? Do I deserve some reward?” Asmo tries to seduce him, his arms placing themselves around his neck. “Um…” Simeon looks away without knowing how to answer. “Something tells me Santa has you on a list all by your self.” You resist the urge to cross your arms at him.

“No need to be jealous dear,” He smiles at you. “You can help Santa give me my reward for being such a good boy this year.” His voice trails off to the same seductive tone while he looks back to Simeon. “Maybe not.” Simeon pulls Asmo’s arms off of him while looking away with an almost annoyed expression. “Simeon!” Luke yells and rushes over to hug him despite having been apart for only a few hours.

“You were so late I thought these demons had done away with you.” He exaggerates. “I’m alright Luke.” Simeon smiles as plates lightly clink in the background at the table being set. “What do you say if while Barbatos serves dinner, you tell Santa what you want?” He sits on the closest chair. “To make up for being late.” He adds and pats on his lap. “B- Wh- what? I’m not a child anymore! I know how Santa really works!” He points an accusatory finger at Diavolo and the brothers starting to take their own seats as well.

“Come on, just tell me what you want.” Simeon insists with Luke staying put, and despite him being older than you, seeing a child be so against asking Santa for a christmas present felt saddening, even if it’s a job that’s actually taken upon demons. “Well I want to ask Santa for a christmas present.” You state as you sit on Simeon’s lap, missing the way his eyes widen. “Stop treating me like child!” Luke insists, obvious to how Simeon’s eyes nearly pop from their sockets at how wide they are.

“It’s okay, I didn’t know about Santa until I was your age.” You assure him. “I’m over a millennium years old.” He says in a deadpan expression. “But you’re also sort of 10.” You say. “Hmph” He squints his eyes at you and leaves to take his own seat. “So… what does the pretty girl want from Santa?” Simeon nervously runs a hand through his hair with warm cheeks. “The… what?” You quietly turn around to face him, slightly moving in his lap which has him clearing his throat.

“The… pretty girl said she wanted to ask Santa for a present?” He repeats with a bashful smile. “Well… you see, I might actually need to think about it for a bit.” You subconsciously press yourself further into his lap, and though the action goes unnoticed by you, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Simeon who nearly chokes on thin air, swallowing thickly and reluctantly placing his left hand on your waist while the other one goes for the side of the chair, gripping it tightly.

“Maybe sit on Santa’s lap until you know what you want?” He suggests, struggling to steady his left hand enough to gently pull you closer to him, slightly spreading open his legs enough to slowly lodge you in between them. He’d never felt something like this and never really felt actual interest in these type of acts before, until he met you, and now that he finally has you so close to him, to where an unknown warmth was starting to blossom, he wasn’t going to let you go.

“Dinner is served.” Barbatos’s voice interrupts, both of you lightly jumping in your seats and staring straight ahead wide eyed at being caught red handed, expecting a scolding. But when you look over at him, he’s instead giving you a knowing look with a smirk on his face before leaving to his own seat beside Diavolo. You both stay sat in place quietly with both of you looking around nervously, seeing everyone else immersed in conversations along with small spats starting to form distracting from you and Simeon.

You look back to Barbatos again to see him silently eating his food with his eyes glued to the wall ahead of him and simply tuning out, but despite him minding his own business, it felt odd knowing that he knows what was happening. A small whisper of your name comes from behind you and you take in the noticeable difference with your seat form just a few seconds ago. “Please.” Simeon whispers again, his legs overly tense under you with his left hand gripping at your waist tightly, erection pressing into your ass.

You give a last quick glance around the table and look at him over your shoulder, squeezing the sides of his thighs nervously and finally give in. You move your hands to his knees and spread his legs apart just a bit further, moving to wedge yourself deeper in between them, unaware of the show you give him of swaying your hips side to side against his groin followed by you arching your back and leaning forward just slightly, enough to press your clothed cunt onto his hardness.

You open your legs as well to better welcome him against you and proceed to slowly grind back and forth on him, gently moving along the tent of his pants but pressing deep into his hardness. With his hands pulling your back and forth into him, you feel a wetness starting to seep from within you and soak your underwear, wondering if he would be able to feel you through the material of his pants keeping him away from you as your own do the same.

You give a small glance over your shoulder and see him struggling to keep his eyes from fluttering shut with his jaw visibly clenched tight, trying to not draw any attention with his length growing harder by the second starting to feel painful. His grip on your waist gradually tightens while he grinds you harder onto him, starting to hump back into you with his hips lifting in tune with your own, making sure to keep the movements slow so that no one notices.

By the time his hold on you starts to get painful, you manage to hear a small muffled noise from him with a small twitch from his length warning you of his impending orgasm with his teeth clenched tightly. Your own hands grasp harder on his thighs as well, biting back a plead that desperately wanted to escape you, wanting to bend over further over the table to grind your clit onto him rather than your clothed entrance drenched in your wetness, begging to reach it’s own release and clenching on nothing.

Having enough of what felt like teasing, you switch from your back and forth motions and move your hips side to side against him, hoping to finish him off to stop what almost feels like torture for your empty cunt. “Ngh.” A noise finally escapes him with his hips raising from the chair and holding you as tight against him as possible, stilling against you with his nails digging into your sides with his cock twitching beneath you, emptying his balls with you pressed onto him.

His hold on your waist slowly loosens until it goes limp, his hips settling back down slowly as well, cock softening with a quiet sigh leaving past his lips and eyes finally falling shut. You swallow a small whimper when you feel his release start to soak through your pants and bite your lip in frustration and despite having wanted something to happen between you after so long, you find yourself wishing for it to have happened in a better location.

Maybe next time you’ll be able to feel him inside you, or at least be able to play with your clit, maybe he’ll be the one to play with yours instead and you’ll actually be able to cum with him, but for now, you’re forced to take what you can get and enjoy simply having his cum soak through his pants and onto yours, leaving a dark patch on both your clothes and hoping to feel his warm cum reach your drenched pussy.

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vampi-fixx · 1 year

Text

day 9, sesshomaru: ruts

kinktobruary day 9

sesshomaru x reader // inuyasha

—sesshomaru has been acting strange lately. the last thing he needs is your oblivious questions.

tw/cws: knotting, ruts, dubcon, sesshomaru being too horny to have self-respect

It is troublesome, this burning heat. It stirs, just beneath the surface of his skin, coils between his muscles. It calls to him, urges him to find a warm body, to mount it. His claws elongate as he observes the heat diffusing from his palm. Hm. Even a demon of high caliber such as himself is powerless to nature’s calling.

Much less… his thoughts began to drift to you, his very human companion. There are things he wants to do to you, thoughts that he’s repressed in the past that come snarling towards him, breaking out of their cage. He frowns. This won’t do.

—

“Gosh, Sesshomaru really has been cranky all day, huh,” you remark, after the third time he’s evaded your presence. His silence and occasional ignoring is something you’re used to, but not him outright using his demonic speed to dash seven paces away from you.

Jaken shushes you urgently, glancing fearfully towards his master. “Lord Sesshomaru is going through a… difficult period.”

You frown. You disappeared to the modern era for a few days to sort through your college midterms, and when you came back, Sesshomaru was in this bristly mood. You can’t help but think you’re missing something.

“Is it Inuyasha?” You ask lowly, knowing all too well of his tumultuous relationship with his brother. “Does it have to do with his father?”

“No, and no, you daft human,” Jaken nags.

You’re more than used to Jaken’s insults. “Okay, so…. what’s up with him?”

The imp glances eyes you, before quickly changing the subject. Your frown deepens as you finish bending the stems to Rin’s flower crown, before calling her over and placing it on her head. While she chatters excitedly to you, you find your gaze straying to Sesshomaru’s tense form in the distance, just far enough where he can still keep an eye out for enemies, but not too close to your group.

Whatever his problem is, you would get it out of Jaken some way.

—

You just don’t anticipate how you will.

Sesshomaru’s been acutely avoiding any and all interactions with your group all day. It’s almost as if he’s a specter, lurking just outside of your field of vision. Except whenever he does get closer, you’re overwhelmed by a sense of—bloodlust? Malice? Something that simmers with intensity. You can’t quite pinpoint it, and whenever you ask Jaken, he seems to evade your question. Whatever it is, it sends shivers down your spine.

When you set up camp for the night, he disappears entirely.

Your thoughts are plagued by worries for him, and you fall into a fitful sleep. What could possibly be causing him to be so on edge all day? You’re stirred into consciousness by something brushing against your nose. Your face scrunches up, and when you open your eyes, you see a flash of silver hair, curtaining your view, the same wave of bloodlust—

“Sesshomaru?” Just as his name leaves your mouth, his presence is gone in a flash, the air around you stirred. You sit up, glancing towards the direction of his after-image.

You weigh your options. Jaken did say he was going through a difficult time…. but you aren’t sure what is troubling him. Maybe it’s a demon thing? Should you really risk getting your head bitten off?

Against your better judgement, you go searching for him. Sure, he’s a big, bad demon, but something is clearly bothering him. And as his.... friend—as loathe as he is to admit it—you can’t just leave him be.

What you are not expecting is to see Sesshomaru hunched over by a tree as if in pain. You call out his name, running towards him, but are stopped by a feral snarl as he turns towards you, his eyes flashing red.

“Leave. Now.”

“What’s wrong? I—”

As you approach closer, you notice several things. His claws are sunk into the tree, the poison leeching from it and decaying the bark. The markings on his face are fiercer, more striking, and his fangs protrude from his lips. His eyes flash more and more red with every moment; he looks every bit a wild animal. But, and perhaps the most scandalous of all, he grips his cock in one clawed hand, erect and red, and apparently he was jerking off.

You try not to stare, you really do, but your eyes instinctively dart down there as you feel heat creep to your cheeks at the position you’ve caught him in.

His hand has stopped moving, but his cock stands throbbing, looking painfully erect. You gulp.

“You’re just a mere human. You wouldn’t understand—”

“You’re… horny,” you state, blandly.

“Human—” His eyes flash dangerously.

“You’re...” Your mind flashes through possibilities. Sesshomaru seems unable to control his... not bloodlust, but carnal lust. He is a dog demon, which means.. he could possibly be... “In a... rut?”

He stills. A vein pops out in his jaw, his fangs seeming even more prominent.

“I… I studied this in school. Once.” Freshman biology, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Do you need—” You’re not sure what you’re asking him. What does he need? A hole? A demonness to fuck?

This is awkward. His eyes follow you like a predator, that wave of lust washing over you again. You stifle a shiver.

“Before your arrival,” he says suddenly, the piercing quality of his words startling you. “I had no such issues dealing with these… urges. But now, they are quite...” His claws dig into the bark further, and the bark snaps. “Incorrigible.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m… sorry?”

“This is partly your doing,” he growls.

“Uh-huh...”

“I... am tempted to ask you to fix it.”

This is where your brain grinds to a halt, your jaw dropping. His sharp gaze hones in on the way your mouth opens enticingly, and you notice, snapping it shut. “I—you want me to—”

He makes a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. “Disregard that.” And then he’s stalking away, each step seeming painful, emphasized even more by the engorged flesh sticking out of his pants.

“W-Wait, Sesshomaru—”

He’s on you in a flash, before you can even blink, and you freeze. “I suggest—” The warmth of his breath washes over you, and this close you can feel just how hot he’s running, his entire body diffusing heat. “That you don’t—call me—like that—”

“Like what?” you blurt out. “I’m just saying your name.”

His lip curls over his fangs. His eyes clench in frustration. You seem to be testing the limits of his patience.

“Sesshomaru, what—”

In a flash, he’s pressing you against another tree, and his lips are claiming yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, his fangs digging into your lip. You flinch when you feel blood trickle down your chin, and he snarls at the taste of it, before pulling away.

“For one of the less idiotic humans, you can be quite obstinate.”

“I’m...” You blink, dazed. “Sorry?”

His mouth is claiming yours again, his chestplate pressing you into the bark. You feel the heat of his cock pressed up against your thigh, and you shudder at the sensation. It’s hitting you now.

Sesshomaru, one of the most ethereally beautiful people you’ve seen, the most powerful demon in the Feudal Era, wants to... he’s this frenzied up because of... because of you. You, an average human.

Your thigh nudges against his length, and he breaks the kiss to snarl, his fangs lowering to graze your collarbone. Your breath hitches, and one, clawed finger comes up to shred your shirt. You yelp as the cold air hits you only to be devoured by the heat of his mouth on your skin. His fingers claws through the material of your bra, and you yelp again.

“Hey, that was one of my favorites!” you say, indignant. He scoffs, his mouth suctioning over the give of your flesh possessively.

You moan, arching into his touch, as you stare down at him. You don’t dare touch his silver hair, afraid of how he may lash out on you, but your hands do come up to his shoulders, tugging the fabric.

You tense when one of his fingers lowers itself to your hip, and then he’s ripping the panties and skirt off in one clawed swipe.

“We really... have to talk about you ruining all my clothing,” you say, weakly, your affront tempered by his actions.

He scoffs again. “You won’t need such flimsy things in just a moment.”

“Ah...”

His finger slides against your slit, collecting your release, as you writhe against his touch. He’s aware of the softness of your flesh in comparison to his demon claws so he doesn’t do anything much other than rub his finger back and forth along you. He growls once he’s satisfied with the amount of slick coating your area, before leaning back and aligning the his cock to your entrance.

“A-ah wait—“ Your eyes widen at his considerable length; you’re not nearly ready to take him in. But then he’s canting his hips forward, not penetrating you, but sliding his cock along your slick till he reaches your ass cheeks. He continues this rocking motion, his lips pulled back in a snarl. You moan, dropping your head back, before wincing as it hits the unyielding bark. His hand comes up to cradle your head. “Thanks,” you murmur.

His sharp gaze is fixated on the way his length slides against you, and rubs against your slick; the way your arousal gleams on his shaft under the moonlight.

His hips begin to rock faster now, a growl building up in his throat. You wince at the dig of his armor against your bare skin, gripping his shoulders as you attempt to find some grounding.

You feel his cock throbbing insistently against you, his pre-ejaculate mixing with your arousal to make for an easy slide against you.

He growls, his eyes narrowing. His grip digs into your hip as his thrusts become choppier. You get the sense he’s frustrated.

“Do you want to... put it in?”

His gaze flashes up to you, surprise in the bleeding red, as you continue. “I... that’ll help abate your rut right? I don’t mind... you using me.”

You have little else you can say, because Sesshomaru sheathes himself inside you in one thrust. You gasp, your eyes clenching at the feel of him stretching you to your limits.

“Ever heard of a... a warning?” you manage to choke out.

He shows no mercy, his hips ruthlessly pounding into yours once given the go ahead. It’s clear Sesshomaru is losing his grip on rule or reason now, his eyes maintaining their blood-red state. You wince as his elongated claws press into the meat of your waist. He fucks you like he takes down foes: with ruthless precision. Once his cock hits that spot that has you keening against him, he begins hammeringinto it, and your eyes began to water at the sheer intensity and rapidness at which your pleasure is mounting.

At the sight of your tears, however, he seems to slow down. His tongue darts out to lick them off your face, and he’s observing you, before his thrusts slow to a leisurely lull. When the palm of his hand comes down to press against your clit, the stimulation, combined with the way his cock is plunging into you in long, deep thrusts, has you writhing against him.

“S-Sesshomaru—”

You feel something bulbous forming at the base of his cock, stretching you wider, and you look down. Protruding from his cock is a thick knot, and you gulp once you realize that’s going into you.

You’re approaching your end. He snarls as you tighten around him, both his hands gripping your hips to him now, as your walls clench around him, nearly trapping his cock with their grip.

Sesshomaru thrusts once before pressing deep inside you, a throaty grunt tearing from him. You shiver as you feel copious amounts of warmth seep into you, and it remains inside you due to the knot plugging you up. The moment seems to stretch on forever, his hips jerking into yours in minute movements, and then it’s over.

The two of you are stuck together. You shift only to wince once it jerks at his knot. He grunts, keeping your hips in place.

“Sorry,” you say. And then, when a few more minutes have passed, and the two of you are still in the same position, you ask, “Ah, when can we.... detach?”

Sesshomaru grunts. “Once it deflates.”

“Ah... and when will that be?”

He shifts. “This Sesshomaru is claiming you as his. It will take awhile.”

“Ah, okay—wait, what?”

He presses you closer to him, and you rest your head against his chest. While the feel of cooling cum usually is gross, the heat of his body keeps you warm and feeling full. His clawed fingers gradually begin to trail through you hair. After several minutes that seem to stretch into eons, the bond keeping you to him diminishes, and you shiver when you feel some of his spend trickle down your thigh.

Instead of the hard flesh inside you softening, however, it stays stiff. You still, glancing up at him to see his markings still vibrant, his red eyes glowing distinctly.

“Did you really think we were done, human? The Demon Lord of the West surely does not possess such a meager drive.”

—

The next morning, you come up with some half-assed excuse to Rin about why you’re wearing a kimono from the local seamstress, and not your usual outfit. And why you can’t seem to walk anymore, and Sesshomaru has to carry you everywhere.

“(Y/N) must have fallen and hurt themselves.” She giggles.

“Yes, Rin... on a very large... stick.” Sesshomaru’s claws dig into your backside in warning. “I mean—tree branch.”

“Silly (Y/N)! It’s a good thing Lord Sesshomaru is around to take care of you.”

(Meanwhile, Jaken has yet to be seen since he encountered the two of you this morning. He’s too busy cleansing his eyes and nose out in a lake.)

#sesshomaru x reader #inuyasha x reader #inuyasha imagine #sesshomaru imagine #tati writes #not sfw #kinktobruary

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rhys-writes-some-shit · 3 months

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A Long-Awaited Conversation

Alastor x Reader (QP)

A/N: This was initially a very different fic, but I'm not upset with how it turned out. A little bit of angst to make the day better, right?

It was a slow day. Neither you nor Alastor had much to do, so the two of you were sitting in your room, just enjoying each other’s presence. Jazz was playing quietly from an old radio by Alastor, who was doing some paperwork. You were typing away on your laptop, much to Alastor’s dismay. At least it wasn’t VoxTek, he had to give you that.

“Do tell me, my dear: when is a door not a door?” Alastor asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Oh dear,” you sighed, knowing exactly what was coming.

“Oh deer is right!” Alastor replied brightly. “Now then, when is a door not a door?”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you humored him. “I don’t know, Al. Do tell.”

“When it’s a jar!”

You couldn’t deny the snort that the corny joke elicited. Alastor knew you enjoyed his jokes, but it had been a while since he’d gone out of his way to tell you any.

“Well, maybe you know why the cemetery was so popular.” Alastor’s grin was bright and genuine. Setting your laptop aside, you focused on him, smiling fondly.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“What a surprise! Didn’t you know people were just dying to get in?” Alastor proceeded to laugh at his own joke.

“I missed this,” you said after a moment. “You were gone for seven years. I really missed this.”

The lighthearted mood turned serious. Alastor’s smile lost some of its light. “My sabbatical was… necessary, dearest. I do regret that you were unable to accompany me.”

You noticed how the music was turned up a bit, masking the sound of your conversation. While it was doubtful anyone was listening in, you knew that Alastor wanted to cover his bases.

“You didn’t even tell me you were leaving.” There was a clear edge in your voice. “I had no idea where you were or how long you’d be gone…” The anger, frustration, and sadness started bubbling in your chest, ready to overflow, out of control. “Seven years, Alastor! Seven fucking years, I didn’t know where you were! I thought you’d left me, Al! Or worse, you died!”

“Dearest,” Alastor tried, but you cut him off.

“No, you don’t get to ‘dearest’ me,” you snapped. “I was alone for seven years. We’re partners, Al. We’re supposed to communicate with each other. I don’t even care what you were doing, I just wanted to know you were alright.” You paused. “Did it have to do with your deal?”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

You matched his gaze. “Husk told me. He used to check on me weekly, you know. Thought I deserved to know. Which I did.”

“You don’t get to decide what I should and shouldn’t tell you,” Alastor said sharply.

“No, but you should tell me when you’re going to abandon me!” You were shouting now, standing and staring him down. “You have no idea how much I struggled while you were gone, how much I suffered! You are everything to me, Al! You are my fucking world, and what the hell was I supposed to do when my world up and vanishes?!”

The sound of static filled the room, Alastor gripping the armrests of his chair, leaving deep claw marks.

“I was a fucking mess! All your souls, all your territory, went to me! I’m not an Overlord, Al! I don’t want to be one! Having all that power scared the shit out of me! I was forced to do your job for you, a job I didn’t want to do!” Tears pricked at your eyes as the memories came back in full force. “And then you return suddenly, take up an impossible project, and just expect me to be okay with it? Well, I’m not okay with it! You haven’t been the same since you returned and you won’t fucking talk to me!”

You were gasping for breath when the tears started to fall. You messily wiped them away, still fuming with anger that had built up over the seven years you’d been alone.

“Are you quite finished?” Alastor asked, his smile forced. Standing, his papers vanished, and tucked his arms behind his back. “Clean yourself up. I refuse to talk while you’re being hysterical.”

“Hysterical?! Hysterical?! What the fuck, Al?!” You yelled. “You are such a selfish, pretentious piece of shit!”

With a hum, Alastor disappeared into the shadows, causing you to scream in frustration.

The jazz music had stopped. You were standing, alone, in your room, gasping for air as you stifled sobs.

The day had been going so well. You had to go and fuck it up.

Ten minutes later, you wandered to the lobby, still pissed off, but feeling a little better after crying the most you had in years. Silently, you took a seat at the bar. Husk was there, like always, and immediately started to make you your favorite drink

“Finally give him a piece of your mind?” Husk asked.

“That obvious?” Your voice was hoarse from the shouting.

“I could hear the screaming.” Husk gestured up. “Also, you look like shit, and the last time I saw you like this, it was also about him.”

The drink was placed in front of you, but you just massaged your temples. “I don’t know why I put up with him.”

Husk grabbed a bottle and drank it straight, whatever it was. “Love fucking sucks.”

You sighed, “Husk, we’ve been over this, I don’t love people like that.”

“Sure, maybe not romantically. But you still love him. And it still fucking sucks.”

“That's something, coming from you.” You took a drink, reveling in how the alcohol warmed your body. “Don't think I don't see how you look at Angel.”

Husk glared deeply at you, not denying it. You smirked, taking another drink.

“How do I get him to understand?” You asked quietly, half to yourself. “He’s so fucking narcissistic, I bet he didn’t even think twice about leaving me behind.”

“I couldn’t tell ya’.” Husk shrugged. “I will say, though, that you’re the only person who can actually get through to him. You have that power over him.”

You scoffed. “Like Hell I do.”

“If anyone else speaks to him like you do, they’re dead before they get a chance to think.” Shelving his drink, Husk began to busy himself behind the counter, cleaning some glasses. “Last I checked, you were still kicking.”

Silent, you contemplated Husk’s words. He had a point. If Alastor cared about anyone, it was you. Finishing your drink with another sigh, you stood. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had to finish this.

“Stick to your guns, kid,” Husk assured. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you’re probably older than him.

“Thanks, Husk. See you soon.”

You remained quiet as you walked up to Alastor’s radio booth. Out of respect for his boundaries, you hardly ever went up there, but this was important. Radio static filled the air the closer you got, confirming that he was indeed in his booth, but the lack of his voice told you he wasn’t recording.

Before you even got the chance to knock, Alastor’s shadow opened the door for you.

“You can come in.”

Alastor was hunched over his desk, writing notes on what was likely a script for an upcoming radio show. His recording booth was a mess, with papers scattered all over the place and claw marks littering every piece of furniture that wasn’t nailed down. The feeling of Alastor’s radio static was heavy, but barely audible as Alastor wrote.

“I would apologize for shouting, but I don’t really feel sorry,” you opened with, arms crossed.

“As you shouldn’t,” Alastor agreed, not even turning towards you. “I will say, I’m surprised you stopped when you did. I’d expected you to go on for much longer.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that remark. “Oh, trust me, there were many versions of that conversation where I went on for about half an hour.” You left out saying that you had seven years to formulate them, thinking that would only make the situation worse.

“I don’t doubt you.” After a moment, Alastor sighed, setting down his pen and sitting back in his chair. You can see the reflection of his face in the glass. His smile is still there, but barely, and his eyes seem tired. Husk was right, you did make an impression.

Alastor turned towards you, leaning his head into one hand while he tapped his fingers along his microphone staff. He still never met your eyes. “You… are correct.”

Silent, you waited for Alastor to continue, watching him closely.

“I should not have left you without saying anything. I regret not speaking with you before I left.” You could tell he was struggling to get his words out. Emotions were hard for him, be it by nature or by choice, so you remained patient. “I left… to keep you safe.”

Hoping your surprise wasn’t evident on your face, you found a chair and pulled it up in front of him. The tension in your shoulders lessened when Alastor took your hand, holding it gently.

“Had I not taken my absence, you would’ve been in danger. Danger I’d be unable to protect you from. I could not take that chance.” Alastor finally looked up at you. He was still guarded, still holding himself back, but there was something warm in the way he looked at you. A soft side, that only you had the privilege to see. “If something happened to you, I would be unable to live with myself. So I left, because it was the only way to ensure you would remain safe.”

A hand reached up and grazed your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized was on your face.

“It was the only way, my darling. I wish it hadn’t come to that. And I am ashamed that I hurt you so much in my absence.”

You were at a loss for words. Alastor had never, never, opened himself up like that. It was a little scary. Part of you wished he’d just brushed off the argument and pretended it had never happened. At least that would’ve matched what you’d expected. This… this was not at all what you’d expected.

Blinking, your heart rate picked up against your will. “Al, I… Th-thank you for the apology, I… This… is scaring me, Al. You’re scaring me. Are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

Alastor’s hand left your face. “You are correct in saying that I am not the same man I once was. I continue to hope I will revert back to who I was, but I can see now that that’s impossible. You, dearest, are the only thing making that revelation bearable.”

As your heart beat against your chest, you struggled to evaluate your next move. You wanted to scramble away, to beg for the old Alastor back, but you knew that wasn’t the right move. You knew this was the actual, real Alastor in front of you and not some sort of imposter. The idea that the old Alastor had vanished the day you were left on your own did not sit well with you. Frankly, it made you sick.

But now was not the time. Right now, Alastor needed you, as fucked up as it seemed.

Exhaling forcefully, you took hold of Alastor’s hands this time. “Thank you for coming back. Whatever it is that’s going on, we’ll deal with it together. Like always. I’m your partner, Al, and I’m not leaving anytime soon, got it?”

Alastor nodded, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his spark had returned. His smile grew once more and he stood, pulling you to his chest.

“Well! Now that that’s settled, how about a dance, my dear? It has been quite a while since we’ve had the chance to cut a rug together.”

With the snap of Alastor’s fingers, some jazz filled the room and the disheveled furniture was shoved against the ways to make room. Mustering your own smile, you placed your hand in his and allowed him to lead you around the room in time with the music.

It was nice to dance, you had to admit, but the abrupt change left a bad feeling in your stomach. Something was not right. In fact, something felt wrong. But now was not the time for that. Hiding behind your smile as skillfully as Alastor himself, you went along with his antics.

But the sinking feeling of dread remained.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #rhys-writes #alastor x reader queerplatonic #hazbin hotel alastor #2k words what am I on?#wrote instead of doing my hw again oops #alastor has a mental breakdown off screen #queerplatonic #queerplatonic x reader

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wondernus · 1 year

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x yn #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios

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sinofwriting · 1 year

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Little Wolf - Daemon Targaryen

Words: 1,200 Summary: Daemon may have married to help ease the burden on his brother’s shoulders and he’d come to like his wife, the little wolf of the North. He hadn’t realized however how much she was suffering at court.

Note(s): I’ll be honest I was a little nervous accepting this request, but I’ve been reading a lot of GOT fics lately, and got the courage to write this. It might not be the best as I’m trying to get used to writing a more oldy kind of English, but I hope you enjoy it! (Also, yes, Daemon most definitely managed to get her that as a gift, no spoilers!)

She kept her shoulders low, smile small but not tight, feet solid on the ground, hands gently clasped in front of her. She would not give these southern ladies, if they could be really called that, her distaste or tears.

“You should really try one.” The Tyrell girl insists, pushing the plate that holds a tart closer. “I know such things aren’t available in the North.” She looks to the other woman at the table, thinking that she doesn’t see the giggle that she barely suppresses. “I’m sorry, my lady. Sweet things just aren’t for me. Must be my northern upbringing.” She smiles, forcing the words out. It wouldn't be good for her true words to come out. She wouldn’t not bring shame to her family, wolf or dragon. The girl sniffs, but doesn’t insist, instead turning her head to speak to the Hightower queen and she wanted to sigh at how poor of a match and queen she was.

She’d never say it out loud, but her good brother was not a smart ruler or man. It made her ache for her father, for her brother Cregan. For the family crypt that held her mother, that she could no longer go to for just the feeling of advice. Ache grew more and more as she was forced to be around southerners and their odd ideas and gods. She had scoffed when being told that she’d have to marry in front of the seven, in a sept.

Her only savior in this place, in king's landing, was her husband, though many would never think of him as such a thing. But Daemon Targaryen held the same views that the North did, that she did. He too scoffed at the seven, at the sept, and had agreed to her brother’s demands that they also be married in godswood, as tradition for Starks since long before.

She ached to be around the man that she could still be herself with and not this stiff thing she had to be around others. But, she knew she could not. They had never been close in the while they had been married, but for the past two moons, she had barely seen him, truly seen him. She may see him at dinners, but she had seen him maybe thrice in their shared chambers, only knew that he was sleeping due to the messed up furs on his side of the bed.

She nearly startles at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, but they were familiar even through the light fabric of her dress. “Wife, I’m afraid I have to steal you away.” She nods, giving a goodbye to the other ladies, who wrinkle their noses at her before she stands. Surprise nearly takes over features when her husband grabs her hand to place on his arm as he leads her away.

“You’re miserable.” He says as soon as they are out of sight and hearing and she stops walking. “Excuse me?” “I’ve been watching you, little wolf.” He moves to stand in front of her, eyes peering into hers and not for the first time she’s reminded that Daemon is a dangerous man, a man to be fearful of. “Been watching as you sit with the ladies of the court and listen to them talk, but never speak. Why is that little wolf?” He steps closer and her breath quickens. “You aren’t a shy thing, no one could ever think that of you. But you don’t speak. You smile, nod, and laugh.” She raises her head, ignoring the twitch in her jaw, aware that despite no one being around, they are still in public. “I’m afraid, Prince Daemon, I don’t know what you mean.” His eyes tighten as she uses his title. “I enjoy sitting with the ladies and talking. We just had the most interesting conversation about Casterly Rock and its new lady. She’s apparently having the roses ripped out and replaced. They don’t agree with her, you see.” “You don’t care about those cunts, any of them.” He begins to speak again, but she cuts him off, stepping closer and lifting her skirts just a bit as her voice comes out in a hiss. “I have a duty, Prince. One to my house and yours. I will not and can not forget myself. I don’t have the pleasure of forgetting such things.” She gives him a pointed look before turning on her heel.

“I’m feeling unwell, I think I’ll rest for a bit.” She tells him, before moving towards their chambers.

He watches after his wife, his little wolf, with a clenched jaw and fists, her words of duty reeking of cunttower. And then a feral smile forms on his lips, she was right in a way that she didn’t have the pleasure of forgetting that she had a duty, but she seemed to be forgetting that she was a Targaryen now, not a Stark, and that her duty was different then what it was previously. A smirk curls onto his lips, he’d just have to remind her of that.

—

He bides his time, spending another week watching as she puts on a facade at court, before he makes his first move.

He breaks fast with her and not just in their chambers. And then he begins his next step, he starts to walk with her, arm in arm. Not uncommon for a married pair, but uncommon for him. He never walked arm in arm with a lady unless you could count when his niece was younger and she would demand for him to carry her around. People take notice and whispers start but they’re easily curbed as a new bastard is born from the house of hightower. No one knows or can tell if it’s from the hand or his eldest son, but the people talk as the queen is near tears at the shame to her family when not praying in the sept.

And as he increases his affections for his wife in the court's eye, as well as in private, he waits. He waits and waits and then one morning as they break fast, he gets the message he’s been waiting for and he quickly excuses himself.

He offers a nod to the Snow boy that his good brother had sent, pleased to not hear him stammer, just a quiet your grace being said. “You had a safe journey?” “Yes. Traded horses just as often as you suggested and I have it.” He quickly presses forward a bundle of what seems to be fabric forward, but the weight and heat that touches his hands tells him that it is indeed what he asked for. “Good.” He adjusts the wriggling package to rest between his sword arm and side as he reaches for a pouch of coins, tossing it to the bastard. “Try not to spend it all in flea bottom, Snow.” He gives a quick bob of his head, eyes wide. “Thank you, your grace.” Daemon doesn’t bother responding, already turning around and heading back to his chambers where his wife is, a smirk on his face as he imagines her reaction to the wriggling gift he has for her.

#daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #stark!reader #i can't believe it's 2023 and I'm writing and reading got fics #what timeline is this?#also I hope you enjoy this nyctophilic0vitnir

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sailor-aviator · 4 months

Text

Fool's Fare: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warning: Language, Big brother Bradley, Secrets, Feelings of betrayal, Abandonment issues from the reader, Reader says something she'll regret later, Allusions to prostitution and violent men, Magic, Curses, Supernatural is real, Reader cries, Feelings of helplessness, Pirate!Jake. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

“What do you mean you still haven’t eaten?”

Bradley winced at your tone, running a hand through his brown locks as he eyed you wearily. You had meant to drag him to the physician at the last port you had docked at, but the excitement from the day prior had wiped the issue completely from your brain. Who knew falling overboard could do that to a person?

Now here you were a week later, and it had finally dawned on you that you hadn’t seen your brother eat much more than an apple here and there. You had kept quiet the past two days, silently observing him, and here you sat in the galley, Bradley to your right with Mickey and Nat sat across from you. The rest of the crew milled about, and it wouldn’t be long before Bob and Reuben joined your little group for breakfast.

“It’s not that serious, Guppy,” he murmured, casting a weary look at the two sitting across from you. “I feel fine.”

“Bradley, you aren’t eating,” you scowled, turning your own gaze to your new friends. “Tell him he needs to go see a physician.”

The two shared a look before Mickey shook his head, putting his hands up in surrender while Nat sighed.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not getting in the middle of a sibling squabble,” she drawled, taking a bite of her apple. You rolled your eyes, turning back to look at the brunette beside you.

“As soon as we dock, I’m going to go find a physician,” you told him, pressing your lips into a firm line as you stared him down. Your father had always said that you get your temper and attitude from your mother.

“It’s like a miniature you running around everywhere, Pen!” He’d laugh, throwing his head back as you gave him the best scowl your six year old self could come up with. Your mother would roll her eyes, biting back a smile as she watched you glare at the older man.

“She’s going to strike fear into the heart of everyone who crosses her, mark my words!” He grinned, reaching out to gather you in his arms.

“Don’t give me that look,” you scowled as Bradley gave you a dubious look. “I mean it! We’re finding a physician the next time we dock.”

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled, moving to stand, holding up his hand when you made to say something else. “By all means, go find a physician, Guppy. In the meantime, I’m going to go get some work done on deck before we dock.”

“Javy said we should make landfall within the hour,” Nat provided, watching as the brunette rounded the table towards the stairs. You watched after him, chewing on your bottom lip in worry. Were you really in the wrong for worrying after him so? Surely not. Bradley had always been stubborn, ever since the two of you were children. If anything, he wasn’t worrying nearly enough about his current condition.

“He’s going to be okay, you know,” Nat said, reaching out to hold your hand in hers. She offered you a gentle smile as she squeezed it lightly. “Maybe you should give him some time?”

“I’ve given him plenty of time,” you mumbled, glaring half-heartedly at the stairs where Bradley had just disappeared. “He needs to see a physician if he’s not eating. It could be illness.”

“He seems fine to me,” Mickey offered with a shrug. “A physician would be a waste of time, anyway.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, brow furrowing at his words. Nat shot him a pointed look, and Mickey straightened up as if just realizing what it was that he said.

“Oh, I just mean,” he trailed off, looking at Nat for help. All she offered was an unimpressed glare as he fumbled for how to continue.

“I just mean,” he stammered, “that physicians never really know what they’re doing, right? I mean, they’ll prescribe plants and leeches and-”

“Mickey?” Nat interrupted, raising an eyebrow and resting her chin on her fist.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh thank God,” Mickey mumbled, looking away and catching sight of Bob and Reuben making their way towards your table. Bob sat down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his in greeting as Mickey and Nat made room for Reuben on the other side.

“What are we talking about?” Bob asked, taking a bite of his oats.

“I’m going to go and find a physician for Bradley once we dock,” you told him. He paused, stiffening next to you for a moment before continuing with his food.

“What?” You asked, a tinge of annoyance evident in your town. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just chewing before swallowing.

“Is a physician really what he needs?” He asked carefully, glancing up at your friends on the other side of the table. You rolled your eyes fixing the bespectacled man with an annoyed look.

“Is there some sailor superstition about physicians being bad luck that I don’t know about?” You questioned, glancing around the table. Everyone refused to meet your eyes, and you felt another twinge of aggravation in your chest.

“No,” Bob replied, shaking his head, spoon clacking against the side of his bowl as he moved the oats around. “It’s just that they’re costly, you know? I’d hate for you to waste all that money only for there to be nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s not eating,” you replied dryly. “I think that’s plenty of cause to go and see a physician. I’ll deal with the cost when we get there.”

Shouting could be heard from on deck, and all of you glanced up at the sudden outcry.

“Sounds like we’ve reached land,” Reuben commented, focusing back on his plate.

“Perfect timing,” you chirped, already moving to stand. You cast a final smile to your friends, giving a small wave as you made your way towards the stairs. “I’ll see you all up there!”

It was still a few hours before anyone was allowed to leave the ship, Jake and Javy making sure that everyone had been inspected for signs of illness per the harbormaster’s orders. You kept silent about Bradley’s lack of appetite, certain that if it were contagious, then the others would be showing signs as well. Once the ship had been cleared and deemed healthy, you all set about preparing the ship to settle.

It was the late afternoon by the time you finished your tasks, and you set about trying to pin down Bradley.

“Have you seen him?” You asked Nat as you hung in the doorway to your shared cabin, having ran from the galley to the private quarters. She glanced up at you in the mirror, a quizzical look on her face as you fought to catch your breath.

“Who?”

“Bradley, of course,” you chuckled, straightening up and stepping further into the room. “Who else would I be talking about?”

She hummed noncommittally, turning her focus back towards her bun.

“I haven’t seen him,” she responded finally. “But I haven’t seen the others either. Perhaps they’ve already gone ahead and gone out?”

Your lips pulled into a frown as you realized that, save for Bob just moments before, you hadn’t seen Mickey or Reuben either.

“He wouldn’t,” you growled, earning another look from the woman in front of you. Your jaw dropped in indignation. “That rat!”

“He’s your brother,” she shrugged, once again turning back to the mirror. You let out another growl, turning to stomp your way back onto the deck. The oaf you called a brother would have to come back to the ship at some point, and it was then that you would corner him.

Meanwhile, your boots stomped across the deck and towards the gangway, mind bound and determined to find a physician at this small port. The docks were already crowded in the late afternoon, and you found yourself having to push through throngs of people just to get into the streets themselves. You weren’t sure where you should be looking, but you were sure that a port town of this size had to have some kind of physician. All around you, merchants of all kind hollered to the passing travelers, some selling food, others selling trinkets.

“Fine wares for your misses, sir!”

“Fish for sale!”

“How’s about a shilling for an hour of your pleasure, mister?”

You shied away from the last one, not wishing to be caught up in that business. People did what they needed to survive, but you were weary of the men who tended to hang around those parts.

“Interested in apples, miss?”

You turned to find an older woman staring directly at you, knobbed fingers outstretched to offer you a bright, red apple. She was missing a few teeth, that you could see as she smiled up at you, her silver hair falling out of her bun in wisps.

“They’re just a three for a shilling,” she continued, waving it up at you. “Tha’s quite the bargain.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, thank you. Would you happen to know where I can find a physician?”

“A physician?” She parroted, her arm dropping back to her side as she studied you. “Doesn’t look like anythin’s wrong with you.”

“It’s not for me,” you corrected her. “It’s for my brother. I think he might be sick since he hasn’t been eating.”

“Not eatin’, you say?” She hummed thoughtfully. “Was a boy back when I was a girl meself who stopped eatin’ one day, there was. Was fit as a fiddle and then just dropped dead one day, the poor lad.”

“Yes, well,” you swallowed thickly, feeling ice run up your spine at her words, “I’d like to keep that from happening to my brother, if you don’t mind. So, do you know of any physicians here in town?”

“Oh, aye, aye,” she nodded, her wayward strands of hair flying all over the place. “Physician’s just a few streets over, love. A fine man he is, too. Helped me sister when she was puking buckets a few years back. Set her right as rain he did.”

“You said he’s a few streets down?” You prodded.

“Aye, just three streets down and to the right from here. There’s a big ole sign out front, you can’t miss it,” she said, waving in the general direction of where you needed to head. You followed the gesture, looking back and nodding.

“Thank you,” you smiled, turning and making your way through the crowd once more. It took you all of fifteen minutes to find the building the old woman was talking about, a bright blue sign with the word “physician” painted in white letters hanging above the streets as you approached. Worming your way through, you finally managed to trudge your way through the door, slamming it closed behind you with a wince at the loud sound in the unusually quiet room.

It was your standard physician’s office, the wood floors creaking as you wandered further into the dimly lit room. The walls behind the counter were filled to the brim with different herbs and potions meant for treating different ailments. It wasn’t long before an older man walked out from the backroom, peering at you curiously from over the rim of his glasses.

“Might I help you with something, young lady?” he inquired, rubbing his hands clean with a cloth towel.

“Yes, actually,” you smiled, crossing the rest of the distance to stand just in front of him, only the counter separating the two of you. “I came because of my brother. He hasn’t been eating the last few weeks, and it has me worried.”

“Hasn’t been eating, hm?” He hummed, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Does he have any other symptoms?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” you frowned, suddenly finding it odd that the only thing physically wrong with Bradley was his apparent lack of an appetite. “He sleeps just fine, and he looks healthy as he usually does.”

“No fever?” He continued.

“No, nothing like that,” you assured him.

“Vomiting?”

You shook your head, earning another hum from the older man.

“And, uh,” he smiled, a gesture you were sure was meant to be comforting, “what is it your brother does for a living?”

“He’s a sailor.”

“A sailor,” he nodded, cocking his head to the side. “And why isn’t he here with you now?”

“He thinks he doesn’t need a physician,” you scowled, crossing your arms. “He was supposed to come with me, but snuck off before I could grab him.”

The physician chuckled at that, tossing the cloth onto the counter as he leaned against it.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about his situation without seeing him in person, miss. How long is he in town for?”

“We’re here for at least another day,” you told him, earning another nod.

“Bring him by tomorrow,” he instructed. “I’ll take a look at him before you two leave town.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, relief washing over you in waves. “I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“I’ll keep the shop open until sundown. After that, I make no promises.”

“We’ll be here!” You assured him, turning to leave, weary of the setting sun shining through the window. You waved at him from over your shoulder, offering one last smile as you exited the shop.

“Bradley,” you huffed, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the taller brunette. The two of you were currently in another argument about going to the physician, your window before the shop closed rapidly waning as the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon. You had tried to stay awake the night before, waiting for Bradley on deck before falling asleep on one of the dozen barrels scattered about. You had inexplicably woken up in your bed that morning, still dressed in the clothes from the day before. When you had entered the galley, he was still absent, the rest of your little friend group remaining tight lipped about where he might be. The rest of your day was spent meal prepping and taking inventory with Bob until finally, the man had run out of chores for you two to do. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was keeping you busy on purpose.

You had sat perched in the same spot as the night before, eyes trained on the gangway until a familiar head of brown hair peeked over the deck. He spotted you right away, freezing in his tracks before making a beeline for the stairs leading below deck. You were hot on his heels, your temper surfacing as you finally cornered him.

“Guppy,” he replied cooly, refusing to meet your eye as he scanned the galley for help.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you accused him, earning a scoff.

“Have not.”

“Have to.”

“Have not.”

“You have to, and don’t even try to deny it again,” you snapped, poking him in the chest. “We have precious little time to get to the physician before he closes up shop for the day. He was kind enough to keep it open as long as he is, now let’s go.”

“I’m not going,” he muttered. You froze, balking at his tone.

“What?”

“I’m not going, Guppy,” he repeated, still not meeting your gaze, golden eyes locked on something just past your shoulder. You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head in exasperation.

“Bradley-”

“I’m not going, and that’s final,” he growled. “Drop it.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your anger and sadness welling up all at once inside of you.

“You really want to leave me alone, don’t you?” You whispered. Bradley’s eyes snapped to you, still firm, but now with an edge of uncertainty to them. “First it was Papa, then Mama. I only had you, and now you’re determined to leave me too. You’d rather see me alone than go see the stupid physician, is that it?”

His face dropped into a look of horror, regret swirling in his eyes as he reached for you. “Guppy-”

You took a step back, feeling the hot, angry tears sting at your eyes. You fixed him with your meanest glare, cursing yourself when you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble.

“If you want to die so bad,” you sniffled, “then by all means, go ahead. Just leave me out of it.”

And with that, you turned on your heals and practically sprinted towards the stairs, the eyes of the rest of the crew fixed on you the entire way. You were vaguely aware of Bob’s concerned face peering at you from the kitchen, Mickey and Reuben seated not too far away. You passed Nat, ignoring her outstretched hands as you thundered past her and Javy up the stairs. The wind sent a chill down your heated face, only made worse when the tears finally began to fall. The sun was just above the horizon now, the sky painted in an array of pinks and oranges as it beckoned the night.

“Rough time?”

You jumped, spinning around to find Jake leaning against the railing on the far side of the ship. His golden blonde hair shimmered in the evening light. The sun kissed the horizon just passed his shoulder, creating a halo that glowed around him. If you didn’t already know him, you’d think he was an angel. He stares at you as if he could see into the very depths of your soul, his olive green eyes never wavering.

“What do you care?” You snapped, furiously rubbing at your eyes to rid them of any tears. Jake watched you intently, as if knowing that you would continue. “Bradley’s not eating.”

“Of course he’s not,” Jake replied, no hint of malice or sarcasm in his voice. Just a simple statement, but it made you tense up nonetheless.

“He hasn’t eaten in weeks,” you clarified, unsure if maybe he misunderstood you. He nodded, face unchanging.

“I know.”

“You know?” You asked incredulously. “You know, and you’ve done nothing about it?”

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” he shrugged, and you felt your whole body stiffen in anger.

“He needs a physician,” you snapped, fists clenched so hard at your sides, you thought you might draw blood with how your nails dug into your palms.

“A physician can’t cure what’s wrong with him, darlin’,” he drawled, as if explaining something so obvious. Your jaw ticked in annoyance.

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with my brother, captain?” You spat, the title earning a twitch from the blond’s lips.

“Do you believe in Davy Jones, Guppy?” he asked. That was unexpected. The change in conversation had your head jerking back, confusion stifling the anger momentarily.

“I believe he’s a scary story that parents tell their children to scare them into being good,” you responded, thinking back to the stories your own father would tell you. “He’s not real.”

Jake gave a humorless chuckle, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his golden locks, looking out over the side of the ship and to the sea. The sound of the gulls and the creak of the ship as it rocked in the waves were the only things to be heard before he spoke. “I can assure you, he’s real.”

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, crossing your arms and fixing him with a glare. He gave you a wry smile, a look of sadness barely discernable in his eyes as they swept over you.

“If only it were that,” he started. “I didn’t believe in curses until six years ago, if you can believe that.”

“And what happened six years ago to make you a believer?” you asked, rolling your eyes. You were in no mood to be mocked or played with, and this man was wasting your time with his nonsense. You glanced over his shoulder. If you could wrap this conversation up, perhaps you could somehow convince Bradley to go with you to get the care he needed.

Jake paused. “Six years ago, I met a woman. She was beautiful, sweet, caring. The kinds of things most men want in a woman.”

“And you don’t?” you questioned.

“Those are nice things to have,” he hummed thoughtfully, then he gave you a small smirk. “But I’ve always wanted a little more.”

You ignored the shiver that smirk sent through you. “So, I’m guessing you took this woman to bed?”

“I did,” Jake admitted, pursing his lips. “And then I left her. Only, I didn’t know that there was another man in love with her at the time.”

“And he beat you senseless?” You guessed, letting out a snort of derision.

“Haven’t you been paying attention, darlin’?” He chuckled. “That man was none other than Davy Jones himself. Risen from the deep to exact vengeance on little, old me.”

“Right,” you scoffed. Surely he couldn’t be expecting you to believe him? He was speaking of fairytales. “And what, pray tell, does this curse involve exactly?”

“I, and everyone in my crew, are destined to exist on this earth in limbo. Not alive, but not dead either. A half-life. We eat, but we are never full. Our food tasting like ash.” He stood up, walking slowly towards you as he continued talking. “We drink, but our thirst is never quenched. The finest wines leave our throat dry like the desert.”

He cupped your cheek, stroking it before resting his thumb on your bottom lip, and you willed yourself to stay focused on the conversation at hand, despite the warmth the seemingly innocent action sparked in you. “We can feel, but no touch leaves us satisfied. I and every other member of this crew have taken many women to bed, only to crave more and more as this insatiable need for contact drives us mad. I’ve not known relief from another person’s touch in over six years.”

“Must be lonely,” you said softly. A look of unadulterated despair ran across Jake’s face, and it was then that you knew in your heart that he was telling the truth. It was the look of a man with ghosts that followed him, taunting him into submission, and you sucked in a harsh breath as he stared at you. His eyes shone with unshed tears, his breaths coming in ragged for a moment before he was able to compose himself.

“It’s agony,” he admitted quietly, dropping his hand back to his side, almost reluctantly.

“Did Davy Jones give you a way to lift the curse?” you asked, a sense of urgency in your tone. If there was a way you could help Bradley and your new friends, you had to try.

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighed, “I have to find what he considers to be the greatest treasure of all.”

“And what is that?”

“He didn’t say,” Jake muttered, head hanging low.

Your brow furrowed. “But, how are you supposed to find it if you don’t even know what it is you’re looking for?”

“Isn’t that the point?” he snorted, a humorless smile etched onto his face as he looked back at you. A sense of dread filled you, and you did your best to push it to the side. Giving up was not an option, it never had been for you.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to find what it is you’re looking for,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. He shook his head, the wry smile finding a home on his face once more.

“Old Jonesy only gave me seven years to find it before the curse becomes permanent.”

“Seven years?” you exclaimed, ice drenching your bones. “But you said this happened six years ago!”

“I did,” he said softly, watching you put the pieces together.

“But, that means…” you trailed off, horror overtaking your senses. Jake nodded.

“I have less than one year left to find the treasure.”

A/N: This one goes out to all my Fool's Fare girlies who have been waiting patiently for two months now for an update and haven't complained once! Y'all are the real MVPs. If you haven't heard, I'm redoing my tag lists, so please be sure to sign up for this new one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged! And don't ever hesitate to pop into my inbox to talk about my fics or anything else! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator!

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