#THIS IS PROBABLY THE BEST OUTFIT HE HAS EVER WORN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolfiesmoon · 2 months

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The TWST boys and their number 1 princess

reader is fem! and is a bit of a bratty princess typa girl😌

i already wrote this on my haikyuu blog a bit back but somehow the song world is mine fits with like every character ever (defo reccomend listening to the song while reading)

seriously it's so fun imagining the song with different characters

Characters featured: Silver, Leona, Riddle, Jack

₊˚⊹♡ Silver

"Siiilver!~ Where aaaare you?" you called out to him in the courtyard. Lilia told you he would be there so you're beginning your search, well, there.

Why you're looking for Silver in the first place? To hold his hand, of course. None of the subtler methods have worked so far, much to your chagrin.

Holding his hand is the first step to making him your prince, you see. You've spent countless nights fantasizing about him kneeling down and kissing your hand while singing praises about your endless beauty.

Oh, how exciting it is to see the future play out in front of your eyes! You even got endorsement from Lilia for the wedding!

You eventually found him laying in the green grass, peacefully asleep. He really does sleep a lot, huh? You just can't get enough of his face, especially when it's so relaxed and at peace.

Wait... now that you think about it, in a lot of fairytales where princesses are asleep, their problem is solved by true love's kiss. Maybe his issue can be solved by it too....

Forget holding hands, you have a curse to break (atleast you assume it's a curse, since Lilia has told you he can't control it at all)! And being the top princess, you can break it, of course!

You kneel down next to him, quickly checking your breath. Probably smells fine. It's now or never!

As you lean in, his eyes gently open and you immediately jump back, pretending you weren't just about to kiss him. Out of all the times he had to wake up, it was now... You were this close!

"Ugh... I fell asleep again...?" Silver seemed to be bothered, like he always is when he wakes up.

"You did! And I was kind enough to wake you up! You should be glad I happened to stumble upon you!" you tried your best to look unbothered and collected. Silver pouted slightly at your tone.

You got up, placing one hand on your knee and extending the other towards him to help him get up. He silently took it, getting up with your help. "Thank you." he said curtly, expression softening at your happy little grin.

Wait... He just held your hand for a moment there! He really did!!!

The wedding dress! You have to pick out a wedding dress, as soon as possible!

₊˚⊹♡ Leona Kingscholar

"Hmph! Won't you just say something already?!" For some reason, he looked nervous when he heard the anger in your voice. His eyebrows creased in worry for a moment before returning to their normal resting position. He's definitely not asleep then.

You finally got fed up with the lack of acknowledgement from Leona. Practically everyone but him complimented you on your outfit today.

You even dressed up all pretty just to impress him and get him to notice your outstanding appearance. Not that you need pretty clothes to impress. Any guy would be begging at your feet even when you're in your at-home shirt and your old worn out shorts.

Leona should consider himself lucky in that regard. You've fallen for him. He has to act fast or you'll be swept away by a much more noble prince before he can place a ring on your finger.

"Hmmm...? What are you yapping on about?" Leona opened one of his eyes, acting like he has no idea what you mean. He definitely noticed the outfit. He's just choosing not to mention it.

"The dress! You're supposed to mention it!" you stomped your foot on the ground, annoyed with him.

"Oh, I don't really care. It doesn't matter if you're wearin' the finest silk or a potato sack when you're a pain in the ass anyways." he closed his eyes again, sighing with annoyance.

"Ugh! You know what? I don't care about you anymore! I'll go find a guy who can appreciate me properly!"

You were totally bluffing, but you might actually start considering it soon if he keeps acting so annoyed around you.

A great princess knows when to give up, too. Unreciprocated love brings tears, and tears ruin cute makeup.

As you turned on your heels to stomp off to Vil for more makeup advice, you felt your wrist being grabbed roughly.

"Stay here. Just stay quiet and you can stay." He squeezed your wrist, his face looking like the very definition of annoyance and... jealousy?

This is certainly a turn of events. "Fine, I'll stay." You huff. "But ONLY if you say I'm pretty in my dress." You smile smugly, watching him sigh and furrow his brows.

"You look... beautiful." He said it as if he was forced to, but somehow you could sense some truth behind those words.

You never asked him to call you beautiful after all, he definitely could have gotten away with a three-quarter hearted 'you look pretty in that dress'.

₊˚⊹♡ Riddle Rosehearts

"Hiiiii, Riddle!~ Hi Silver, hi Sebek." You greeted Riddle cheerily, treating the other two Equestrian club members like an afterthought. Riddle is much cuter in comparison, after all.

You're here for a poetically romantic reason. You see, ever since you learned that Riddle knows how to ride a horse, a certain fantasy has been visiting you in your dreams every night. Ideally, you wish he had a princely white horse, but you suppose a brown one can fulfill its duty well enough. The fantasy of him taking you on a romantic horse ride is the same no matter what his horse looks like.

Which speaking of, you visit the Equestrian club every day so you can convince Riddle to let you ride his horse, to make your dream a reality. So far, no luck. Actually, you've been trying to get closer to Riddle in general recently.

He isn't the most receptive to your flirting attempts but he makes adorable faces of anger when Cater or Trey tease him about you. Truly, a prince deserving of your attention.

"Hello. Have you come to watch us again?" Riddle asked with no particular emotion behind his voice. Surely, he knew what was coming by now. No need to ask such foolish questions.

"No, I came to ride your horse with you. You should know that by now." You are equally calm and collected in your own request. You try to put on your most cute, charming smile to lure him in.

You have been getting close to Vorpal, since you knew some horses are untrusting of unfamiliar riders. You researched every known piece of horse-related literature you could get your hands on in the library just to impress Riddle with horse facts. You're very prepared.

"You..." Riddle sighed.

"Just let her." Silver placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder, probably getting a little sick of your nagging too.

"...Fine, if I must." Riddle said after a short pause and you damn near passed out from excitement right then and there.

"As you should. I cannot believe you made me wait this long." You kept it casual on the outside, not wanting to let your excitement show too much.

Once you were properly sat on the horse with Riddle behind you, you felt like you achieved something great. You still almost can't believe how many refusals it took for this to happen. But a princess always gets what she wants in the end.

"Just don't be tense. Horses can sense that and it puts them in distress." He instructed. When you turned back and smiled cheekily at him, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

"What is it, my prince?" you gave him puppy eyes.

"D-Do not call me that, or look at me like that. It's distracting." His face got even redder. Yikes, even Vorpal can sense that he's panicking right now.

₊˚⊹♡ Jack Howl

"Get me food. Something sweet." You crossed your arms, raising your chin smugly. This is a non-negotiable matter.

"I don't think I'm indebted to you right now." that was his gentler way of saying he's not doing it. Why he doesn't just straight up say "no" to you is a mystery. Perhaps he knows the proper way to respect a princess such as yourself.

You sighed in annoyance. Seems you have to pick up the charm.

"But Jaaaaack, I'm just so hungry!~ And I can't run around in my pretty heels..." you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Surely, you can convince your future prince to do a simple favour for you.

Future prince...

The fact that wolf beastmen have one partner for life has been keeping you up at night, in both a good way and bad way. That means once you get him hooked, he's there for life, BUT! He can easily get stolen away by another and then you lose all your chances.

Truly, a challenge befitting of someone like you. That's why you're hanging around him so much.

"You know, you make it really hard for me to say no sometimes." Jack scratches the back of his head. "Doesn't mean you succeeded this time, though." he smirks slightly at you.

You would squeal (internally) over his smirk if you didn't feel slightly dissapointed right now. Oh well, you suppose you can't demand everything from your future prince. He is your equal, after all.

Upon seeing your slightly sad face, something bubbled up within him. It doesn't look right.

"I'll go get it. Do you want anything in particular?" he got up suddenly.

"Huh? Jack, you don't have to. I changed my mind." He felt a strange sense of unease to see you acting so... gently. It wasn't a bad thing neccesarily, it just felt wrong. And besides, you'd never 'change your mind' about sweets. He knows you enough to know that.

"I'll still do it.... Not because I feel bad, though. Don't get the wrong idea." he huffed, turning away before you could notice the slight pink dusting his cheeks.

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merakiui · 1 month

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[viii.] ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵘᵗᶜʰᵉʳᵉᵈ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, descriptions of murder/death, violence, strangulation chapter vii│chapter viii (you are here)│chapter ix

Today’s Thought - As biology would have it, the moray eel is cowardly by nature. Somehow this facet doesn’t apply to a certain someone. What he lacks in cowardice, he makes up for in cruelty.

The three days that follow the first feel like a blurred eternity, and you only know it’s been three because Jade’s explained your daily horoscope thrice now. The first: Do your best and your days will be fortuitous. You’re walking the path to success. The second: You may feel gloomy with the shifting skies. Rainfall may evoke sadness, but the secrets you hide from that important someone will seem even sadder. And the third (today’s prediction): There’s a chance you might find luck in uncertain situations.

These horoscopes might have provided you with a shred of relief if it weren’t for the fact that your slumber has been mostly dreamless ever since that last obscure nightmare, and so you don’t have anything to compare them to. No jellyfish. No strangers sitting at dinner tables. No blue hues for you to contemplate.

You’ve read through A Hiker’s Guide twice in the span of forty-eight hours, committing fungi facts to memory as if they’ll serve any purpose while you remain shackled in captivity. But it keeps you occupied and smothers any morbid thoughts threatening to spill into your skull. Which is what you really need right now—the sweet sense of comfort and contentment.

Jade upheld his end of your bargain yesterday when he poked his head inside the bathroom, presenting the white suit coat Azul had worn the night he faux-proposed. You kept your complaints to yourself, silently scorning him while he draped it across your shoulders. It’s an expensive brand sewn from luxurious fabrics you’d never be able to afford no matter how many extra shifts you pick up at The Devil’s Delight.

Out of habit, you’re attempting to calculate how many times you’d need to sleep with Azul in hopes of convincing him to buy you an outfit of equal grandeur. Your logic tells you multiple times for every pretty button and precise stitch, but your heart tells you it would only take a simple question and a sincere smooch to string him along. He opens his wallet for you as easily as you open your legs for him.

But that’s just part of the agreement, you remind yourself, petting the silky sleeve like it’s a cat. Stop thinking about him. Focus on other things.

You lift your gaze towards the door.

I wonder what Riddle’s up to. We were supposed to meet up on Saturday. He’s probably angry I couldn’t make it. Or maybe he’s worried I’m not showing up to work. Shaking your head, you scoff bitterly. No, he’s not worried. He’s Riddle. He never worries about distractions like me. He has everything laid out so perfectly. You toy with one of the exquisite cuffs on the jacket, twisting it between your fingers. I guess when you’re that meticulous you never have to worry about anything because, no matter what happens, you’re following a familiar schedule. So even if things don’t go to plan, you can just move to the next item on your list.

You slouch against the wall and sigh.

Maybe it’s better to live repetitive days. It’s boring, but it’s safe.

Before you can start weighing the positives and negatives to that thought, a noise from below resounds. You scramble away from the sink, mindful of your bandaged ankle, and force yourself flat like a pancake, your ear pressed against the tiles. The air is still, your breath is hitched, and then there are footsteps. Four in total. You assume he’s taking off his shoes because there’s a disconcerting quiet that follows. Seconds later, you strain to hear the door as it shuts and locks with a click.

And then there is more silence.

Something’s not right, you think, chewing your lip. Anxiety bubbles in your blood, volcanically volatile. He’s not coming upstairs.

You push yourself up onto your arms and retreat to the space between the bathtub and sink.

He always comes upstairs to check on me when he gets home. Right away. So why isn’t he? What’s going on? You shake your head and dig your nails into your arms. Don’t panic. Maybe he’s preparing another meal? But he usually eats before work. At least, that’s what he’s done with me ever since the first day. Maybe he didn’t have work. Maybe he went out to do something. But what? Cover his tracks? Kill someone? Make sure there are no witnesses from that night? Kill someone? Your grip on Azul’s jacket tightens. Relax. Take a breath and think about it logically. He can’t do anything rash. Not when he’s just kidnapped me. Someone must have made a missing report by now, so he has to be careful.

Your eyes slide about the room, inspecting the framed sketches once more. What if it’s the afternoon? He could make up any time he wants and I’d have no choice but to believe him. He could’ve gone out for lunch, or he met up with Azul for the daily walks we usually do. Right. Azul. He has to know something’s up. He has to… Wait.

The realization is glacial, stabbing through your skull mercilessly: He won’t suspect anything because disappearing like this is a routine he’s all too familiar with. In his eyes, I’m just—

Footsteps on the stairs shake you from your theorizing, and you brace yourself for the sight of him. You hope to shrink yourself to a size so small and imperceivable that no one, not even the most keen, cutthroat killer, could find you. You succeed in huddling in on yourself, a ball of tightened nerves just waiting to unfurl at the slightest hint of danger. Sweat beads on your brow and slithers down your spine. The hair on your body stands on end, as if expecting the swift strike of a terrifying tragedy.

Something’s not right.

The knob turns. There he stands in the sliver of space between door and bedroom, backdropped by dim lamplight. He’s dressed plainly in a black hoodie and sweatpants of the same color. It’s arguably the most casual you’ve ever seen him look. And in his arms, held bridal style and slumped like a boneless fish, is a woman.

Your gaze is drawn to the way her shirt stretches tautly over her abdomen—over the rounded dome that is her stomach—and dread crystallizes your blood. Suppressing a shiver, you meet his stare. A smile slowly crawls onto his lips, and then he steps deeper into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain aside and lowering the woman into the tub. Tape is plastered to her mouth, and her wrists and legs are bound with expert knots. Just looking at her and the state she’s in makes you sick with discomfort.

“Who… W-Who the hell is that?”

“A roommate,” he replies, all too smooth. “It’s only temporary, so you needn’t get so territorial.”

There’s no way. He’s actually planning to…

Bile rises in your throat, and before you can stop yourself you’re leaning over the toilet to retch. Saliva dribbles down your chin, landing in the bowl below in a downpour of gross, acidic rain. A petrifying tremor shudders through your body, and you steady yourself against the toilet, coughing until tears gather in your vision and your throat aches. You smack your hand against the handle to flush the physical manifestations of your horror away. Down it goes, never to be seen again.

“Your little parasite doesn’t seem very fond of her,” Jade remarks, standing over you like a patient reaper of death. “There can only be room for one, no?”

You crane your neck to peer at him. “F-Fuck you.”

He smiles thinly, his eyes creasing with manufactured mirth. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence, my ass.” With a dark scowl, you wipe the spit from your mouth with a shaky hand. You drag yourself away from the toilet, tasting residual vomit on your tongue. “You can’t hurt her. She… She’s pregnant, Jade. There’s no way you can—”

“She isn’t you. If I recall, I only agreed to keep you alive.” Jade slips his gloves off, drapes them in the basin, and then lathers his hands with soap. His movements are mechanically meticulous, as if these motions have been preprogrammed. Even the way he dries his hands is unnatural. Too prim. Too perfect. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s nothing like you.”

“Why? Because she didn’t kick your ass when you showed up to kidnap her?”

Jade exhales an amused breath. “Of course not.” His eyes frost over when he turns his stare on you. “She never got the chance. Besides, if my ass had been sufficiently kicked, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I hope you choke on a fingerbone.”

“That would be most unfortunate. I’ll be sure to eat carefully.”

Peering at himself in the mirror, he smooths his hair down. You didn’t realize it was tousled to begin with. Now that you’re looking, his entire person seems…messy. Even that stray strand falls on the wrong side.

He definitely didn’t go to work, you conclude, studying his features from behind. He’s too casual. It’s hard to imagine Jade in anything other than uniforms. Did he go out with that lady? Maybe not. He seems like the type to dress nicely for dates. So a sweatshirt and sweatpants… They’re both easy to move around in, and he’s wearing dark colors to blend into the night. Did he grab her when she was least expecting it? He said she wasn’t given a chance to fight back, so a struggle was nonexistent.

You shake your head, unsatisfied with your deduction. I’m missing something. His appearance is messy, but he’s always so clean. So why is he messy? This isn’t making sense.

“How’d you find her? You must’ve planned this in advance.”

“I assure you I’m not seeing other women behind your back.”

“Like hell I’m jealous, you creep.”

He chuckles and leans against the sink, his arms folding easily. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” “Magicians and murderers are two different things.”

“Aren’t they skilled in making things vanish? Both captivate their respective audiences as well.”

“Do you not see how vastly different the two are?” Groaning, you rest your head against the wall. “Did you seduce her?”

“Someone’s curious.”

“What’s her name? Do you even know where she’s from or what she’s been through? You’re taking an entire life away, Jade.”

“Two, actually.”

“That’s even worse! Do you hear yourself right now? You’re insane!”

“Has it ever occurred to you that your morals might not have any influence on what I do?”

He’s doing this on purpose. He could’ve brought anyone home, but it just had to be a pregnant lady.

“You’re sick.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“No sane, healthy person would do this.”

Jade feigns a sad pout and wipes nonexistent tears from his eyes. “To hear you say such things… My heart breaks.”

I hope someone chops you up, you lunatic! Then you can know what it’s like!

“So what’s the plan? She’s stuck here like me?”

“Not for long.”

“You’re really going to kill her?”

“Is that not obvious?”

You glance at the tub. I have to do something. But what? You look around the bathroom, eyeing the frames, the sink, the toilet, the walk-in shower, the tiled floor… Can I kill him? Shatter one of the pictures, grab the biggest shard of glass, and then—

Jade bends down to your height. “You needn’t look so pensive. There’s nothing you can do, and if you try anything I’ll be sure to slaughter you in the most gruesome way at the end of these nine months.” He smiles like it’s not the most sinister threat. “And I’ll watch you bleed out slowly while I cut your skin away in delicate slivers. So if you value a quick, painless death, do yourself a favor and keep your hands to yourself.”

You drag your legs into your chest. You sick freak. His eyes crawl down your face to observe your bandaged ankle. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“That should be enough of a reminder.”

“I’m not stupid. I’m not going to do anything. I can’t.”

I want to, though. I have to.

But there’s the shackle and the chain, restricting your movement and trapping you in the bathroom. There’s also the very heartless serial killer, who values your life as much as one does a meal. Voraciously. That’s as far as his sympathy extends. He doesn’t care about you or your nonexistent baby. You’re not even a person.

To him, you’re just supermarket meat plucked from the street. The most dangerous game he’s ever hunted.

“Good to know.” Pleased with your submission, he rises to his usual height and makes for the door. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Allow me to retrieve some painkillers.”

“If it puts me to sleep—”

“Rest assured. I have no intention of doing that. Too much and you may never wake again. That, and I’d prefer a meal without unnecessary baggage.”

“Then don’t drug me if you want fresh, healthy meat.”

He says nothing, merely smiling in reply, and departs through his bedroom. You listen to his retreating steps and then, after determining he’s made it downstairs, you drag yourself over to the tub. You yank the tarp-turned-curtain aside and peer down at her.

“Excuse me?” You reach in to nudge her arm. “Miss, are you awake? Please wake up.”

She doesn’t stir. Your gaze sweeps over her face. She doesn’t look bruised or battered. In fact, she’s in much nicer shape than you were when Jade took you.

It couldn’t have been a date or any sort of formal event. Not by chance either… So what is it? What am I not seeing?

You stare at her bump and frown. I’m pretending to be in her position, but she’s actually pregnant. If anyone deserves to get out of this alive, it’s her and her baby.

You shake that thought out of your head next, replacing it with something detached. You have to be logical. In tragic situations, it’s everyone for themself. What if your roles were swapped? Would she feel the same? You’d hope so, but maybe she’d be just like you—someone who’d do anything to survive, even if that was at the cost of another’s sacrifice. It’s not fair, but there’s nothing you can do. She’s doomed.

“Fuck,” you mutter, curling your fingers around the lip of the tub.

I can’t watch an innocent woman die. I have to do something.

Footsteps draw near. You scramble to your corner. Jade returns with two tablets and a glass of water. You down the painkillers in one gulp.

If it knocks me out, at least I won’t have to see anything.

You rest your forehead against your knees. “I wish Azul was here.”

Why am I saying that? Do I really want him here? Maybe Cater would be better. Or Riddle. Anyone but Azul.

“My apologies. The withdrawal must make you feel immensely itchy.” He peers at the tub. You realize you forgot to pull the tarp back to its original place. “Consider this the beginning of your detox.”

“You’re selfish, you know that? I have my entire life ahead of me. I have—” you rub the cold sapphire set into the ring on your finger— “I had a wedding to look forward to. Someone I was going to marry. A baby! And you…” Before you can stop yourself, the tears are falling. Weeks of pent-up emotions overflow. You wipe hopelessly at your face, feeling pathetic for crying in front of him when he could care less, but the rivers continue running. “Y-You fucking took that away from me! And I can’t—it’s all so you can feed yourself.”

You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and weep like a child. The voice in your head soothes you: You have time. You can still get out of this.

When you pull your arms away, you find Jade gazing at you. “If I’m as selfish as you say, what does that make you?” He pulls his sweatshirt up and over his head, and then you see it. The dress shirt.

A pit opens in your stomach. You feel sickness scraping at your throat again, and the sensation persists when he shucks his sweats next.

All this time, he was in formal attire…

“I have no interest in your affair with Azul. Rather, I find the entire thing quite circular. You were loosely attached once, but now you’re engaged. And then what? Are you going to run away when he does something unfavorable? You have the makings of a most atrocious bride.” Casually, as if this is a conversation held over afternoon tea, Jade folds the clothes and sets them on the towel rack. “I suppose that is just the nature of love. You return like the leashed pet you are and you let him love you because you are just as foolishly fond.”

That’s not true. You’re wrong. I don’t love him. I’ve never loved him.

“Ah, but this is just mere speculation based on what I’ve witnessed.”

“Stalker.”

“Not quite. Do you know how many times I’ve helped you—drunk, dazed, vulnerable you—and you never thought otherwise? I put you to bed. I did your laundry. I stayed by your side and cooked breakfast in the wake of your hangover. For so many years, I’ve beheld the (Name) who thinks she’s loved by all because she doesn’t love herself enough.” At your horrified expression, he laughs. “You like to babble when you’re inebriated. It’s very entertaining… What was it you told me a few months ago? That you’re a nothing human with an empty, ugly heart who isn’t worthy of Azul’s boundless generosity. That you pawn it for lust disguised as love because you can’t afford the real thing. That you—”

He sidesteps the glass you throw at him. It hits the floor and shatters with a splash. Glass shards slide across slick tiles. He watches you silently, his countenance unreadable.

“Shut up!” Odium darkens your face. You inhale a ragged breath, collecting what’s left of your tattered ego, and add in a shaky voice, “You don’t know me. You’ve never known me.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade leans down to smile at you. He’s close, but he doesn’t touch you. You challenge him with a mean scowl. “But I will soon.”

Before you can question that, a soft groan interrupts your discussion. Your head snaps over in the direction of the tub. Jade does much the same, only he moves slower. There’s a pregnant pause, tension crackling in the air, and then there’s movement. The woman struggles in the bath, her screams muffled against the tape. You wince, understanding her horror.

I know what that’s like.

Jade helps her sit up. She resists, shaking her head desperately and shrinking away from his hands as if they’re something monstrous. They are, technically. Her eyes meet yours then. Even though it’s a wordless exchange, everything you need to know shines on her tear-stained face. Her brows are pinched together in stressed disbelief. She’s trembling.

“If you promise to be quiet, I’ll remove the tape.”

Upon hearing that familiar phrase, you shudder. It seems to have the same effect on the woman. She looks at him and whimpers.

“P-Please listen to him,” you speak up, nodding encouragingly. “Don’t fight. It’ll make it worse.”

She spots your bandaged ankle and gazes at Jade with new terror shining in her brown eyes. They’re very pretty. Big and beautiful, almost like marbles. To think the last things she’ll ever see with such doll-like eyes are a hungry monster and a hapless captive.

Jade peels the tape off slowly and, unlike you, she keeps her mouth shut. A wise decision. You don’t want to think about what he might do to keep her quiet.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jade sets the sliver of tape aside. “Now then, I believe introductions are in order.”

“I… I don’t understand,” she whispers, pressing herself against a corner of the tub. “Why am I here? You told me you’d take me to a doctor. Y-You said you’d help me—”

“He’s a liar.” You fold your arms over your chest and huff. The woman’s expression falls. “It’s not your fault. I thought he was good, too.”

“So then—I’m just—why am I here? W-Why are you here?”

Jade steps in front of you to block your view of the distraught woman. “(Name) is my housemate—”

“Not by choice.”

“Still a housemate nonetheless,” he continues. “You’re here because I’m in need of a meal.”

“You’re…hungry? Is that… You’re serious? Is that really what this is about?” She shifts awkwardly in her restraints. You feel bad for her, even more so when you catch the hope bleeding into her voice. “Then, if that’s the case, I’ll cook something for you and you can let me go!”

Jade shakes his head.

You peer past his legs at her. “He’s going to kill and eat you.”

He frowns at you. “And I was intending to bask in the suspense…”

“You’re the worst. Genuinely.”

“I don’t understand… You’re…” She looks between you and Jade. Her eyes gloss over with fresh tears. “You’re going to kill me…”

“Indeed. Ah, but don’t look so disheartened. So long as you continue being good, I’ll grant you a painless death.”

“N-No way… I… I don’t wanna die. Please. M-My baby—I can’t—”

She breaks off with a choked sob. You watch her crumble without a word. It hurts to see her shoulders shake with every rattling inhale. It hurts even more knowing you’re just as stuck but temporarily spared. You glance at Jade to gauge his reaction. Like always, it’s impossible to read him. He’s always been like that, even before you found yourself trapped here. Smiling so sweetly, as if he isn’t a murderer, he would speak to you like a normal person, tease you like a friend, care for you when Azul couldn’t. You were so certain he was your friend—not just by way of association through Azul either.

He hid it—this massive, life-altering skeleton—like an expert. How did you miss it? What did you fail to catch?

Nothing. Because he never gave any indication of what was locked up behind unassuming closet doors.

Now you know better. So does this woman.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t, so please let me go. Please, sir. My baby…”

Jade remains unfazed. “(Name) already tried those lines. Care to guess how well they worked?”

Landed me nine months on death row.

She hangs her head in defeat. “I can’t believe it… I’m actually… This is it.”

You rest your head against the wall and sigh. Jade stares a moment longer before striding to the door.

“I’ll give you time to get acquainted.”

With that, he shuts the door. It’s very obviously a test. He’s probably waiting on the other side, listening in to learn what sort of incriminating information you might share. Not that it matters if she hears it. She’ll take all of this new knowledge to the grave or, in more literal terms, Jade’s stomach.

“I’m sorry you’re caught up in this,” you murmur, tracing invisible circles into the floor. “What’s your name?”

“M-Marisa.”

You glance at her. “It’s beautiful just like you.”

“Oh. Well, t-thank you.” She offers you a shy smile. “My mother named me after the sea. It was her favorite place to visit whenever she needed inspiration. She was an artist, and the sea was her biggest muse.”

“That’s sweet. I wish I knew the lore behind my name.”

“It’s still pretty without the backstory.”

“I guess so.”

I never really put much thought into my name. Does it matter if it’s pretty or ugly?

“Actually… It’s kinda ironic. I don’t like the sea. It scares me, so I stay away from it.”

“The sea itself or what’s in it?”

“Both?” She attempts an awkward shrug. “There are scarier things out there, but there’s something unsettling about the ocean. Maybe I’m silly for thinking that.”

“You’re not. It’s normal to be scared of things we don’t understand.” Like right now. But you keep that part to yourself. “I can’t relate. I love the sea. The lost history, the creatures, the mysteries… It’s all so fascinating.”

“Really? You’re braver than I am!”

“I’m just way too passionate. That’s all.”

Am I? I said I’d be a marine biologist and that’s what I’ve been studying all this time. But…

Marisa sighs. “You’re lucky. I’ve always wanted to find something I could be passionate about.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something one day.” And then you pause. “Or… Um.”

She pastes another hollow smile on her face. “I thought I could be passionate about school, but I couldn’t do it. I dropped out and tried a few jobs. Everyone told me it’d be easier to get married instead of running around like a headless chicken, but that didn’t feel right. I thought I’d be passionate about things like motherhood and babies, but I dunno. I’m already so far along, but I haven’t felt anything yet. No excitement or anxiety. Just emptiness. And I know that’s a terrible thing to feel and think—we’re supposed to love the things we create! I don’t even think I truly love my boyfriend. I’m horrible—I know!”

“You’re not horrible. The truth is—” You stop yourself before the words can slip out. I don’t love Azul. I’m not even pregnant. “I don’t know if you’ll ever figure any of that out, but I know you’re a good person. You obviously care about these things. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so worried.”

Marisa sniffles. “Thanks…”

“I can help you find your passion. There’s so much to do in the city. I’m sure something will catch your interest. Oh! Have you ever been to Siren’s Heartache? It’s a karaoke place. My friend and I used to go all the time.”

“I’ve been there once!”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? My friend would order the craziest stuff off their menu. He hates sweets, but he’d get all kinds of sugary drinks and snacks for the hell of it. Said it didn’t matter because it’d look cute on camera, so no one needed to know if he enjoyed it.”

“He did it for the pictures? That’s it?”

“Yep! He loves photography. He’ll do anything to make sure he gets the best angles and lighting.”

“Wow… I don’t think I could be that dedicated.”

“No? Then what about schedules? My other friend used to be on these super rigid schedules. I’m sure he’s still on them now, but back then it was really suffocating. He’s always been so organized, though. It’s impressive.”

“Isn’t that too restrictive? Doesn’t he have any time for fun?”

“Would that be better? A free life filled with ups and downs or a rigid life you can plan around?”

“Both sound just as bad.”

“Isn’t that just life?”

She breathes a sardonic laugh. “From a pessimist’s perspective, sure.”

“What kind of life would you want?”

“Is it bad to say I want something easy?”

“No fair. You totally stole my answer!”

“Then maybe we’re both bad.”

“Yeah…” You stretch your legs out and flex your toes on your good foot. If that’s bad, then I’m the worst. “I guess we are.”

She giggles. “You’re supposed to disagree!”

“Oh, oops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t think it’s so bad to want an easy life. If it were up to me, I’d want it to be like one giant tea party. That way everyone can come together for tea and tiny cakes.”

“And you wouldn’t have to work, so who cares if you’re rich or poor!”

“Exactly! There aren’t any expectations. You can be good or bad. Empty like me or passionate like you. It’s all just conversation at the end of the day.” She gazes at you, and her features relax into a real smile. “I wish we could’ve met sooner. You seem like a fun friend.”

Am I really? I feel like I’ve been nothing but trouble for Riddle and Azul. Even Cater…

You hum your acknowledgement before nodding towards her belly. “Have you thought of any names?”

“Nothing yet. I’m not very creative and I don’t want anything basic either. Something memorable would suffice.”

“Like your name.”

“Right! Only nothing connected to the sea.” Marisa chuckles sheepishly. “It wouldn’t mean anything to me.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything significant. As long as it comes from the heart and you like it, it should be fine. At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“I have no idea. This is my first time.”

You nod. Somehow it feels like I’m indirectly lying to her…

“You’ll find a name that sticks one day. When you do, let’s get together and celebrate.”

“At the Siren’s Heartache?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

She gasps. “How about a tearoom? There’s this really cute one just outside the city. I go there all the time. The owners are the nicest people I’ve ever met! If we go, we can have our own tea party. You can bring your friend who likes photography. I’m sure he’ll get lots of pretty pictures.”

That’s impossible. We both know there’s no chance of—

“Marisa!” She startles at the urgency in your tone. You look and sound as if you’ve just cracked a cold case. “That’s it!”

“What is?”

“Your passion! Tea parties!”

“I always thought that was more of a hobby…”

“You can be passionate about hobbies. I’ve never gone to a tea party myself and I don’t know what that involves aside from drinking tea and eating snacks, but it sounds like a good time.”

“Oh, it’s the best time! I love dressing up for it, too. On nights when I knew I’d be going the next day, I arranged my outfit in advance. What jewelry I’d wear, what makeup I’d put on, what purse I’d bring… I could spend hours trying on my clothes and picking different pieces. And their afternoon tea sets—they’re everything! You have to try it if you go! I love their egg sandwiches. Well, everything they serve is delicious.”

Your lips quirk up in a playful grin. “See? You’re not empty.”

Stunned, Marisa sits there in the bath. “You’re right,” she mumbles. “I never realized it, but I love tea parties. I love talking with people over food and drinks. I guess it came so easy to me and I did it so often that I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Maybe we can add ‘socialization’ to the list of passions?”

She laughs, her hair bouncing with the movement. It comes right from her chest—authentic amusement—and it’s a musical sound. You wish there was another way. Jade may have shown you mercy, but you’re certain it won’t be the same for her. Even with these unlucky odds, you’re determined to try. It’s the only thing you can do. Try and hope that something goes well.

You gesture for Marisa to turn around. She almost questions you, but you hold your index up to shush her. She stares at you, her lips pressed in a tight line, and nods her understanding. As quietly as she can, she shuffles in the tub until her back is facing you.

“Hey, what’s this tearoom called again?” you ask as you reach for the biggest glass shard.

“It’s called Portobello.”

“Like the mushroom?”

“Mhm! It’s forest-themed. They’re famous for their chaga tea.”

“Huh…”

Of course it’s mushrooms. You glance at the door. Do you hear that, you freak? Sounds like the perfect place for a mushroom fanatic like yourself.

“Do you like mushrooms?”

“They’re okay. I don’t eat them often. I have so many other foods I prefer…” You trail off as you saw through thick rope with the jagged glass. “Actually, there was this one time I got fried chicken from the city. I was stupid drunk and nothing was open, so my fiancé took me to a convenience store. It was cheap, but it was so yummy! I guess everything is when you’re that gone… Anyway, he was so mortified when I woke up the next morning wanting more. That was the only thing I remembered from that night.”

“Why was he so embarrassed? I think convenience store food is great!”

“Right? You understand it.” You sigh and shake your head, recalling that memory with startling clarity. “Azul is… It’s hard to explain.”

“But you’re engaged?”

“I’m crazy, aren’t I? Marrying a man who gets flustered over fried chicken from the convenience store. He ate it in a fancy suit, too. What a weirdo.”

“He sounds funny.”

“The funniest. It was our first year together as…contractual obligations. He was so determined to make a good impression that he banned junk food from his life. We broke that dumb rule that night. I think that was the first time I saw the real him. He’s cute when he blushes.”

“Contractual obligations? Why not partners?”

You cough awkwardly. “J-Just an inside joke. He’s a businessman.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” She flexes her fingers just as you manage to cut through the first knot. “That’s sweet.”

“What?”

“You and him.”

“What about us?” Your hand hesitates, gripping the shard with new force. Any tighter and you might slice your palm open.

“You must’ve been so hungry, and he went out of his way to make sure you were fed even if it meant breaking his rule.”

“That was just—he hates having to owe people stuff. He was just repaying a favor.”

“My mother used to tell me a good man will visit for your best, but a great man will stay for your worst and everything in between.”

“I…guess.”

No way Azul likes me at my worst.

You shut your mouth and resume your previous motions. With her hands now freed, you lean over the tub to work on the rope binding her ankles.

“What about your boyfriend? You said you’re not sure if you love him?”

“I don’t know what I want. We’re happy being together without any rings or ceremonies, but I feel like that’s not enough. I feel like I’m not enough.”

“Maybe you should take your mother’s advice.”

“I will when you do.”

“H-Hey!”

She giggles. “I’m kidding. I think… I’m glad you have someone who cares. It’s no fun being alone all the time. Sometimes it’s good to share your peace with others, even if that’s getting fried chicken from the convenience store with a weird guy on a chaotic night.”

You laugh, but it comes out choked.

Yeah, Azul’s weird.

And then the first tear lands on her foot. It isn’t long before more rush forth, blurring your vision. You manage to cut her free from the rope just before it becomes impossible to see clearly. When you meet her stare next, she smiles. It’s strained with sorrow.

Why are you crying? She’s just a stranger.

You throw your arms around her and sob quietly into her shoulder. She runs her hand along your back. It’s meant to soothe, but all it does is remind you of the limited time you have with her.

I’m crying because she’s a stranger. Because she’s someone I’ll never be able to know more than this.

“Escape,” you whisper as you pull away, pressing the shard into her hand. “And when you do, wait for me and we’ll have our giant tea party.”

She nods, her eyes shimmering with sadness. “You can count on it.”

When Jade returns, syringe in hand, it’s to a room of suffocating silence. You’ve no idea what its liquid contents are, but it can’t be very pleasant or safe. Regardless, you don’t intend to find out. He steps through the door, looks squarely at you, and smiles. Your skin crawls.

Calm down. It’ll be okay.

“You took your time.”

“Did I? My apologies if I kept you waiting.”

“Have you ever had mushroom tea before?”

He pauses. “Mushroom tea?”

So he wasn’t listening in. Either that, or he’s just hesitating for effect.

“I’ve never had it before, but I’d assume someone with your palate would’ve tried it.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Is there a reason for this assumption?”

“You like mushrooms. Sounds like something that’d be right up your alley.”

“You would be correct.” Jade taps the needle, eyeing the liquid within the plastic cylinder. “I’ve had it before, yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Quite.”

His gaze drifts towards the empty tub and you panic. “W-Will you bring some for me to try?”

He blinks at you. An amused smile pulls his lips apart.

You can’t stop the scowl that forms on your face. “I can’t control what the baby wants.”

Just a little longer… Keep your eyes on me.

“I’d love nothing more for you to try it.”

“But?”

“But there isn’t nearly enough credible information detailing whether chaga is safe to consume while pregnant. It would be very unfortunate if you injured your parasite on account of my negligence.”

“Someone did their research.”

“Indeed.”

“So what’s a good substitute? I want mushroom tea.”

“Pouting about it won’t fix anything.” He reaches to pull the curtain away, and you lurch forwards. The chain rattles. You pause with outstretched arms. Jade watches you with a frown. “Is something the matter?”

You lower your arms. “No… N-No, sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…hungry.”

“As am I, so if you could stop stalling for her sake I would appreciate it.”

A bone-chilling cold blankets the bathroom.

Your laugh comes out brittle. “Who’s stalling?”

It happens so fast you wish it was slow motion. Maybe then your reaction time would’ve been better. Marisa springs out from behind the door just as Jade turns to view her. She shoves him with as much strength as she can muster, swiping at him with the glass shard. Somehow she manages to drive it into his arm. Taken by surprise, he grunts and shakes her off. The syringe clatters to the floor and you dive to snatch it before he can. With Jade temporarily thrown off, Marisa flees from the room as quickly as she can. You look on with wide eyes, the syringe clutched in a tight fist.

She’s doing it… She’s actually escaping!

Jade curls his fingers around the glass lodged in his skin and rips it out. Blood spurts from the cut, crawling down his arm in a red slither. The chunk rests on the tiles in front of you, and it fills you with a proud satisfaction knowing he’s injured, if only partially. By the time you’ve blinked, he’s already hurrying towards Marisa. She’s about to wrench the bedroom door open, her freedom just beyond the confines of his home, but he seizes her wrist and yanks her away.

Just like the syringe in your hand, your heart drops.

She yelps and twists in his hold, flailing blindly. The scene is eerily reminiscent of your scuffle with Jade—the one you’d gotten into when he revealed himself as the intruder in your apartment. You were drunk then, wholly incapable of fending him off, but Marisa isn’t. She has a chance. She can escape. There has to be a way for—

You watch her fall, cringing at the resonating thud as her back makes contact with the floorboards. Jade’s hands are around her throat before you even know it.

“N-No… Wait. Wait, stop!” You lurch towards them, but the chain only allows you to go so far. You strain against the pull, grabbing at the door frame in hopes of breaking out of the shackle’s restrictive hold. “Jade—”

Marisa’s choked gasp cuts you off. You stare at her hands as they claw at Jade’s in animalistic desperation. Her eyes are so wide you see white; her mouth is open in a silent scream. With Jade on top of her, pinning her to the floor and squeezing her neck with ruthless precision, she can only kick her legs out and produce a haunting garble of sounds as she battles an impossible enemy.

“Stop! Let go of her!”

You grit your teeth and tug against the cuff. It digs into your skin and leaves you aching from the sting. Tears sprout along your lash line, and you cry out in pained frustration. Your agony doesn’t reach Jade’s ears. Or maybe it does and he’s just tuning it out. You’re unsure until you catch sight of his expression. A blank, empty slate—that’s what he is. There��s something murderous smoldering in terrifying two-toned eyes, but his lips are pressed in a firm pout and his brows are pinched together. Not from any sort of distress but, rather, from the physical exertion. His forearms flex, every muscle riddled with tense adrenaline, and his fingers dig into her throat to cut her circulation.

From where you stand, struggling against your restraints, you think his pupils are blown wide. He looks predatory. Unhinged in a feral sort of way. Like a wild animal who’s just pounced on his prey…

A wild animal. That’s what he is right now. Something unbound by human morals and law. A creature led only by instinct—by the intrinsic desire to slaughter and feast.

“Jade!” You give another determined tug to no avail. “Jade, please—you can’t do this! She’s pregnant! She has a boyfriend—a life! You can’t!”

Your voice is shrill, scratching through your vocal chords as if it intends to shred them to ribbons. You’ve never heard yourself sound so panicked before. Never known the crushing devastation of being so close and yet so powerless.

No matter how much you scream, Jade continues to strangle her. You can’t bear to watch any longer. Sinking to the floor, you lean against the wall and press your hands to your ears. You don’t want to hear Marisa’s wheezing breaths. You don’t want to see her struggle. You don’t want to see Jade as he kills her in front of you.

You don’t want to be a witness. You want out.

After minutes of torturous asphyxiation, her thread of life is snipped and she finally fades away. Moments later, urine soaks through her shorts and pools beneath her in a puddle. You look up just in time to see him release her and rise to his full height. Heaving a sigh, Jade tucks his dark hair strand behind his ear. Marisa lies lifeless, a husk of the once bright, bubbly woman you interacted with before this. Now she’s gone.

“Y-You’re a monster…” you manage through thick, anguished sobs.

He killed her. She’s…dead. Jade killed her. I just watched her die and there was nothing I could do and I…let it happen.

“This could’ve been avoided. I was going to give her an easy death, but you forced my hand.” Jade steps around you to pick the syringe up. “Let’s add another rule to our list. Seeing as I’m not allowed to touch you, it’s only fair that you keep your nose out of my work in return.”

Dead… She’s dead. Marisa is…

“Does that sound agreeable, (Name)?”

There’s a ringing in your ears—the warning tick of a clock or the foreboding chime of a death knell. Amidst every overwhelming sensation and haywire emotion, self-preservation echoes in your head: I’ve got to get out of here.

You blink through blurring vision. Are you crying? Numbly, you touch your face. The tears are there, wetting your cheeks in copious amounts. Something’s scratching at the back of your eyes. It’s not enough to feel like sleep, but it’s a familiar sensation. You’re certain you’ve felt it before. But when?

You can’t stop crying.

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

You suck in gulps of air.

I should’ve done more. I could’ve done more! There had to have been something—logically. You have to look at it logically. She was doomed to die the moment Jade brought her here.

You dig your nails into your arms.

We were going to have a tea party. I was going to help her find more passions. We were going to be friends…

You watch Jade bend down to her height and press two fingers to her neck. Suddenly, there are two Jades and both are tilting. He glances at you, but his words don’t reach your ears.

I was going to save her.

Your head hits the floor with a thump. The world goes dark.

Unlike previous times, the dream aquarium is bursting with life today. Moon jellyfish float peacefully behind sturdy glass. A manta ray glides smoothly through the water in laps. Fish of all colors and shapes are caught up in the current. The glow from the tanks dyes the hall in a cool ultramarine.

It’s quiet here. Safe. Comforting.

You’re lying on the floor, dressed in a clean hospital gown, and there is an entire galaxy of jellyfish above you. They’re set into the glass ceiling, their translucent bodies bobbing up and down in hypnotic patterns. You blink once and the blue brightens as if breathing alongside you. You blink again and this time a woman pokes her head into your visual field. Her milky-white eyes, though piercing, don’t frighten you. She blinks one eye at a time and her irises explode with color—now a vibrant green. Her long, black hair is tied back in a braid that sweeps over her shoulder. Tiny stars are twined throughout.

When she speaks, she has the same voice as the woman from the intercom.

“Today’s color is blue. As vast and wide as the sky and sea, as deep and dark as water’s soul, blue is the color of trust and sincerity. It is the color of bruises and sadness. It is the color of loneliness. It is the color that has finally led me to you.”

You stare at her, spooked speechless.

“Hello again, (Name).” She smiles and offers her gloved hand. “It’s been a while. Many years, in fact. I thought I’d never be able to catch you.”

You hesitate. Can you trust her—the woman you’ve spent so many dreams pursuing? There’s no one else here in this hall. She’s your only option. Swallowing your fears, you grab her hand and allow her to hoist you to your feet.

“My name is Marmoris. Ah, I must inform you that I’ve taken the form of someone familiar, so please note that this isn’t the current me. My true form is…not very pleasant. I wouldn’t want to startle you with it.”

“The current you? Your true form?” You draw away from her and bump into the tank behind you. Turning around, you gaze at the image slowly forming within murky waters. It’s…Jade’s bathroom. And there’s Jade, stooped over Marisa’s corpse. He’s looking at you next. You place your hand against the glass, but the scene doesn’t disappear. “W-What is this? What’s going on?”

Marmoris joins you at the tank. Her reflection warps with a myriad of aquatic traits. At one point, you think you see fins where her ears ought to be—shadows of wispy tendrils where her lab coat once was. “You’ll have to forgive me. There was no other way. You’ve already seen too much.” She shuffles closer to you. Her hands cover your eyes next. “Please don’t look. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

You squirm out of her hold. The picture presented in saltwater clouds in and out of clarity. “Protect me? I don’t understand. What do you mean by—”

“There’s not much time. I can’t keep you in here any longer than I already have.” She grabs hold of your hands and squeezes them. She looks sincere enough, but you can’t get past the fact that, though she claimed to take on the appearance of someone familiar, you can’t recognize this woman’s features.

She’s a stranger.

Before you can protest further, Marmoris leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. Her lips are frigid. The transient security of the desolate dream aquarium melts away, taking you with it.

“I promise I’ll explain everything the next time we meet. When we do, look for me. I’ll be waiting.”

You jerk awake with a gasp. Your hands fly to your throat on instinct. Slowly, while catching your breath, you peer around the bathroom. Marisa has been moved to the tub and Jade’s in the process of cleaning the floor. He glances at you. His arm is bandaged.

“Welcome back.”

You shoot him a withering look. “Eat glass and die.”

“Wouldn’t that please you?”

“It would,” you whisper weakly, more tears spilling over. “It really would.”

For the first time in a while, you can’t recall any slivers of your dream.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #death row undertow #death row undertow chapter eight #serial killer jade

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steddieasitgoes · 2 months

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i've got the best friend in this place (and i'm holding on)

happy birthday @withacapitalp I hope you have the best day ever and enjoy this little fic about Stobin being the best! Also partially written for Stobin Month hosted by @lavenderstobins The prompt for this one is 'Drive' wc: 1.6K+ | rated: G Read on ao3

Robin’s never been fond of her birthday.

Steve’s heard her rants enough times to know that she’d rather treat the day like any other and not think about how she’s made another trip around the sun, taking her one step closer to her ultimate demise. About how birthdays put unnecessary pressure on the birthday person and the guests and how no one is ever 100% satisfied with the day so why even bother to begin with? And don’t even get her started on the birthday song tradition.

He gets it. More than most do.

But, he’s also not going to let his platonic with a capital P soulmate ignore her eighteenth birthday. Not when she’s lucky she even made it to eighteen and definitely not when she’s dragged him out on his own birthday just a few months ago refusing to let him wallow in his own birthday woes.

Robin’s more stubborn than Steve is though, so he’s had to get creative. He knows she hates surprises, but it’s the only way this plan of his is ever going to work. Besides, he knows she’s going to love it. Sure, she might grumble and panic a bit at first, but that’s just Robin being Robin at this point. He wouldn’t expect anything less.

In hindsight, he probably should have given her a bit more information about what he was planning besides asking her if she’d like to drive around with him today. Probably a lot more insight judging by the ratty-looking pajama pants and his threadbare Hawkins Swim team shirt she stole from his closet back in ’85 she’s wearing as she heaves herself into the passenger seat of the Beamer.

“That’s what you’re wearing for your birthday drive?”

Robin doesn’t even glance at what she’s wearing, shooting Steve with a confused look without a second of hesitation. “Uh, yeah? This is what I always wear on our drives.”

She’s not wrong. They do have a habit of piling into the Beamer in their worn pajamas just to drive around and get some much-needed fresh air. They’ll roll down the windows, let the music blast, and fantasize about where they’d go if they actually got the courage to up and leave Hawkins. It’s a habit that started to beat the nightmares after Starcourt and one they’ve kept up in the years since.

But that’s not what Steve has planned for today.

“But this isn’t a drive drive.”

Robin looks at him with raised eyebrows and that look she always gets when he’s saying words but she doesn’t know what they mean. A look that’s rare these days considering they can practically read each other’s mind. As if on cue, Robin’s expression changes as realization dawns on her.

She gasps before thrusting an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction. “This is a birthday thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s a birthday thing.”

“Steve!” Robin huffs, throwing her entire body back until her head thunks against the headrest an alarming rate. It’s a good thing she doesn’t have a history of concussions. “I told you I don’t want to do anything! You know I think birthdays are stupid.”

“And yet, you’ve dragged me out for every one of mine. M’just returning the favor.”

“That’s different!”

“It’s really not.” Shutting the ignition off, Steve twists in the driver’s seat until he’s facing Robin. She’s staring at him with half amusement and half seething rage. He can work with that. “Just trust me, okay? It’s nothing major but it does require you to not be in your pajamas.”

Robin studies him for a moment, appraising him from head to toe. If Steve knows her like he thinks he does, he knows she’s taking note of his own outfit to figure out what she needs to wear.

“Jeans and a nice shirt will be fine, Robs,” Steve reassures her.

Robin swallows and slowly nods her head. She grumbles something under her breath, too quiet for Steve to hear, before she reaches for the handle to let herself out.

“Oh, Robs!” Steve calls from the open window as she sulks her way to her house. “Please run a brush through your hair while you’re at it!”

Robin throws her middle finger up but it loses all its heat when she bursts into laughter. “I hate you!”

“You’ll thank me later!”

🥳 🥳 🥳

Robin starts to get antsy an hour into their drive, fiddling with the buttons on Steve’s radio at far too fast a speed for his old Beamer to keep up with. Without looking away from the road — Robin hates it when he’s not 100% paying attention — he swats her hand away and reaches behind her seat, hoisting a plastic bag onto the center console.

“What’s that?”

“Provisions.”

“Provisions?” Robin snorts. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Dustin and Eddie too much.”

Steve’s grumbling is drowned out by the sound of Robin ruffling with the plastic bag. Each new snack she pulls out is met with an elated squeal — chocolates, chips, the weird peanut butter truffle thing that some candy store two towns oversell. He’s pulled out all the stops.

“You really do listen to me,” Robin marvels, holding up the truffle.

“Kind of hard not to. You do a lot of talking,” Steve teases.

🥳 🥳 🥳

Another hour passes before Steve finally merges off the highway and onto the streets of Indianapolis.

The roads are crowded, full of Sunday drivers milling about, enjoying the rare warm evening winter weather, or running errands before the stress of the week starts. Steve doesn’t mind though, if anything he’s grateful for the slower traffic since it keeps him from being honked at for not knowing exactly where he’s going.

Eddie had helped him map out the directions, scribbling them down on the back of an envelope from the water company. He pulls out the folded envelope from his pocket and glances at it while they’re waiting at a red light.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Robin asks, studying him as he squints at the paper.

“Yes,” Steve says, glancing at the directions again. “Maybe.”

“Better make myself comfortable,” Robin sighs. She tries to kick her feet up on the dash, but Steve’s quicker, throwing her legs down before her shoes even make contact. “Rude way to treat the birthday girl.”

“Oh please,” Steve snorts. “You’d be pissed if I gave you special treatment.”

Robin tips her head in agreement just as the light turns green. Steve takes a second to stash the envelope back in his pocket before he eases the car back into motion.

They drive for another few minutes before Steve makes the final turn, pulling onto a secluded street on the outskirts of the downtown area. He steals a quick glance at Robin, watching as her face goes through a range of emotions.

“Is this…” Robin trails off, practically smashing her face against the glass of the window. Steve doesn’t scold her for the marks she’s no doubt leaving, smiling instead as she marvels at the neon sign hanging above the cafe/club hybrid. The same sign they saw in one of the zines she smuggled from her aunt’s house a few months back.

“Yep.”

“Steve!” She gasps, turning slowly to look at him. Her eyes are brimming with tears, her lips slightly parted as she tries to keep her emotions at bay. “I can’t believe you do this. I could— I could kiss you right now.”

Steve snorts, breaking whatever moment they are about to have. “I don’t think the crowd inside there would appreciate that and neither would I.”

“Ew, gross!” She laughs, wrinkling her nose as she playfully slaps him. “I didn’t mean it literally obviously!”

“Hey, I had to keep those tears away somehow!” Steve teases. “Your face gets all red when you cry and you’d mess up your eyeliner. I don’t think you want to look like a wet raccoon on your first appearance at this place.

“That’s rich coming from the man who finds the wet raccoon look attractive.”

“Hey,” Steve says, finally turning the car off. “You leave Eddie out of this!”

“You said it, not me!” She throws her hands up in surrender for a moment before she glances back out the window toward their destination. She hesitates to reach for the door’s handle, letting her hands drop to her lap instead.

“Hey,” Steve calls, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. He gives her a reassuring squeeze before yanking her closer to him. “It’s going to be great okay. Let’s just go inside, check the place out. You don’t even have to talk to someone if you don’t want to! No pressure, right?”

“Right,” she breathes, running her hands over her face. She takes a deep breath. “I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, clapping her back. “Besides you’ve faced off against Vecna. Lesbians can’t be scarier than that.”

“You’re a dingus,” Robin laughs.

Steve laughs too, feeling the tension deflate. He gives her another moment to soak in the moment before gently nudging her out of the car.

🥳 🥳 🥳

“I know I said I hate my birthday,” Robin says later when they’re back in the Beamer heading home. “But, uh, maybe we could make this a new tradition?”

Steve snorts, stealing a glance at his best friend. Her hair is a mess, her skin slightly dewy from all the dancing or rather flailing around she was doing, her lips slightly swollen, and she’s got the reminiscence of someone else’s red lipstick peppered across her face.

“I mean, it’s not where I’d choose to spend my birthday,” he says, earning a harsh shove in return. “But, yeah, okay. It can be our new Robin’s Birthday tradition.”

#stobin #stobin fic #stobin ficlet #stobinmonth2024 #stobinmonth #platonic stobin #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington fic #robin buckley #robin buckley fic #robin buckley ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year

Text

Friday Fight Night

Chapter Four of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Five

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.4K

Chapter Overview: You help Benny and the guys get ready for FFN.

Notes: this chapter is just a bit shorter than what i usually like to post, but i didn't have a lot of time to write this week & i'm actually content with where i ended it ! sometimes u just have to stop a little short so u don't just start typing random shit to meet a bullshit word count u give urself u know? i updated the tag list so if i missed u PLZ LET ME KNOW & i will add u asap !! well as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Why is this so difficult? It's just like every other day at work, except for the fact that it's not. You have been standing in front of your closet for a good 10 minutes now just looking at your clothes. Suddenly nothing seems good enough to wear. Maybe something would be good enough if you knew how to dress for a fight. Should you wear workout gear? No, you weren’t the one fighting. Should you wear a tank top and a tennis skirt? Probably not if it gets as rowdy as Benny says it will.

“Just pick a fucking outfit, you idiot.” You chastise.

After yet another once over of your closet you pick out a worn, white t-shirt with an image of Speed Racer on it. It had definitely seen its glory days years ago when you were still in college. If it worked then, it should work now. You take it off its hanger, along with some jeans, and put it all on. You’re tying your shoes when your phone chimes next to you.

???: Hey, we will be getting to the gym around closing time. Are you staying to help Benny set up?

???: Oh, this is Frankie BTW

Seeing his name on your screen makes your chest tighten with excitement. You obviously gave him your number so he could text you, but now it feels so real. Something about Frankie texting ‘BTW’ makes you giggle to yourself as you sit on the floor.

You: Yes, I figured I would make myself useful. No point in going home since the fights start at 10:00 P.M. and I might lose my parking spot.

You have to set your phone down before you overthink the most basic text you have ever sent in your life. Just for good measure, you leave it on your bed while you go into the bathroom. Despite your best efforts to remain nonchalant about the whole situation, you find yourself putting on a little more makeup than usual. By the time you have wrapped up and returned to your room an unread text is waiting for you.

Frankie: Good thinking. See you tonight then.

The rest of your morning has a bit more pep in it than before.

***

Your day at the gym passes by as usual. The only two exceptions were a truck load of last minute Friday Fight Night tickets sales and then compliments on how the gym was smelling. You made a mental note to smack Benny upside the head for throwing such a temper tantrum about it. In between customers you found yourself checking your phone more than you regularly do. You told yourself that it was just because you were excited about the fights and were counting down the minutes and not because you were hoping to receive another text from Frankie. Unfortunately, lying to yourself never really works out.

In an effort to keep yourself occupied, you answer emails from people that are applying for a gym membership, make laps around the gym to see if you need to replace any of the wipes used to clean the machines, and collect all of the dirty towels for a load of laundry. Much to your dismay, these tasks don’t take very long to complete. By 3:30 P.M. you reluctantly slink back to the front desk where the single most unwanted guest is waiting.

“There she is! My favorite receptionist! I’m still interested in knowing your name, darlin’.”

“Good afternoon, Brunson.” You plop yourself down in your chair and pull up the schedule on the computer. “Just working out today? I don’t see that you’re with Benny.”

“You caught me. I want to make sure that I’m in good shape when I fight in a few weeks time.”

For a few blissful seconds you allow yourself to indulge in the idea of Brunson getting clocked, hard, right in the jaw.

“Well, enjoy yourself.” You scan his card quickly in an attempt to move him on his way.

“I always do so when you’re here.” He clicks his tongue at you while he walks past your desk.

“God, he’s insufferable.” You mumble to yourself.

It’s 4:00 P.M. when Benny finally ventures up to the front lobby with you.

“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day, man.”

“Because you haven’t,” He covers his face with his hands and whines into them before coming back up for air. “At first I couldn’t find where the white board I used to write out the fightin’ pairs was. Then there was somethin’ wrong with the beer delivery and they kept me out back for fuckin’ ever. That isn’t even coverin’ all the one on one sessions I've had today or the ones I’m still goin’ to have.”

It’s breaking your heart to see how stressed out he’s getting with all of the things he has to juggle today. You get out of your chair, walk over to him, and rub on his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s going to be alright, Benny. I’m staying after work to help you set up and Frankie told me that the guys are coming to help around closing too. You won't be in this alone for much longer.”

He places both of his hands on his hips and exhales deeply.

“Thank you,” You can see the earnestness in his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He smiles down at you from his 6’2 frame and before you can move he pulls you in for a deadly tight hug.

“Benny!” You can’t stop laughing. “Let me go this fucking instant!”

“Friends like hugs from other friends, right?” He yells over your incessant protesting.

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?!” Your tone of voice doesn’t even sound remotely serious.

Eventually you get him to unlatch himself from you so the two of you can finish up the work day in order to prepare for this evening.

***

You stand back proudly and admire all of your handiwork. Benny put you in charge of setting up the beer table, so set up the beer table you did. You designed a poster to hang on the wall above the table so people would be able to clearly see their options and their respective prices. You set a long, metal tub in the center of the table and filled it halfway with ice. Then you made a little arrangement out of the beer and poured the last half of the ice on it to keep it cold. The cash box was fully stocked and set to the side. All in all, you did a pretty good job. Thankfully, one of Benny’s regulars volunteered to work it this evening.

“All done over here!” You call over to Benny. “How’s the sign coming?”

You watch in horror as he stands up to reveal a barely legible fighting roster. He must have seen your face flounder when you looked at it because he just tosses the dry erase marker over to you and crosses his arms.

“Oh, Benny I-”

“I know it looks bad. I’ve never had a knack for all this creative shit.”

You squeeze his hand as you pass him while heading to the white board. He slides over the roster that has been printed on paper for you to use as your guide. You’re so engrossed with your new task that you don’t notice when the guys come in around 8:30 P.M..

“You sure are givin’ Benny a run for his money this evenin’. The place hasn’t looked this put together in…well ever.” That sugary, sweet southern drawl could only belong to one man.

“Thank you, Will!” You toss over your shoulder.

“Aw screw you, dude. Maybe it would have been if y’all had gotten here when y’all said you would.” Benny notes.

“Blame Fish.” Pope snickers. “He couldn’t find the perfect outfit.”

That got your interest peaked. You turn around to look at what Frankie is wearing. Regular work boots, soft looking denim jeans, a black undershirt, a worn blue button up with the top few buttons left undone, and finally his cap- oh god he’s looking at you. If you had been a smarter woman, you would have noticed that two thirds of the group standing behind you were looking at your sign. That damned one third of the group was watching you trail your way up his whole body. He’s like an oak; completely unwavering as you take him in.

“Well, I like it. ” You squeak out as you turn your attention back to the roster. “Now why don’t you guys go make yourselves useful and help Benny?”

You hear a unified ‘yes ma’am’ come from behind you followed by the scattering of three pairs of feet. There truly isn't anything more sexy than men who can follow orders.

All five of y’all work tirelessly for the next hour to get everything finished before the doors open to the public. When you cross off the last item on your to-do list, you decide that you have earned a drink. You sneak over to the beer table and open one of the coolers that you set up behind it that contains the excess bottles. Much to your dismay, the bottle caps don't twist off like you originally thought. You’re on your knees looking around in the extra bags and praying that Benny had the foresight to get a bottle opener when Frankie walks up next to you.

“Lose something?”

“Just my dignity trying to locate the stupid fucking bottle opener.”

He laughs jovially as he extends his hand to help you up. You take it and sheepishly hand him your bottle when he motions for it. The two of you walk around to the front of the table and you watch as he easily takes out his keys and pops the cap open with a bottle opener he had attached to them. You notice that instead of tossing the cap in the trash he places it back in his pocket along with his keys. Right when he starts to hand the drink back to you he pulls it back towards him.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisonous or something.”

“Oh my god, you dick.” You lean back on the table behind you.

“You won’t be saying that when I save your life.” He takes a small sip and passes it over to you. “Nope. It’s not poison. You’re in the clear.”

Now it’s your turn. You turn to look out at the gym while you take a drink of your well deserved reward.

“Wait,” You look over at Frankie. “What if it's a slow acting poison and now we are both infected? I guess you have to stay here and finish this with me so we can go out together.”

He leisurely reclines next to you on the table and takes the bottle in his hand when you offer it to him. “That's some pretty sound logic. I can’t argue with that.”

You try to stop yourself, but you watch as he brings the frosty glass to his pouty lips. They look more pink than usual against the dark color of the bottle. His hands make the beer bottle look so much smaller than it really is. Your eyes wander to that nose you’re so fond of. God, what would it feel like on your clit as he ate his fill of you? Now that you’re closer to him you’re able to see the gray that's intricately woven into his beard and hair. Would it tickle the inside of your thighs when he buried his face in your pussy? Feelings you haven’t had for a man in a long time rock through your body the further you sink into your fantasy. Drifting even further, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the chilled liquid. You want to decorate the sensitive skin with blossoming purple marks.

“What?” He’s looking at you now. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” You say almost breathlessly. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hog it all.”

“I would never.” The low baritone of his voice reverberates through you.

Benny, thankfully, yells from across the gym at the both of y’all before you do something questionable.

“Hey, lazy asses! It’s showtime!”

You and Frankie both let out a breath neither of y’all realized you were holding. He looks down at his watch and then faces his friend with a mild look of annoyance.

“It’s 9:30, man. It’s just the boxers and the ring girls coming in right now.”

You notice that Frankie’s body immediately tenses up after he says this. Confused, you look over at Benny who has eyes as bright as the sun and is making a beeline towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers down to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Benny? What are you-?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He says while gripping both sides of your arms. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I don’t think I have a choice by the look of things.”

“Please be my ring girl.” He gasps.

“Oh my god.” You let your head roll back. “Benny, are you serious right now?”

“Don’t say no yet. Just think about it before you decide.”

You roll your head over to face Frankie and raise your eyebrows. You’re met with a shrug that is just as innocent as his grin.

“Does this offer have an expiration date?” You inquire shifting your focus back to the man that currently has you in a vice grip.

“Just think about it.” He pleads.

“Fine, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna say n-”

“La-la-la! I can’t hear you! La-la-la!”

“Don’t you have fighters to go hype up in the locker room?” Frankie cuts in.

“Nothin’ I hate more than when you’re right, Fish. Catch y’all in between the matches!”

With one final ‘think about it’, he bounds off into the locker rooms. All you can do is laugh hysterically at what just transpired. Frankie probably thinks you have lost your mind with the way you are doubled over right now.

“Hey let us in on the joke, why don’t you?” Pope sits next to you on the table.

“I could use a good laugh as well.” Will adds blithely.

“What you two could use is a reality check.” you walk around the table and grab a beer for each of them. “God, I can’t believe him.”

You hand Will and Pope their drinks completely forgetting about taking the tops off. Fortunately, that didn’t stop them. Will snatches Pope’s beer out of his hand and positions the bottles where one has its cap resting just barely on the edge of the other's cap. Then he slams them down on his knee and Pope’s opens with ease. After he hands the open one off, he pops his own with a thick ring he’s wearing.

“I’m thoroughly impressed, Will. What the hell was that?”

“You just gotta learn to make due sometimes.”

Frankie and Pope both mutter ‘show-off’ under their breaths as Will explains to you the physics behind his little trick.

“Okay, now back to what Benny was talking about.” You adjust your stance so you can better face the group. “Are y’all in on this? This ‘ring girl’ shit?”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t be fun though.” Pope prods his finger at you.

“Oh, yes I can.” You say swatting at him.

“You know, Benny. Once he sets his mind to somethin’ he’s pretty determined to see it through.”

“That doesn’t even begin to answer my question, Will.” You groan as you take the beer from Frankie’s hand.

The movements between y’all are so natural, so fluid that it feels like something you have been doing for years. You see Pope, almost in shock, watch you as you take a drink.

“Can I get some of that?”

“No way, man.” You shelter the bottle against your body. “Three is a crowd and you literally have an open one in your hand.”

“Will’s right,” Frankie reasons with you. “Benny is as one track minded as they come.”

“Tell him to get on another track then.”

“How about this?” Pope counters. “You go into the locker room with Benny and see what it takes to be a ring girl. Then and only then will he accept your answer of ‘no’ if that’s still what you want.”

“If that will get him off my case then that's fine with me.”

You start to turn towards the locker room doors when a blue sleeved arm reaches over your shoulder and plucks the beer from you.

“Hey, give that back!”

“I just want to make sure you don’t hog it all.” Frankie’s tone is thick with sarcasm.

“I would never.” You grin.

Pope waits until you have cleared the locker room doors before he whacks Frankie in the shoulder. Unfortunately, Frankie doesn’t see it coming because he is too busy hoping to catch one more glimpse of you.

“If that's how you act around women you think are ‘just cool’ then I’m terrified to see how you act around women you actually like.”

“The fuck was that for? And the fuck are you talking about, man?” He massages the spot where Pope smacked him.

“Will, please tell me you aren’t as blind as he is?”

“Sorry, Fish. I see it too.”

“See what?”

“That you look like a goddamn catfish whenever you look at her! Eyes all big and mouth agape.”

“I do not.” Frankie mutters.

“Come on.” Pope folds his arms across his chest. “You think she’s cute.”

“What are we in middle school? You’re being ridiculous. Will?”

“I’ll be honest, I wanna know too.” He flashes that signature boyish Miller smile.

All Frankie can do is laugh nervously while he removes his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He knows that he’s in the middle of a losing battle and that he’ll have to concede. They are going to be ecstatic that a woman other than Rochelle has caught his eye. Especially when it's a woman that meshes so naturally with their group. No, what’s stopping him is that a part of himself wants to keep it a secret. To have something that is just his. No prying eyes, no unwanted advice, no consequences, and no one else has to get hurt but him. As soon as the acknowledgement of his affection for you falls from his lips, it's real. As selfish as it sounds, he wants to keep you at arms length. He feels like everything he touches breaks and he doesn’t want you to become the next casualty. You wouldn’t want him if you knew the truth about the things he has done. But then you smile or laugh and he can feel himself falling deeper and deeper into his delusions of grandeur.

“Well, if you don’t like her then maybe I’ll ask her out.”

“No, you won't because,” Frankie puts his cap back on. “I think she’s cute. Are y’all happy? I like her.”

“Atta boy, Fish!” Will cheers.

“I knew it!” Pope says as he pulls Frankie in for a hug. “She’s a good one, man.”

“I know she is. I just don’t know if I’m going to do anything about it right now.”

Will’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to fuck it up. To drag her into the shit show that is my life. I don’t even know if she feels the same way either!”

The two other men nod in understanding. Frankie takes a sip of the drink he stole from you and sighs as he looks up at the ceiling.

“All I know is…is that I like her.”

“Shh!”

“Pope, you were the one that wanted to talk about this!”

“Shut the fuck up! She's coming!”

“Y’all ready? I’m going to open the doors for everyone!”

The three of them use the time it takes you to unlock the doors and arrive back in order to regroup from their previous conversation.

“Did you,” Will clears his throat. “Did you like the view back there? See a future in being Benny’s ring girl?”

“I like the view from right here, thank you very much.”

“So,” Pope rubs his hands together. “Who ready to see some dudes get the shit beat out of them?”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @modernperplexity @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson }

#francisco morales #frankie morales #catfish #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller #will miller #ironhead #santiago garcia #pope #through the scope #read on a03

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jupitercomet · 1 year

Text

Kiss Me

summary - Getting married was supposed to be the best day of your life, the day you promised to spend forever with the person you loved. Though you knew very little about love, you’d always been excited for it, playing dress up with your sisters and dreaming of the day you would know love like the back of your hand. Now you were finally getting married and you knew two things for certain: you knew nothing of love and Bradley Bradshaw did not love you.

warnings - arranged marriage au, heavily inspired by Greta Gerwig’s Little Women because that movie has a choke hold on me, angst, gender stereotypes, somewhat toxic family, I got overly excited and included dress links but you can picture whatever outfit your heart desires :), I know it’s basically November and this chapter is Christmas themed but this is just the world we live in, probably a historically inaccurate version of Beauty and the Beast, my first attempts at something mildly spicy (don’t laugh)

word count - 4.6k

don’t even look at me, I’m so embarrassed. if it’s bad just lie to me.

je te laisserai des mots masterlist

When you were a little girl, you used to dream of love. You dreamed of wildflower weddings and tall men in top hats with hands big enough to hold yours forever and ever. You dreamed of someone knowing you, seeing you, believing you were more than just the other Simpson girl. You dreamed of having someone that you’d never want to let go of.

Over time, the dream started to become foolish. A fantasy for when reality became too overbearing and nothing more. You forced yourself to find joy in other things— simpler things. Painting, your sisters, friendships. Those were all things you loved that loved you too. And perhaps it was not in the same way as a man in a top hat who plays piano for you. But it was enough.

“I love you.”

That was what Bradley had said. I love you. Like it was easy. Like it was obvious. Like there was nothing else he wanted to do more. Like he wanted to love you.

“I love you.”

And he wasn’t a man in a top hat that wrote you letters of affection. You were not the muse for every key on his piano. He couldn’t hold your hand forever and ever because the permanent locking of his fingers would cause him pain. He wasn’t your man in a top hat, but you didn’t find yourself wishing he were.

Bradley told he loved you and you found yourself thinking what a privilege that was. To be loved by Bradley Bradshaw. You also couldn’t exactly believe him.

Perhaps he cared for you or was kind to you, but he didn’t love you. He’d practically insisted as much. No, he was just longing for Charlie, missing her more as the seasons passed. He didn’t love you.

Still, you didn’t want to reject Bradley’s love, however misplaced it was. He’d suffered through enough rejection. Your eyes fell to your hands, unable to look at him, the feeling of his hand on your cheek now glaring.

“Before you say anything,” Bradley’s tone was soft, his hand leaving your face as he reached for something in his coat pocket. “Will you allow me to show you something?”

He produced from his jacket a piece of paper that had been folded into fourths, the edges worn as though this were not its first time traveling in a pocket. Bradley handed the paper to you and you took it cautiously.

“A day or so after your fall,” he began, “I was at a loss as to what to do with myself, so I went to retrieve a book from the parlor room.”

Your eyes widened in sudden understanding.

“I saw your painting. The sketch too, from when we were younger,” he continued before you could interject. “People have made me feel like I am many things, but beautiful, meaningful, has never been one of them. I’ll admit it was difficult for me to wrap my head around at first, the notion that you thought of me in that way. That you saw me in that light.”

He trailed off suddenly, casting his gaze to the paper in your hands as if prompting you to unfold it. You did so carefully, not wanting to rip or tear the object that Bradley was clearly endeared to.

It was a drawing— or an attempt at one. There were smudges and splotches of ink, some of the strokes were wobbly, and there were parts that had clearly been scribbled out with the intention of starting over. It appeared to be a face, you could distinctly see a set of eyes, a nose, and what you assumed was a pair of lips.

“I should probably explain it, shouldn’t I?” Bradley tried to joke lightly.

You only nodded, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Bradley moved closer to you, leaning down slightly, and began to clarify each pen stroke with a soft point of his finger. “That’s your hair,” he started, motioning to the pen scratches. “I love it because you let me play with it sometimes and it’s something that I can do for you no matter how my hand is feeling.”

You blinked, a tingling feeling starting in the back of your throat. He had drawn you?

“Those are your eyes,” Bradley moved his finger to point out the two smaller oval shapes. “I love them because they have this way of looking at people like they’re the most important thing in the world. I love that they see beauty in everything. I love them because they’re a testament to your kindness. You never looked at me like I was the person I felt I was, even if you probably should have.”

Those eyes that Bradley spoke so highly of — that he said he loved — were welling with tears, still downcast and fixated on the piece of paper in your hands.

“I love your lips because they’re how you smile,” Bradley’s own lips twitched at the thought. “They’re what form the words that I find so entirely profound.”

Finally, his index finger dropped below the sketch of your face, pointing at the last object on the paper.

“But I think what I love the most are your hands. I love how they create things, how they’re almost always covered in flecks of oil paint. I love how they’re capable of doing things that my own are not. I love how they play piano. I love how they hold things. I love how they move around when you speak of something that you are passionate about,” he looked at them almost longingly. “I love when they reach for mine and when they draw on my skin.”

You handed the drawing back to him suddenly, not wanting your tears to ruin the paper. You weren’t quite sad and Bradley seemed to know that, as he took the time to refold the paper and tuck it back into his jacket as you composed yourself.

You wanted to say it wasn’t love, that Bradley was confused, that you truly were a replacement. But, even in your most indulgent of dreams, your man in a top hat had never said such words to you. Those were not things one thought about a person they didn’t sincerely love, no matter how much they convinced themself they did.

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “How long have you been carrying that around?”

“Since I drew it,” Bradley answered honestly.

And, as if anticipating your next question, he spoke again.

“I keep it with me because I realized that I am unable to find meaning in everything like you can. But I find meaning in you,” Bradley smiled, his eyes enamored. “And, to me, that is enough.”

“Stop peeking.”

Bradley let out an offended scoff. “I am not peeking, dove.”

“Then how are you following me up the staircase so quickly?”

Bradley’s denial evaporated and he let out a small sigh of admittance. “Fine, but I’m only peeking a little bit.”

You turned to him with a voice that Bradley would almost call a whine. “You’ll ruin the surprise!”

“Alright, alright,” he threw a hand over his eyes with a laugh. “There. See? No peeking, darling.”

It had been a fortnight since the Mitchells’ Christmas party. You and Bradley had left shortly after his portrait confession as he noticed you were starting to grow tired— and cold. He wasn’t entirely sure where the two of you stood after his admittance. You’d gone to bed — in your separate rooms — almost as soon as you’d arrived home and you had appeared to be far too lost in thought to voice anything to him on the carriage ride back.

Bradley didn’t push though, it wasn’t as if you retreated from him fully. In fact, you seemed to do the exact opposite, spending far more time with him than you had in the weeks before. It was almost like how the two of you were shortly after he’d confided his injury to you. This time, Bradley refused to make the same mistakes.

You’d started painting again, now having the energy for it, and Bradley joined you constantly. He’d even tried painting himself once. It was a messy affair that resulted in the maid glaring at his soiled clothes, but your jubilant giggles had been well worth it. You’d hung his painting in the parlor room, even going as far as to make him sign it.

You didn’t have to try very hard— Bradley would do just about anything you asked of him.

If you weren’t painting, Bradley was sneaking you away to his private library, the two of you swapping thoughts and opinions on the various books he had lining the walls. Bradley had finally gotten around to finishing The Phoenix’s Song, having his own thoughts about the text and the notes you’d scribbled in the margins.

The chef — who was unsurprisingly much more polite to Bradley — allowed you use of the kitchen for an afternoon. Your baking did end up taking the entire afternoon, as you instructed Bradley on what to do slowly. But, by the end of it all, he swore to you he’d never had a chocolate cake that tasted better.

And that was how your days were spent. And Bradley was happy. You seemed happy too, growing more and more comfortable with him as the days passed. So Bradley didn’t push, because you made him feel loved and he loved you. He was content with waiting.

He also did everything in his power to convince you that, without a doubt, he was completely and utterly in love with you. He was far more affectionate, always reaching for your hand or kissing your temple. And strangely you let him.

It was clear to Bradley that you were slightly weary of his confession, not entirely holding it with the weight it truly deserved, but you still let him try to prove it to you. You’d confided in him about something similar once, when you were both much younger.

“That’s ridiculous,” Charlie scoffed, almost in amusement, as soon as you closed the book. “All he had to do was say he loved her and she believed him?”

Charlie’s outcry of incredulity was in reference to a new book that Margo had picked up for you when she came to visit. Beauty and the Beast. You’d finished it in a day and then decided to reread it the second you turned the last page.

You thought it was lovely, a story of two people finding the best versions of themselves in one another. A story of a protagonist who was so similar to you being able to find someone who loved her as she was, who was only able to find that love in the first place because she was like you. Charlie thought it was ridiculous.

“I don’t know, I thought—” You looked down at your fingers shamefully. “I thought it was nice.”

“It’s silly,” Charlie insisted. “You shouldn’t just believe things because people say them.”

Bradley had watched the interaction, the way you were hiding your crestfallen expression, but wasn’t quite sure what to say. It wasn’t until later, when both you and he were waiting for your mother to force Charlie into a dress, to attend another party with people you did not know, that he was finally able to speak to you.

“Do you think the Beast really loved Beauty?”

You turned to look at him, slightly startled, as if that were the last thing you’d expected him to say.

“Yes,” you answered finally. “I’d like to believe so.”

“Would you have believed him? If he said he loved you?”

You said nothing for a moment, just staring at him in the same subtle astonishment that he was looking at you with.

“I’d want to,” you broke eye contact first, moving your gaze to your hands as you played with your fingers. “I’d want to believe a person means it when they say they love me. It might be a little hard for me to actually believe the Beast, but—”

You cast your eyes ahead to the window in front of you both, watching the snow fall.

“It might be hard for me to believe I was worthy of love,” you started again. “But I think it’s a terrible thing to feel as though you are incapable of being loved. So I’d believe him simply because I’d hope he was telling the truth.”

You looked down bashfully, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip with such a force that Bradley had to assume it was painful.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that sounded silly.”

“It doesn’t sound silly at all,” and Bradley hoped you’d want to believe he was telling the truth too. “Not in the slightest, Lady Simpson.”

As Christmas grew closer and closer, the two of you began to spend a little less time together. It appeared that, for a while, neither of you had expected to enjoy the holiday with the other and the excitement that you now were was making you both take gift giving quite seriously. Hence Bradley’s current predicament of having to navigate the staircase with his eyes closed.

“Okay,” you stopped the both of you suddenly. “You can open your eyes.”

Bradley did so, blinking to adjust to the lighting of the room. It was his bedroom and, as he looked around expectantly, he realized that nothing seemed to be out of place. There was no wrapped box waiting for him on the bed— or anywhere in his room for that matter.

He turned to voice this confusion to you. Because he didn’t quite understand what was supposed to be the present in his neatly made bed, the bookcase in the corner, and the dresses hanging in his wardrobe—

Wait. Dresses?

Bradley’s eyes snapped to you, to find you fiddling with your skirts bashfully.

“I was thinking we could…” You began to explain, the words dying in your throat as you suddenly became nervous. “Unless you don’t want to, that is. I probably should have asked you—”

“No, this is— I mean, yes!” Bradley floundered, wide eyes matching your own as you looked at each other. “I love it— I love you. It’s perfect, thank you.”

You nodded shyly, but you weren’t making any attempts to move your things back out of his room, so Bradley felt he’d pieced together an answer well enough.

“Here, is it my turn?” Bradley asked suddenly and you seemed grateful for the conversation change.

He moved to his bedside table, opening the drawer and grabbing something from inside. “I’m sorry, I didn’t wrap it.”

He placed the item in your palm, keeping a hold on your hand for a moment before releasing it nervously. You looked down at the object, picking up the small, silver statue of the Eiffel tower.

“I was thinking you could use that for your paintings,” Bradley explained. “If the view from our window isn’t sufficient.”

It took a second for his words to register in your head, the meaning behind them clicking suddenly. “What?”

“We own a property in Paris, if you wanted to go in the spring,” Bradley paused, as if gauging your reaction. “I’ve made all the arrangements already, we could stay for a month.”

You looked at the trinket in your hand then back to Bradley. Bradley opened his mouth to say more, to assure you that he would not be offended if you did not want to go. He practically fell to the bed when you suddenly flung yourself at him, a light “oof” leaving his lips.

“Thank you!” Your eyes couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to look at Bradley or the small Eiffel tower in your hand.

Bradley couldn’t help but laugh, content with the weight of your body on top of him and the feeling of you in his arms. After a moment, he repositioned you so that you both could sit more comfortably and — much to his chagrin — you moved off of him to sit beside him. It was tranquil as you stared at your present in wonder, before you finally spoke again.

“My gift seems rather silly now.”

Bradley shook his head. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. Are you telling me that my favorite gift is silly, dove?”

You knew what he was doing and yet you both knew that you wouldn’t let him believe you thought that regardless. Quietly, you admitted, “No.”

Bradley kissed the top of your head in praise and, after a breath, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we arrive in Paris?” You whispered, unwilling to ruin the atmosphere you and Bradley had created.

He grabbed one of your hands thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb over the tops of your fingers. “Watch you paint.”

Bradley crinkled his eyes as the curtains that hung from his window did little to shield him from the light of the morning. Letting out a soft noise of discontentment, he turned over so as to not be facing the direct sunlight. It was when his eyes were fluttering closed, gratefully accepting a few more hours of rest, that suddenly all sleep was wiped from his senses.

Bradley didn’t even bother trying to fight the growing grin on his lips, letting it overtake his features as he stared at the body inhabiting the other side of his bed. Your lips were parted softly, releasing small puffs of air. The blanket was practically at your neck — a result of Bradley’s incessant hovering — but you seemed to be enjoying the warmth, only your head and one hand of fingers peeking out of the quilt.

He shifted closer to you carefully. He imagined this is what people must feel like in art museums, eyes tracing over every intricate detail, staring for hours upon hours just in case they missed something they would have loved as much as everything else. Bradley had never understood how Mickey could look at just one painting from sunrise to sunset and not grow bored of it.

“That’s because you’re not looking at it,” Mickey argued.

Bradley turned to his friend with a mildly annoyed scoff. “Yes, I am. What would you call me taking something in with my eyes? Looking, perhaps?”

“You’re seeing it, you’re not looking at it,” Mickey sighed.

Bradley furrowed his brows. “How are the two any different?”

“One day, you’ll understand,” was all Mickey said in reply. “You’ll find something that you’ll never want to stop looking at.”

Bradley understood him now.

You let out a soft hum, alerting him that you too were beginning to be pulled from the confines of sleep. A crinkle of your nose and stretch of your arms had your eyes fluttering open, meeting Bradley’s almost instantly. It took you a moment to fully recognize him in your bleary morning haze, but, as soon as you did, you graced him with a sleepy smile.

“What?” And Bradley couldn’t sound anything but lovesick. “Why are you smiling?”

You wiggled out of the blanket slightly, letting it fall to your shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve woken up and you’ve been here,” you admitted softly.

Bradley’s smile dropped and he groaned at your words, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled against your skin. “I already feel like the biggest fool on the planet, knowing I could have been doing this for months.”

The “this” he was referring to made itself known to you when Bradley suddenly began to pepper your neck and shoulder with kisses. The hairs of his mustache tickled your skin and you let out a giggly squeal, clamping your shoulder and head against his as you tried to escape the attack.

“Bradley!” You were laughing so much that you were out of breath. “That tickles!”

Bradley rose up with a grin, eyes dripping with mirth as he maneuvered himself on top of you. “But dove, I have 214 days that I must make up for.”

You gaped at him. “You counted?”

“I did. So I guess we’ll just have to stay here until I’ve entirely made it up to you,” Bradley continued, lowering his head back down to your neck. “It will probably take all morning. No, all day— I’ll say all week, just to be safe. I wouldn’t want to rush—”

He pressed a firm kiss to your pulse point.

“—my apology.”

He nipped at the skin suddenly, soothing it with his tongue and you let out a small gasp. You sucked in a breath — the air becoming immensely warmer — swallowing thickly as Bradley traveled farther down your chest. His lips paused on your clavicle, stilling as he brought his gaze up to meet your eye.

He mumbled something against the skin, pulling his lips from your collarbone with a chaste kiss.

“I love you,” you realized.

He continued his exploration of your body, repeating the three words over and over with every kiss he pressed to your skin. You’d given up on trying to regulate your breaths, your eyes fluttering closed as one of Bradley’s hands snaked up your torso.

“Bradley,” you breathed, hardly realizing you were speaking as his other hand reached for your leg.

He was almost at the end of the mattress, leaning back on his haunches, his own breath somewhat ragged as he pressed his lips to your ankle bone, trailing kisses slowly, almost teasingly, up the inside of your leg. Your nightgown had fallen around your hips leaving your thighs and calves exposed to Bradley’s curious mouth.

“You’re so beautiful, dove,” he murmured against your knee.

Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest and you bit your lip in an attempt to stop the sounds you were about to let out when Bradley leaned forward, continuing his thorough examination of your thighs. You could hardly see him anymore, most of his face obscured in between your skirts and some of the blanket. His lips pressed against you suddenly and, this time, Bradley knew you were whining.

“Bradley,” was all you could seem to whimper, your mind forgetting how to form any other word.

“Shh, I know, my love,” you felt Bradley nip at your hip. “I’ll take care of you. You want me to take care of you?”

His head lifted from beneath your dress, locking eyes with you as his hands remained under your skirt, massaging the tops of your thighs. You tried to speak, tried to answer him, but then his thumbs were starting a teasing trace of your skin and you could hardly fumble through a nod, let alone voice your thoughts.

Bradley chuckled softly. “Use your words, darling.”

“I—” A deliberate press of his thumb had you interrupting yourself with a moan.

“It’s okay,” and Bradley grinned because the lust filled gaze you were looking at him with was more than okay. “You’re being so good for me, yeah? My perfect little dove. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

His head dipped back under your nightgown, his breath hot puffs against your skin. Not once in your life had you felt like this, so nervous yet so comforted. You didn’t want him to stop, the sudden thought that you never wanted Bradley to part from in-between your legs causing flustered heat to rush to your cheeks.

“Mr. Bradshaw?”

A sudden knock at the door resulted in a loud shriek slipping past your lips, the startle causing you sit up quickly. Bradley let out a heavy sigh, removing himself from the confines of your skirt— though it was clear he was doing it begrudgingly.

“Yes?”

“There’s a—” The voice let out an awkward cough and, though they couldn’t see you, you covered your face in embarrassment. “Robert Floyd is here. He says he wishes to speak with you and Mrs. Bradshaw.”

Bradley was perfectly fine with making Robert wait— teach the man to value the courtesy of showing up you’re invited. But you were already getting up and scurrying to the wardrobe before he could even attempt to insist that you both finish spending your morning together uninterrupted. Bradley pursed his lips.

“We’ll be right there,” he said dryly.

Robert Floyd did not believe himself to be a nervous man. Quiet, yes, but nervous he was not. He knew many people confused his quietness with nervousness, assuming he wasn’t speaking because he was scared of it in some capacity. But Robert was a perfectly fine public speaker. He did not shy away from conversation or attempt to avoid it, he was just quiet.

But as Bradley Bradshaw stared him down with an irate glare as though, if he did it long enough, his eyes would turn to daggers, Robert found himself feeling nervous.

You were looking at him with a sincere smile, the only soothing aspect of the room, and Robert decided to shift his attention away from the man who seemed about one second from killing him where he sat to instead focus on you. You were really the person he was trying to talk to anyway.

“Is everything alright, Robert?” And perhaps he was not doing well at hiding how unsettled your husband was making him because your eyes widened in alarm. “Is Edith—”

“She’s fine!” He hastily assured you. “Edith is fine. I— I’m here because I need your assistance.”

Bradley grumbled something under his breath. Robert thought it best to not try and decipher it.

“Of course,” you relaxed in your chair. “What is it that you need?”

“Well, I am planning on asking Edith to marry me—”

You let out a loud gasp, leaping up from your chair and nearly tripping over your dress in the process. “Are you serious? You’re going to propose?”

“Yes,” Robert chuckled quietly at your reaction. “I’m serious.”

“Ah!” Your eyes lit up in excitement as you turned to your husband. “Did you hear that Bradley? Edith and Robert are getting married!”

Robert had never seen such an ill-tempered man grow an enamored smile so quickly.

“Yes, darling. I heard.”

“Oh,” you seemed to collect yourself, reigning in your excitement. “I’m sorry, you said you needed my assistance?”

Robert smiled. “I was hoping to do it before your parents’ New Year’s party and I know that Edith was planning on visiting you soon.”

“Yes!” You agreed delightedly. “Yes, you can do it here. Oh, I know just where to do it too! Let me grab a pen and paper, we’ll need to purchase a few things.”

You were already exiting the room without a response, far too enthralled in your excitement to realize you were leaving the two men behind. They both watched your retreating figure, until Robert turned to Bradley thoughtfully. Whatever had been irritating the man seemed no longer relevant as his eyes followed after you with a smitten expression.

“I’ve never seen her this happy before.”

His words drew the other man’s attention to him, his brows furrowed. “Of course she’s happy. You know how much she loves Edith.”

Robert shook his head with a smile. “Let me amend, I’ve never seen her so outwardly happy before. I thought she was only ever that way with her sisters.”

Bradley turned back to the doorway without a response, his head full of your smiles, and laughter, and small gasps of excitement, and the way you would jump into his arms. Of course he knew how special they were, he valued them greatly, but he hadn’t fully been made aware of their rarity. I thought she was only ever that way with her sisters. Bradley didn’t say anything, continuing to stare out the door.

Though even he, in all his current stoicism and starkness, could not hide his growing grin from Robert.

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#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw au #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster angst #rooster au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #je te laisserai des mots #buggy's got a pen

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static-radio-ao3 · 9 months

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@jegulus-microfic // august 10 // prompt: rain // words: 500

It’s raining when James’ car pulls up to the curbside and Regulus squints to soften the harsh glare of the headlights. Tugging his coat closer to his body, he ducks around the car to fall into the passenger seat.

After a brief silence that's only interrupted by the clicking of the turn signal, James clears his throat. “So how did it go?”

“It was fine,” Regulus replies. He picks at an imaginary piece of lint on his trousers. Such a shame, really. He’d worn his best outfit tonight.

“And how was the guy?”

“He was nice,” Regulus says non-commitally.

James snorts out a laugh. Regulus glances over at him, frowning. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” James replies. “Sounds like a rave review. Fine. Nice. This guy really blew your socks off, evidently.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? I particularly enjoyed the bit where he explained NFTs to me for half an hour. Riveting stuff. But it was nothing compared to that thing he did where he left early because he got called into an emergency meeting and stuck me with the bill and without a ride home. A real catch, that guy. You should totally meet him sometime.”

“Damn, Reg, tell me how you really feel.”

“It’s whatever,” Regulus says, ignoring the way his voice catches.

“No, it’s not. It’s his loss. You deserve,” James pauses, tilting his head to the side as he considers what to say. It’s a cute habit, Regulus thinks. But then again, Regulus thinks all James’ habits are cute. It probably has less to do with the habits and more with the fact that it’s James. Regulus especially likes how James pushes his tongue into his cheek when he’s annoyed, or how he pouts his lips to point at stuff instead of just using his hands.

“You deserve someone who makes you feel like lightning,” James says eventually. The car slows to a stop in front of a red light. James turns to look at him. “You deserve someone who makes you want to scream from the top of your lungs, who won’t ever tell you to quiet down. Someone who makes you feel as special as you are.”

Regulus is stunned into silence for a moment, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, praying that the red light flooding the car washes out the red that’s flooding his face. The light turns green again, and James fixes his gaze on the road ahead.

“Someone like you, then,” Regulus murmurs. Part of him hopes the soft radio drowns out his voice, but he knows James heard him. The car veers slightly to the left before righting itself again.

“I’m sorry, what?” James asks, voice pitchy and thin.

“I said, I deserve someone like you, then.” Regulus feels satisfaction course through his veins when James turns red, blushing all the way from the tips of his ears down the curve of his neck. “Pull over, James.” Regulus tells him.

James doesn’t need to be told twice.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #my writing #this is my first (public) foray into writing pls be gentle #mil's microfics

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spiderrmax · 1 year

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clyde, wendy, & jimmy + a parental friend

request: could I maybe request the same kind of reader [parental] but with Jimmy, Clyde and Wendy author's note: i used the same image. i have no shame. you know how annoying it is to find different images for each post? i don't know why i did that to myself

clyde donovan

A lot of his friends are kinda aggressive; he loves how chill it is with you!

You don’t make fun of him but still are funny. That’s awesome in his head

He brags about you so much to his gang.

“[Your name] cut me apple slices!”

“Last night, [your name] helped me with my homework. I’m going to ace this test.”

“[Your name] was cheering me on the entire game.”

All of Craig’s gang is kinda annoyed with him lol

He cried the first time you gave him something

It was a teddy bear you won at a fair. It was something you didn’t really care for, but thought he’d like, so you gave it to him.

You were so concerned when he started bawling.

You asked if he was okay, and he sniffled out a yes. You then asked if he’d like a hug, and he said yes again.

He squeezes you hard, hands gripping into your fabric. Your shirt is damp when he finally lets go, thanking you for the gift.

He got teary-eyed the next few times you gave him something, but now just hugs you as a thanks.

Any gift you give him is also shown off. He can’t help it! You’re so cool.

He really appreciates you! He waves at you everytime he sees you, and doesn’t care if others find it lame.

wendy testaburger

Is definitely used to more aggressive and detached affection. Her parents care for her, but more about her grades and her reputation. Her friends care for her, but those relationships are very flighty.

However, your presence in her life is very stable. She feels like she will always be able to go to you if she’s ever upset.

She doesn’t talk about you a lot, but will throw hands with anyone who insults you.

Doesn’t get how someone could insult you, and got in a fight with a fourth grader over it.

You had to clean her wounds after it; you gave her a lecture that it’s not worth it, but also understand why she felt the need to fight.

You buy her bandaids with fun designs: hello kitty, disney, anything you think is cute

Love when you make her jewelry. Will wear it even if it clashes with her outfit.

Same thing if you sew! Any articles of clothing you make will get worn even if you’re the worst sewer in South Park

Always gets your input when she makes lists; if you’re a girl she invites you to her committee, if you’re not she makes you an “honorary girl”

She really values your opinion on those kinds of things, even if the list is best salad dressing.

Always goes to you when she has problems with Stan. Knows you’ll listen to all of her issues, and values any advice you can give.

jimmy valmer

Really values how sympathetic and understanding you are.

You don’t make his disability a big deal: you slow down when you’re walking with him, and mock his stutter.

Also really appreciates that you laugh at his jokes; you’re his number one fan!

You make an effort to show to every one of his shows.

He doesn’t say anything, but likes that he can always find you in his audience. If he gets nervous for any reason he’ll just look at you.

He always gets your approval when he has a new joke! He tells you first, then the gang second

Was confused the first time you gave him a gift.

“Wha- what is it?”

You kinda just shrug, and it’s probably a toy, and say it reminded you of him.

It becomes his favorite to play with; it’s the only toy he also doesn’t share

You definitely get him those pun books for fun. You know it’s not original material but still think they can be funny.

#clyde donovan x reader #wendy testaburger x reader #jimmy valmer x reader #south park x reader

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youremyheaven · 10 months

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Kibbe Observations

Theatrical Romantics often have distinct husky voices. Morgan Fairchild, Jane Seymour, Salma Hayek, Mila Kunis (if you watch Black Swan you can listen to her speak at a lower pitch, people who have husky voices sound shrill when they speak at a higher pitch which is how Mila usually speaks)

I feel like every Kibbe type has a few celebs who intuitively always dress for their type and a bunch of others who absolutely never do lol.

Sofia Vergara, Kelly Brook, Ava Gardner, Christina Hendricks etc are Soft Dramatics who almost always wear their lines.

Salma Hayek, Joan Collins are TRs who pretty much embody TR glam most of the time.

3. Kibbe is based on vibes someone gives off, more than you would think. There are certain criteria that has to be met for each type but there are exceptions, always!!

Audrey Hepburn was 5'7 but she's a true Gamine. It's rare to see a tall Gamine but it's not impossible

Beyonce is also 5'7 but she's a Romantic even though most Romantics are short.

4. Kibbe is about image identity. That means the image you project. You can analyse the length & breadth of someone's shoulders & calves all you like but your image identity is MORE than that. I'll use an example. Mila Kunis & Sarah Hyland, pretty much look like sisters yet the vibes they give off are different.

Mila Kunis has a very sultry, sensuous "femme fatale" essence (she's verified TR) but Sarah Hyland has a more innocent but kind of mischievous, more youthful vibe. You can easily see that Mila has a more "dark feminine" energy whereas although Sarah has similar coloring and features, she still feels more light feminine.

Here she is in a very TR-esque outfit but something feels off

This outfit would look really weird on a lot of people (a tutu skirt for God's sake 😭) but she looks good in it

in this dress however, she looks like a kid who wore a grown up dress. her youthful vibe contrasts the heavy romantic vibes of this dress

However, here she looks like a complete doll. again, this look seems to suit her in a way it wouldn't suit most people.

This dress is a little too intense for her.

However she looks great here!!

I would say she's Soft Gamine

She has Gamine essence and it's the kind of styling that looks best on her

Let's compare her to Mila Kunis now

Mila, kinda looks like she's wearing a costume here. It looks very off.

Here she's in a very Romantic outfit with a dash of glamour and she looks greattt

Tea length dresses only look good on Gamines imo and here Mila looks very out of place

despite being very short, tea length dresses, even in a more Dramatic style, does not seem to suit Mila

Here she is, in a very TR look and it really harmonizes all her features and attributes.

this dress would be more flattering on a Natural type but Mila does not look like herself here

aside from the fact that this dress needed some ironing, this is probably the most TR look Mila has ever worn and it really makes her shine

5. In order to be SD, you need to have a T shaped silhouette. Broad shoulders, small waist and proportionately small hips. SDs are not "tall TRs".

6. Sofia Vergara & Joe Manganiello are my SD power couple

its sooo easy to tell that they both have similar essences and project a similar image

however, here she is with her former fiancee Nick Loeb. Sofia's overpowering Dramatic essence makes her stand out and she almost looks out of place next to Nick, who is FN. Their essences clash with each other and make them kind of awkward looking together.

There is a meme about how Brad Pitt imitates the women he's with. Let's see how he channels his different essences with different women.

Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt are both Naturals (FN & SN) with Dramatic/Romantic essence

Together they project a very larger than life, powerful, strong and intense vibe

Here he is, with Jennifer Aniston. as a couple, they project a more grounded, couple-next door, warm vibe. they're like the cool couple on a college campus, two hot people who look good together but in a very earthy, grounded way. Jennifer Aniston is also a Natural (SN)

Brad has Dramatic essence however Jen is pure Natural. so while Brad can pull off a more intense styling, Jen would look kinda out of place in it.

The dress and leather in general is too overpowering on her

However, she really shines in outfits like these that let her true essence be reflected. everybody, especially in the last couple of years, has been imitating Rachel Green (and 90s style in general) but imo, its most flattering on Naturals because of the way clothes were designed in that decade.

Here he is with Gwyneth Paltrow. Gwyneth is yet another Natural (FN) but she has Classic essence. The thing about possessing Classic essence is that you have a perfect yin-yang balance, so nothing stands out individually since everything blends together perfectly. Brad & Gwyneth together sort of bleed into each other, their essences don't contrast each other in anyway, they almost look like siblings😭😭😭 , there is no visible polarity at play.

Brad was with 3 different Natural women yet they all projected a very distinct vibe because of their very different essences.

7. kibbe is about image and how other perceive you. its futile to obsess over width and breadth and circumference and what not. dont miss the forest for the trees. also, there is a lot of variety within each type, not all Soft Classics look the same and not every Gamine is going to look great in tea length dresses. every individual is unique.

Amy Adams is FN but she's only 5'2. imo, she has a blend of Natural+Classic essence.

IMO, she was horribly miscast in Enchantment. She does not possess the wide-eyed, gullible "ingenue" essence necessary to play a lost princess. i just wasn't convinced that she's this naive, innocent princess because Amy exhibits a more world-wise, mature and "no-nonsense" vibe.

be it in American Hustle, Arrival or Sharp Objects, she plays characters that seem to fit her like a glove. She's just very convincing in these type of roles because she seems like a grown up who knows what to do and how to get things done. She does not have the air of a ditzy, confused damsel in distress

here's Isla Fisher. i specifically chose Isla because her & Amy kind of look alike but their essences are vastly different from each other.

Isla is a verified Romantic and has Romantic + Ingenue essence and she's perfect in films like Confessions of a Shopaholic because she's convincing as a ditzy airhead who is slightly naive and very confused. (this being one manifestation of the ingenue essence) if you look at her career, she's by and large done a lot of romcoms. It's hard to imagine her in a show like Sharp Objects or a movie like Arrival because the image she projects is far more youthful and sweet.

8. there is a reason why kibbe has its roots in old hollywood. old hollywood studio system manufactured stars the way kpop companies manufacture idols today. the were assigned an image to project and each star managed by the company had their own unique appeal that set them apart from the rest. lauren bacall projects an aura thats entirely different from audrey hepburn or marilyn monroe. liz taylor is completely different from gene tierney. most big stars in those days possessed Dramatic essence, simply because Dramatic essence makes people stand out easily. its a very large, strong, intense essence and gives the individual an edge. but the market created space for all kind of stars, there were actors who had a more boy/girl next door aura, femme/homme fatale aura, a quirky,funny aura and more. these days, cinema in general lacks big stars. imo there hasn't been a truly big star in maybe the last 20 years or so of cinema because no one's projecting an image that appropriately fits them.

however, pop music has had many icons and a huge part of their success is their image. be it taylor swift or nicki minaj or even BTS. people connect to them because they have a stable image identity for others to connect to. they have lore, they switch things up and keep things interesting but there's a bedrock that is unchanging and thats what makes them "stars".

#kibbe #kibbe observations #kitchener #david kibbe #essence theory #style essences #fashion analysis #style analysis #fashion #discussion

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the-book-gnome · 2 years

Text

Patience

Pairings: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Fingering, oral(fem recivig), unprotected sex, loss of virginity, p in v, pain implied, petnames (baby, sweetheart)

18+ only ! minors do not interact !

Dick has always been patient with you. When the two of you first got together you were still a virgin and he never pushed you to have sex with him. It's not that you were waiting to be married or anything, you've had multiple chances to lose it but you always bailed on the guy because you get too anxious and scared.

You've been together for about three months now, the most he's done is just kissing, and some groping but you've learned to expect that from him. You've started feeling bad that you haven't had sex with him, he tries to hide it from you when he gets turned on, it's sweet really but he's not very good at hiding it.

Which brings you to what you're doing now. In the store, the “outfit” didn't look this difficult to put on but there's like 20 straps that you can't figure out where they go. You were trying to look sexy but at this point your look stupid. Dick probably won't even like what you brought but you were hoping he wouldn't laugh at you for it. It took another thirty minutes until you got the stray lacy thing on. It was the same colour blue on his Nightwing suit, cobalt blue if you had to put a name to it.

Dick had just gotten back from wherever the hell he went, it's not like he ever really tells you. He says it's to keep you safe but you know it's just so you can't follow him. When you walked out of the bathroom he was on his stomach, his face turned to the left so he could breathe. “Come to bed,” he grumbled not opening his eyes, he patted the bed to the side of him gesturing for you to lay down. “Wake up you ass.” you threw one of the throw pillows at him that he had tossed on the ground earlier. He turned when it hit him but still obliged and sat up, he flipped around and sat up leaning his back against the headboard. His hands were rubbing his eyes, he still hadn't looked at you. The lingerie you were wearing covered most of your bottom, your tits were almost completely exposed, and only two thin straps covered your nipples.

“Dick.” you were growing annoyed, a part of you wanted to just go change and go to bed but you wanted to do this. When he finally looked up to you his mouth dropped, then closed again. Your hands fisted to the sides of your body, maybe this wasn't the best idea. A few seconds later a burst out laughing, the turned red and turned back into the bathroom locking the door. Fuck this was a bad idea. You didn't think he'd laugh at you but once again you were wrong. You were doing your best not to cry when you heard shuffling from the other side of the door. The door knob jiggled but didn't open. “Come on baby open the door.” you could still hear the amusement in his voice. This was the most humiliating thing in the fucking world.

“Go away.” you look up to the ceiling still refusing to cry. “I didn't mean to laugh. You look beautiful I just wasn't expecting that. Come on unlock the door and talk to me.” he jiggled the handle again. You just wanted to go to bed. Being laughed at like the wasn't something you wanted to keep doing. He sounded sincere but maybe he just wanted you to open the door so he could make more fun of you. Your clothes were in the room and there weren't towels or anything to cover up so giving up you unlocked the door and opened it. You stared at the floor as you pushed past him. He quickly I ought you by your his and pulled you into his chest, warping his arms around the front of you and pinning your arms to the side. “Don't be mad baby, I was just surprised okay? You've never worn anything like this I just didn't expect it. I'm sorry.” he placed kisses on your head. You tried wiggling out of his grasp but the most you did was rub your ass on him and that wasn't going to help. “Let me go I'm tired and I want to get dressed,” you mumbled giving up on your escape.

“Tell me why you got all dressed up and ill let you go,” he whispered in your hair. You could feel his cock pressing into your back, it was getting harder every second. He used one of his hands to move your hair out of the way, burying his head into your neck. “Why so you can laugh again, I'll pass” he let out a sigh, “I am sorry for that sweetheart, okay? What, do you want me to prove how beautiful I think you look, I will, if that's what you want if that's why you got all dressed up for me, all you have to do is say so, even a nod would work.” He left a few kisses on your neck and moved up to your jaw. Maybe that would work, if you just nodded then he wouldn't be able to use any of your words against you.

Letting out a sigh as you built up the courage, you were still scared, you knew he would never hurt you but from the stories your friends have told, this was going to hurt even if it was only for a moment like they said. Giving in to his sweet words you nodded, holing what's all you had to do for him to understand what you want. You felt him smile as he pulled away and turned you around, his left hand rested on your waist while the other played with your hair. He tilted your head up with his hand, rubbing small circles on your cheek. “You sure you're ready? We don't have to do anything you do want.” Dick rested his forehead against yours, when you opened your eyes he had a little smile on his lips and his eyes were focused on yours.

“I'm ready.” His lips looked so soft and plump, you wanted him to use those everywhere. As if reading your mind he lifted your head closer to his and met your lips. He moved both hands to cup your faces, you felt his tongue press against the seam of your lips. Paring your mouth you allowed him to enter. You moaned as he met your tongue in slow strokes, he wasn't rushing this which gave you a lot of relief. He slowly starts to walk forwards toward the bed. You held onto his shirt and continued kissing him letting Dick guide you.

When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed he broke the kiss. Both of you taking heavy breaths. “If you want to stop just tell me okay? No matter how far we get if you want to end it all you have to do is say so.” the way dick was looking at you made you feel so loved. The warmth of his lips and the way his hands felt on your face made you fall in love with him even

more. “I'll tell you.” at that he lifted you and placed you on the bed, you laid on your back as he crawled over you, “God you look so fucking pretty like this,” he told you in between kisses. When he moved down to your neck he went instantly to that sensitive spot. Sucking and licking, his hands roamed up and down your body. He started moving his mouth down to your collarbone leaving little red marks as he went.

When Dick reached the peaks of your breasts, he used his hands to move the thin little straps covering your nipples, as soon as they were revealed to him he latched on, his right hand rolling your other nipple between his fingers, tugging and pinching now and then. You let out a moan as he flicked you with his tongue. Your mouth fell open, letting out breathy moans. He sucked harder careful not to hurt you with his teeth. You arched your back into his mouth, wanting to feel more. You whined as he took his

Mouth off of you, but quickly moaned again when he paid attention to the other.

Once your nipples were bright red, he finally continued his descent. You started to get nervous, what if he was grossed out or thought you looked bad, as his breath fanned over your clit you snapped your legs closed. “Hey, baby what wrong, is this too much? We can stop if you want.” Dick spoke to you gently, careful not to scare you even more. “No I don't want to stop but do we have to do this?” your eyes were closed, and the feeling of embarrassment returned. “Well I have to get you ready for me, if I don't do this then I might hurt a lot more when I fuck you.” He started kissing your thighs, his hands placed on your hips, rubbing slow circles trying to soothe you. If he wants to stop then he will, it won't be your fault and everything will be fine, trying to convince yourself might sound stupid but it was probably the only way you would be able to do this without running away from him. “Okay, you can keep going.”

Dick used his hands to part your legs, he moved both of them over his shoulders. As he started to kiss the insides of your thighs he moved his right hand to the crotch of the fabric, moving it to the side so he could see you. “Fuck” he muttered, he sounded breathless, like he couldn't remember how to breath. “May I?” he looked back up at you. Your hands were bunching the blanket underneath you and you had your eyes closed. He took his left hand and curled it around yours, you gripped onto him and gave him permission.

You gasped as his tongue slid up your folds. He went slowly repeating the action a few more times before he started sucking on your clit. You squeezed his hand as pleasure rippled through you, you bucked your hips into his face not expecting his mouth to feel this good on you. He sped up his movements making you moan even louder. His tongue moved at a fast pace licking every inch he could. His middle finger prodded at your hole, you hardly noticed since you were too focused on what he was doing with his mouth. When Dick slid his finger in you gasped at the feeling. You’ve done that to yourself before so it wasn’t anything new. As he worked you with his mouth he started pumping his finger in and out of you, you felt your release coming, you were only a little ways away.

When he added a second finger that’s when you lost it. Clamping your thighs around his head, gripping even tighter to his hand your orgasm washed threw you, he didn’t cease his movements, wanting to work you threw the orgasm he gave you, your vision went blurry. Your head was thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut. You felt like you were floating, never having came this hard before. As you came down from your high he slowed down his movements, he took his fingers out of you and you whined at the loss, when he removed his mouth he kissed each thigh and then crawled back up to you.

Dick caught your lips in a heated kiss, you could taste yourself on him but you couldn’t care less. His tongue filled your mouth, you needed him inside of you. “You sure about this baby?” He asked as he broke the kiss. “Stop asking me that, if I wasn’t then I would’ve stopped by now.” You were tired of his taking, excitement filled your body as he shed out of his boxers. “We’re keeping this on by the way.” He pulled up one of the shoulder straps and let go, you hit him in the chest when the slap of the strap stung you. “Prick.” You muttered. He gave you a quick kiss before he moved his right hand to his cock, giving it a few pumps before he rubbed it abasí t your clit. You both moaned at the feeling, you grabbed onto his shoulder with your left hand, and your right was holding his hand. He gave you a little squeeze of encouragement when he lined himself up with you.

Dick looked into your eyes, silently asking if you were ready. When you nodded he slowly slid into you, in it going about an inch in before pulling out and then going in a little further. You whimpered in pain and shit your eyes. This would only last a moment, you just had to get threw this part and it would start feeling good. He gave you little kisses all over your face as he continued sinking into you. You grunted as he was fully inside. Your walls gripped onto him, not used to something so big inside of you. “Deep breaths baby.” He moved his right hand up to your face and brushed your hair from it. You took in a breath when you realized you haven’t been breathing. “Tell me when.” His touches and kisses calmed you down. Once the pain faded away you opened your eyes again. “Okay, I’m ready I think.” Dick gave you another kiss, reassuring you.

The pain came back when he pulled out but it wasn’t that bad. He started at a slow and shallow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you. It took a few minutes before you started feeling good. You urged him to speed up, pleasure rocked threw you as he hit a sensitive spot inside of you. “Fuck right there” you moaned and held onto him. His moans filled your ears, which stirred you on even more. He sounded so beautiful and the look on his face was intoxicating. You had no idea why you didn’t do this sooner. He sped up his pace, even more, going seeping and harder. “Fuck baby, you feel fucking right.” Dick rested his head on your forehead keeping eye contact with you as he made you feel better than you’ve ever felt before.

The pleasure kept building more and more. There was a tightness in your lower belly. “That’s it, baby, just like that.” His hips were getting a little more sloppy but that didn’t stop him from giving you exactly what you want. He lifted one of your legs over his ass. The new angle cause that coil in your belly to snap. Your vision turned white as the pleasure of your orgasm hit you. You moaned and your scraped nails down his back.

Dick came right after you. The way your pussy gripped onto his cock made him come so hard he saw stars. You felt perfect on him.

He met you in a sloppy kiss, both of you exhausted from what you had done. When he broke away he pulled out of you, some of his cum leaking down your ass. Your skin was clammy and a little sticky due to the sweat. He flopped down next to you and pulled you into him. Your leg tangled together. “He turned his head to you, slightly angled down so he could look at you. “How are you feeling? Do you need water or anything?” God this man was going to be the death of you. He was always so sweet and attentive, you loved every second of it.

“Can we just lay here for a while?” Dick smiled into your hair, your voice sounded angelic. He turned to you so you were chest to chest. “Of Course we can,” Dick mumbled into your hair.

#dick grayson #nightwing #robin dc #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #reader smut #dick grayson x reader #virginity

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kelyon · 3 months

Text

Courtship 5: Outfit

Lacey figures out what she's going to wear on her date

Read on AO3

The pile of clothes covered Lacey’s twin bed. She’d spent the better part of an hour matching blouses with slacks with sweaters in a vain attempt to find the magic combination that would make her look less like the president of the student council and more like Mr. Gold’s perfect slut.

Nothing worked. So far, her best options were to wear her summer sundress in the middle of winter with no coat, or to take a pair of scissors to the long black skirt she had worn to her mother’s funeral. That last one might have been an option, if she had a sewing machine like Mara. But she didn’t, and showing up at Mr. Gold’s house wearing unhemmed rags was probably as bad an idea as showing up wearing pants. If she had a sleeveless top, she might consider wearing the skirt as it was. She could try to go for a sort of hippy, Bohemian look. But the most revealing blouse Lacey French owned had puffed-up sleeves, like a fucking five-year-old.

Groaning, she fell backwards onto the pile. Some of this stuff she had got in middle school. The fact that they still fit her had been an advantage every time she’d decided to spend her limited funds on books instead of clothes, but it also meant that Lacey had never aged up her personal style. She didn’t have anything that made her look or feel like an adult.

The purple-blue dress shimmered in her dirty clothes hamper. She had jumped the gun by wearing her only sexy outfit on her first date with Mr. Gold. She had set the bar too high. Now he would have expectations of how Miss French liked to dress. More than that, Mr. Gold in his suits had standards. If she met him looking like a mess, he’d drive off and leave her on the curb.

At least he didn’t seem to mind if she left him looking like a mess. He hadn’t minded bringing her home with a wrinkled skirt and no stockings or underwear. She wanted that to happen again, but before it could, Lacey had to look presentable. None of her clothes were cutting it. She had to take action.

She pulled a white button-up off the pile and rubbed a smear of foundation over her hickey. Then she went downstairs into the shop. Dad was sitting by the cash register, looking through a faded design book.

Mom had known all the designs for bouquets and arrangements by heart, but Dad always needed to double check with the book.

“Anything happen today?” Lacey asked.

He shook his head, didn’t look up.

“We should call up everyone who ordered from us last year and remind them that V-day is in less than three weeks.”

“They know,” he grumbled. “This time of year, no one has any money. The men at Fish King will get paid on Friday, that’s when the orders will start. But they won’t really pick up until the next payday, the eleventh.”

He was right. It happened like that every year. All the orders came in at the very last minute. Valentine’s Day weekend was two solid days of constant work getting everything put together.

And it was too far away to do Lacey any good.

“So I’m guessing this is not a good time to discuss the subject of me ever getting paid for the hours I put in?”

Her father looked at her like she had just told an offensive joke that wasn’t even funny. Had his eyes always been so bloodshot? Had he always looked like a sad cartoon dog?

“You keep your tips.” He looked down at the book again. “You have money when the store has money, when we’re not racking up daily fees from that bastard Gold.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Lacey rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Of course Dad didn’t have any money to give her. That was their whole problem. Game of Thorns was a family business, the only income any of them had. For as long as she’d worked in the store, her pay had come in the form of food and shelter. Her reward for helping keep the place open was that it stayed open. It might not have been unreasonable to ask for more, but she knew it was unattainable.

“Ask again when Valentine’s is over,” Dad said. “We get out of this hole… I’ll try to make something work.”

She’d heard that before. Her father always had all kinds of plans and dreams for when things got better. Not that things ever did get better. Not that they ever would. The only thing worse than knowing that fact would be admitting it. So Lacey gave her father a tight smile and pretended she believed him, just like she always did.

****

She made her way over to Marine Automotive, where her Uncle Manny was locking the front doors from the outside. When he saw her loitering, he beamed.

“Hey! There’s my favorite niece!”

Uncle Manny looked like Dad if nothing bad had ever happened to him. He had the same height and stocky build. He had the same curly hair that was also the bane of Lacey’s existence. But where Moe French was loud when he was angry, Manny French was loud when he was happy--and he was always loud. He wrapped Lacey up in a bear hug.

“How you doing, Ace? What brings you by?”

She cut to the chase. “Are you going to the Rabbit Hole tonight?”

Her uncle wasn’t a huge drinker, but he was the only person Lacey knew who regularly went to Storybrooke's only bar.

“I wasn’t planning on it. They’re aren’t any games tonight. But I take it you need an escort?”

Lacey raised her shoulders in a half-apology. “They won’t let me in without a parent-slash-guardian.”

“Ah, to be young again!” Uncle Manny wrapped one arm around her. “You’ll miss it one of these days, I promise you. But yeah, we can have a night on the town. I’ll even buy you a Shirley Temple.”

“Oh come on,” she gave him a playful nudge. “I am an adult, even if I can’t drink. I should at least get a Coke and Coke.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

****

The Rabbit Hole was dead. Between the lack of sports on TV and the town-wide lack of money until payday, most people were staying home. The only ones here were people like Leroy Miner, people who had nowhere else to go. Like the old song said, sharing a drink they called loneliness was better than drinking alone.

Undeterred, Lacey took her uncle-approved non-alcoholic beverage over to the pool table by the fireplace. She took off her hoodie and unbuttoned her blouse a little. This whole thing was a risky move, but it was the best plan she had. Hustling pool paid off more often than it didn’t.

Eyeing the room, she bent over the pool table, just far enough to get a little attention. She lined up a shot and missed on purpose.

“Oh crap!” she said too loudly. “Must not be my night.”

After ten minutes of staged failure, Lacey let herself land a shot. She squealed when the ball went into the pocket. The sound made people’s heads turn, and she treated them all to a too-wide, too-apologetic smile.

Only one person smiled back. Keith Sherwood turned on his bar stool to watch her. Lacey tried to remember her other encounters with Keith. Did he usually stare more at her ass or her boobs? For safety’s sake, she did both. She leaned far enough over the table that Keith could look down her cleavage, then moved around to the other side for the next shot. She stuck her ass in the air, practically humping the felt to keep his attention.

“Boys always make it look so easy,” she pouted after another ball just barely missed the pocket.

When Keith began to walk over to her, she turned her back to him. That way she could pretend to be surprised by his arrival. With careful concentration, Lacey managed to get a ball a full foot away from what anyone watching would have assumed was her target. It was actually harder to be bad on purpose, but it paid off.

“You having fun, sweet thing?” Keith leaned against the pool table, beer in hand, right in front of her.

Lacey giggled. “It’d be more fun if I had someone to play with.”

Keith chuckled. A lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. “I bet it would be. You had a lot of fun playing with me last time, didn’t you?”

How much money had she taken from Keith the last time she had tried this? Sometimes she got cocky and her marks got mad about being taken. Lacey couldn’t remember if she had ever crowed about fleecing Keith. Unfortunately, he probably did.

She fluttered her eyelashes. “It was a lot of fun,” she cooed. “I think I got lucky that night.”

“I bet you’re gonna get lucky again.” He was standing too close to her. “I bet your luck will get better and better all night, especially when we start playing double or nothing.”

Crap. She had definitely rubbed Keith’s face in it last time. Now he was wise to her. That was the problem with a small town. Oh well, at least she’d tried.

“So is that a bet?” she said in her real voice. “Do you wanna put money down on whether or not I’m actually hustling you? Cuz I’ll take you up on that one.”

Keith shook his head. He put his hand down on top of hers on the edge of the pool table. He was still smiling.

“You know there’s another game we can play together. It’s a lot more fun than pool.”

Ugh.

Lacey backed away. “It might be fun for you, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it.”

He followed her. “How do you know? Maybe it’d be more fun if you hustled me. That’d make things interesting, wouldn’t it? Twenty bucks says I can make you see heaven.”

She snorted. “Did you just say you’ll pay to screw me?”

Keith kept smiling. “You were gonna screw me all over this table and take my money anyway. I like my version better.”

Lacey’s blood suddenly went cold. This wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t a game. This asshole would seriously give her money if she went home with him. It would be so easy to go along with it. Twenty dollars for two orgasms--his would be real, hers would be fake.

Would that be enough to buy a new skirt? Was she seriously fucking considering this?

She clenched her jaw.

“I’m not a fucking hooker, Keith.”

He raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I just don’t see how it’s any different from taking a girl to dinner first. Man pays for sex either way.”

Turning away, she slid her pool cue back on the rack.

“You’re a pig.”

“Go ahead, darlin’, keep talking dirty. See what happens.”

Lacey kept her head held high as she went back to the bar where her uncle was nursing a beer.

“I need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sounds good.” Uncle Manny took out his wallet and tossed a few crumpled fives onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home.”

****

Outside, Lacey pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged her arms over her chest. This stupid button down was too frumpy to make her sexy and too thin to keep her warm.

“Pool wasn’t any good for you tonight?” Uncle Manny asked casually.

“No,” she admitted. “Fricking Keith threw me off my game.”

“What do you need money for anyway? That dad of yours not feeding you?”

“I need money cuz I don’t have any.” Lacey kicked at a chunk of dirty snow. “Nobody does.”

“I’ve got a little, for the smartest kid in Storybrooke.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You wanna tell me what it’s for?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want to lie to her uncle, but she sure as hell didn’t want to tell him the truth. She walked in silence for a minute. He stayed with her. Finally, she said it.

“I wanna get some new clothes.”

“Like a real coat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I could. If I had enough.”

“And this is a sudden yearning that couldn’t wait?”

She shrugged again. There was nothing like being around a parent-slash-guardian to make her feel like a complete child.

“Ace, what’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I… don’t want to tell you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Lacey French, if you’re doing things you don’t want people to know about, then you shouldn’t do them.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Lacey pushed him away. “It’s just… personal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said. “What’s going on? What do you need money for?”

“I told you, to buy clothes!”

“Clothes for what? You can tell me, Lacey. I’ll help you out if you’re honest.”

“I just want to look nice on a date!” She shrieked the words out into the night. They hung in the air with the cloud of her breath.

Uncle Manny looked at her, confused and sympathetic at the same time. Eventually, he broke out into a broad smile.

“But that’s great, honey! You should go on dates. Why-- why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

She pulled her hands up through the neck hole of her hoodie to rub her face.

“I’m… It’s because of who I’m going out with.”

Uncle Manny scoffed and put his arm around her as they walked. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of dating someone. Unless it’s someone you should be ashamed of, but then you just don’t date them. It’s not a girl, is it?”

Lacey shook her head, to which Uncle Manny nodded.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, not in this modern world. You know I’m with you no matter what.”

She nodded.

“And of course, no boy is ever going to be good enough for you. But as long as he’s not married, or some kind of asshole like that bastard Gold, there’s no reason to sneak around like--Lacey?”

She had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at her uncle and chewed on her lower lip.

Realization dawned. Uncle Manny let out a long breath.

“Lace.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you’re dating a married man.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Standing in place, Uncle Manny stomped his work boots onto the sidewalk. The intent seemed to be half to warm his feet and half to cool his head.

“Gold,” he whispered. He pointed in the direction of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. “That Gold? The guy that has every working person in Storybrooke by balls? The guy who’s practically the reason all of us are living paycheck to paycheck? You’re going on dates with him?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been one date so far, but he asked me to come to his house on Friday.”

“And you said yes? What, does he have something on you? Is that why you need money?”

“No!” Lacey insisted. “I was telling the truth! I just need clothes that are good enough for him.”

“‘Good enough for him?’ He’s not good enough for you, Lacey! That man is a scourge. He’s a parasite. He’s--he’s old enough to be your father!”

“If he was my father, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d actually have a good life.”

“You have a good life.” Uncle Manny wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he was, his anger had become still and stern. “Your parents worked every day to give you a good life.”

“And where did it get them?” Lacey snapped. “Where did it get me? Yes, we work hard, but our only reward is getting to work even harder. And I’m so tired.” Her face was hot. God, she was sniffling. “Being with Mr. Gold feels like a break, and that’s all I want anymore. Just a freaking break.”

Uncle Manny’s arms were around her. He pulled her against his coveralls that smelled like motor oil and sweat. He squeezed her tight and patted her back as she tried to stop crying.

“Sorry,” she sniffed when they broke apart.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Despite her tears, Lacey laughed. It was an old joke for them. She knew what her next line had to be: “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

He hugged her again, kissed the top of her head. They didn’t talk until they were in front of Game of Thorns.

“I’d stay for dinner, but I’ve had Moe’s cooking before.”

She snorted at another joke she’d heard a thousand times, then she turned serious. “Um. You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“About your…” he searched for the words, then shrugged, “love life?”

“Yeah. You know my dad will blow a gasket if he finds out I’m even talking to Mr. Gold, let alone--”

“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Manny cut her off. Clearly, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing with Mr. Gold.

“So, please don’t tell him? Promise?”

Her uncle sucked his teeth and slowly shook his head in silence. It took a long minute before he looked at her again.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult. You know your own mind, you can make your own decisions. It’s just--be smart, okay? You are an adult, but you’re also our little girl. Me, your dad, your mom, rest her soul--we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t get hurt, if you promise not to blab my business all over town.”

“Aright,” he sighed. He pulled her in for a tight hug. “I promise. Just--please, take care of yourself.”

She squeezed her uncle, then headed for the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

****

Lacey spent the entire working day on Thursday psychically willing the phone to ring with orders, preferably orders that had to be filled as soon as possible. Doing a rush job would give them an excuse to charge extra. She wouldn’t wish a funeral on anyone, but wouldn’t this be a great weekend for an impromptu wedding? So many of Lacey’s problems would be solved if just one panicked bride would come in and beg them to fill Dodci’s Dance Hall with centerpieces and garlands, not to mention all the bouquets and boutonnieres and flowers for the church too. Or maybe someone important could get sick and everyone in Storybrooke would send flowers to the hospital. Wasn’t there anyone in Storybrooke who was celebrating anything? Did people not have birthdays in late January? There were so many reasons people could need flowers. But this wasn’t a day when people did.

Hustling at the Rabbit Hole wasn’t an option anymore. If this were any other occasion, she would borrow a skirt from Mara or Janine, but that didn’t seem like a possibility. They wouldn’t take the news of her going on a date with Mr. Gold any better than Uncle Manny had. Mara’s store, where she also lived, was rented from Mr. Gold, and Janine had taken out a loan to pay for her beautician supplies. Both of them--really everyone in Storybrooke--saw him as the enemy. As far as they cared to think about it, he was the reason they were poor. If Lacey told her friends how much she wanted to be around him, they would think she was crazy, or morally degenerate.

Maybe she was.

Or maybe they were wrong. Had her friends ever eaten at Bella Notte? Had they ever worn a dress that made them feel like sex on two legs? Had they ever watched a hapless waiter get strong-armed into breaking a stupid law for them? Had they ever been inside Mr. Gold’s house? Had they ever taken clothes off just because a man had asked them to? Had they ever known the thrill of promising to do whatever another person told them to do? Had they ever known the peace of being an object, of kneeling silently at someone’s feet?

Could they even understand why that was something anyone would want? Let alone that it was something Lacey craved in a place deeper than her bones? Some dark, hidden part of her soul wanted Mr. Gold, like she had never wanted anything else.

And not having enough money to buy a stupid fucking skirt might keep her away from him forever. She could not abide that thought.

When Friday was another dud--a few orders came in, but they wouldn’t pay until delivery--Lacey knew that she was out of options. Since Mr. Gold would be picking her up tonight at eight, she was also out of time. So she did what everyone in Storybrooke did when they had nowhere else to go.

She went to the pawn shop.

****

Lacey had always been intrigued by the phrasing of Mr. Gold’s store. The sign said Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. Most stores advertised the goods sold inside, but Mr. Gold advertised himself. This was who he was, this was what he did. No one came to this store because they needed things, they came because they needed what only he could offer them. Usually, they needed it enough to pay whatever price he set.

When it came down to it, Lacey really wasn’t that different from any other desperate soul who came to Mr. Gold. The only difference was what she wanted.

It was three in the afternoon. Not technically her lunch break, but it wasn’t like she was getting paid to stick around the flower shop. Lacey changed into some gray dress pants and covered her work shirt with her least-frumpy cardigan. She stuffed her purse full of old toys and oddities that might--cumulatively, optimistically--be worth about ten dollars. She yelled at Dad that she was going out for a minute and then walked over to Mr. Gold’s.

The bell rang over her head when she walked through the front door. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, writing something in a ledger. He looked up at the sound and gave the slightest grin when he saw that it was her.

“Miss French,” he said, with just a touch of warmth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lacey bit her lip, but forced herself to stay cool. She looked around at the shelves and display cases, slowly making her way forward. Another time, she would have marveled at the art and jewelry and historic do-dads, but now she slunk past them.

“I…” she dragged out the word, unsure of what she was saying as she said it, “was wondering… if you have any clothes for sale.”

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Clothes?”

“Yeah.” She stopped in front of a spinning rack of necklaces. She couldn’t look at him. “You know, like vintage stuff?”

He walked over to her, behind the display case. “I’ve got some historic naval uniforms, but nothing that would suit you.”

He was in front of her now, so they were separated by nothing but two feet of glass and gadgets. She didn’t raise her head. Some of these necklaces were really pretty. One gold chain with a mother-of-pearl pendant spoke to her for some reason.

“What do you need, Miss French?”

His voice was gentle, coaxing. He understood how much she hated what she was doing. He probably talked to a lot of people who were feeling what she was feeling. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfort.

Lacey took a breath, and looked up at him.

“I need a skirt,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to wear on our date tonight.”

He blinked. Then his face grew infinitesimally softer.

“I see,” he said.

“I brought some stuff.” She set her purse on the counter, began to pull out the junk she’d brought from home. “I thought I might--”

“Please,” he held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to assist you, Miss French.” He turned away from her, went back over to his antique cash register.

“I can pay you back…”

“Oh you will,” he grinned. He took a bill out of the cash register and set it on the counter. Lacey came closer and saw that it was a fifty. “Will this be enough?”

She fought the urge to snatch the money and run all the way to Modern Fashions. It was the same feeling she’d had when he’d given her the money to tip that stupid waiter. The thrill, the rush, of having cash and knowing she could do anything with it. Fifty dollars was more than she had spent on clothes in the past year. Fifty dollars could cover the bill at Granny’s for her whole family--or at least for Janine and Mara to have real lunches.

Fifty dollars was more than twice what Keith had offered her to have sex with him.

Lacey pulled her hands back. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

“I… I shouldn’t accept this,” she said.

“Why not?” Mr. Gold asked, unperturbed. “Are you worried I’ll take advantage of you? Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed, Miss French?”

She looked down at the dirt-stained sneakers she wore for work. In a resigned whisper, she told Mr. Gold the same thing she said to Keith at the Rabbit Hole.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Gold’s voice was smooth and confident. He came out from behind the counter to stand in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, subtly forcing her to look at him. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and who will do whatever she needs to do to make it happen.”

Lacey’s breath shook. Her eyes were hot and she was trembling.

“What do you want?” he asked her. He really was being very patient.

“I want to go on another date with you, Mr. Gold.”

“And what do you need to do in order to make that happen?”

“I need--” she stopped. I need a skirt wasn’t the right answer. Mr. Gold had asked her what she needed to do. “I need to get some money, Mr. Gold.”

“Ask me for it.” He gave the order like it was a caress. “Ask me for the money and I’ll give it to you, Miss French.”

This wasn’t like with Keith. This wasn’t being so desperate for money that she’d have sex with a stranger. This was being so desperate for sex that she’d take money to make sure she’d get it. She’d let Mr. Gold pay her like a whore just to make sure he kept treating her like a slut.

She swallowed. She had to swallow a few times before she was brave enough to speak.

“Please, Mr. Gold, will you give me fifty dollars so I can have something suitable to wear for our date tonight?”

“I would be happy too, Miss French.” He lowered his hand from her cheek and picked the bill up off of the counter. Gently, he took her hand by the wrist, placed the fifty on her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

He grinned at her.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lacey clenched her jaw. Now he was enjoying this. She bit back words that would make him take the money back. Instead, she said what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You’re quite welcome, Miss French.”

He turned around then, went back behind the counter. Lacey understood she was dismissed. Facing the door, she took a breath and checked to make sure none of her tears had spilled out onto her cheeks.

Before she opened the door, Mr. Gold called over to her.

“Miss French,” he said. “If you happen to buy a red skirt and wear nothing underneath it, I will eat your cunt for dessert tonight.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide. Her shock was less for what Mr. Gold had said and more for his nonchalant tone. He was talking about sex in the same way he would talk about running errands.

“Do you understand me, Miss French?”

What about it did he think she didn’t understand? Then Lacey realized she hadn’t answered him. Mr. Gold expected an answer when he spoke to people.

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said. Shock had made her voice a little breathy. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod.

Dazed and excited, Lacey left his shop and made her way down the street to Modern Fashions. She had a red skirt to buy.

#courtship #rumbelle #golden lace #rumbelle fic #golden lace fic

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arthropod-concoctions · 6 months

Text

(AO3 - prev)

Martyn swiped his finger across a page of the enchanted book, sketching a pose, and watching as the armor stand in front of him mimicked it. He took his finger off the paper with a flourish, and the stand froze, staying in position. It wasn't a particularly impressive pose, but Martyn smiled proudly anyways.

“This thing is awesome,” he said to Joe, who had flown in to drop yet another shulker box full of various types of stone at Cleo's doorstep. Ze said that they would know what to do with it; somehow, Martyn doubted that. “You wouldn't happen to know how to replicate it, would you?”

“Oh, that's easy, just take a book and title it `Statues',” Joe replied. Around zir head floated a rainbow of small multicoloured eyes that stared directly at Martyn.

“Right,” Martyn said, looking back at the eyes. That sounded like far too easy a process to be possible on just any server. He tried not to be too disappointed; he wouldn't have had any time for making statues in the Life games anyways, and, well, where else was he gonna do it?

“And another thing... do you know if Cleo has a change of clothes stashed anywhere?”

Joe hesitated for a moment. “...In their cross-server inventory, probably?”

“Sure, but I'd feel weird just digging through that. And I had a look around this block of skyscrapers here, but I couldn't find a wardrobe or anything.”

“Oh, fair enough. Well, I don't know about Cleo, but you can borrow some of my clothes if you want?”

“Sure. Do you have anything in green?”

Joe smiled and looked at Martyn through zir green glasses, and Martyn looked at zir green fingerless gloves and green hairtie and felt a bit silly for asking. “Oh, I've got a few things. I'll be right back!”

---

Half an hour later, Martyn was standing next to a shulker box overflowing with clothes, dressed in... not the most ostentations outfit he'd ever worn, considering a certain December MCC, but it was probably in the top ten. Cleo was a bit taller than Joe, so most of the clothes left the belly exposed, but Martyn had managed to find a chroma green pinstripe suit that fit well enough. He stepped out of the room in Cleo's base he'd used to dress up, and made eye contact with Joe, whose face lit up.

“Found something you like?” ze said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Martyn replied, laughing. “I feel like I'm ready to play for the Lime Llamas with this fit.”

“I don't watch sports, but yeah, I think you look great!”

The two of them walked out into Cleo's courtyard, where someone was waiting for them; someone who appeared to be a blue slime in a hoodie and jogging pants.

The slime looked at Martyn and stifled a laugh. “Wow, looks like I chose the right day to go check on Cleo's replacement,” they said, then held out a slimy hand- more like a stump, really, Martyn couldn't make out separate fingers. “I'm Jevin. Nice to meet you.”

“Martyn,” Martyn responded. He tried to shake Jevin's 'hand', but only ended up slapping against it before Jevin withdrew it. It had the consistency of a water balloon. “You're a friend of Cleo's?”

“Uh- yeah, a friend. Totally. Mhm, we're best friends,” Jevin replied, nodding. “That's why I'm here. Friendly reasons.”

“Right. Friendly reasons. Definitely not `collecting blackmail material for Cleo' reasons.”

“Exactly! See, you get it,” Jevin said cheerfully. Martyn looked at Joe, who shrugged. Zir rainbow eyes shot a few glances at Jevin occasionally, but most remained trained on him. Suddenly, Joe gasped.

“Wait, I haven't even shown you the best feature of this outfit yet!” ze said, then began rummaging through zir inventory. Eventually ze pulled out a strange flashlight of sorts. “Check this out!”

Ze shone the light on Martyn; he looked down to realise his body had vanished. From the neck down, all of his body which was covered by green fabric was completely invisible.

Martyn laughed deviously. “Oh, that's fantastic. Say, can I borrow that light for a bit?”

“Sure,” Joe said, handing Martyn the flashlight. “As long as you bring it back by the end of the day.”

“Yeah, I can do that, no problem,” Martyn replied, then went back into his little changing room. After some rummaging, he found a piece of fabric big enough to cover his head, protesting snakes included; then, he pulled out his chat and began typing a message.

<ZombieCleo> Tim, where you at?

<Tango> the shopping district

<Tango> zedaph's giving me a tour

<ZombieCleo>coords?

Taking the makeshift mask with him, he went outside to meet Joe and Jevin again. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a rancher to prank.”

He shot a glare at Jevin, who appeared to be taking a picture of him, then took off flying with Cleo's elytra.

Despite receiving precise coordinates from Jimmy, Martyn had quite some trouble locating him and his new friend in the shopping district. Partly because the district in question was a headache-inducing mess to fly over, and partly because all of Tango's distinctive physical features were now blue for some reason.

He gently glid down to the ground, careful not to make any noise, and landed behind Jimmy and a blond Hermit who he guessed must be Zedaph. He'd been shining Joe's flashlight onto himself, rendering him entirely invisible except for his hand. He trailed behind the two of them, slowly closing the gap. Eventually he could hear what Zedaph was saying:

“And this is the hole where... Actually, I have no idea what this hole is for. It wasn't here last time I went shopping. There's hoppers at the bottom... d'you reckon we should throw something in, see what happens?”

“You know, Zed, this tour isn't very good,” Jimmy said. His accent was unmistakeable, even in Tango's voice, which didn't seem to have changed with his colouration.

Martyn was right behind them at this point, so he spoke up: “Yeah. Zero stars.”

Jimmy yelled out and whirled around, flailing his arms about in a panic. His arm collided with Zedaph's, and expelled some kind of red flash; then, Zedaph yelped too.

Martyn began laughing, pulling the cloth off of his face and pointing the flashlight down. “Oh, that was beautiful,” he said between laughs.

“Wh- Cleo- Martyn- how did you- what are you wearing?” Jimmy sputtered.

“More importantly, what were you thinking?” Zedaph added, rubbing his arm where he'd collided with Jimmy. “Do you know how annoying redstone burns are to heal?”

“Sorry, Zed,” Martyn said. “Didn't mean for you to become collateral. Hi. I'm Martyn, by the way.” Martyn extended his hand to Zedaph, who crossed his own arms, pointedly not shaking his.

“Wait-- sorry, Zed, by the way-- what do you mean 'redstone burn'?” Jimmy said.

“Well, you know, with Tango's redstonyness... he never zapped you on accident?”

Jimmy shook his head. Martyn piped up: “Wait, are you saying Tango just has redstone tasers hidden up his sleeves at all times?”

“No- he- because he's a redstone sprite, guys come on!” Zedaph exclaimed, clearly expecting Martyn and Jimmy to know this.

“I didn't know that,” Jimmy replied immediately.

Zedaph looked at Jimmy, looking very offended on Tango's behalf. “Seriously? You were married to him, and you didn't even-”

“We were not married!” Jimmy interrupted him. “We were soulmates, not-”

“About the same thing, isn't it? Still, not a very good soulmate if you didn't even know what species he is.”

“I thought he was just a regular guy!”

“He has red eyes!” Zedaph and Martyn said in unison.

“Not anymore though, they're blue now,” Martyn added. “Zed, what's up with that anyways? Why does Hermitcraft get the blue raspberry flavoured Tango?”

“Because of...” Zedaph trailed off, then sighed, and pinched his nose. “You know, I figured because you were his husband- soulmate, whatever-” he waved a hand at Jimmy, who's opened his mouth to protest- “I could skip the `introduction to Tango' part of this tour. But I guess not! Follow me, let's turn this tour around.”

#arthropod writes #the swap au #martyn inthelittlewood #joe hills #ijevin #jimmy solidarity #zedaph #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft #double life smp #break in my college schedule means i could finish up a new chapter!

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cryptidsofwakemoor · 5 months

Text

Chapter 7 - Chillin

With the arrival of winter comes new challenges. Now armed with a blanket and pillow to help fend off the cold, Matchstick has started to make a daily trek to the mysterious fish person's house since it's the only reliable source of food... even though he still has no idea why they're leaving food out for him, or if he should even really be trusting it, but hey- beggars can't be choosers, right?

~*~

Mystic

That evening was the fastest Matchstick had ever fallen asleep. The apparatus that hooked him up to the facility wall couldn't compare to the comfort of this plush square of softness.

Time passes.

The weather gets colder.

The miracle cloth rectangle and square of cloud fluff made it bearable, though. He could sleep on the soft dirt of the den floor, wrapped in the blanket and resting his head on the pillow. The best damn sleeps of his whole life. Nightmares didn't come back to torment him when he slept with the soft stuff cocooning him. Must be some kinda magic.

And every day, he'd find a platter of food waiting for him on the steps of that house with the 'bird' feeders. It wasn't always the same food, but it was tastier than 'birdseed' and the sticky syrup from the cylinders.

He saw the fish-looking lady only occasionally, ducking in and out of their house to leave the plates of food, or heading out in their blue 'truck' to go god knows where. He saw the silver forest beast even less, the only signs of its presence being the fresh hole it dug into the earth a short distance away from his current hideout. It didn't leave any other gifts for him, either. Where had it gone?

Spooky

His breath was visible all the time now, even when he was calm. He noticed the people in town, in the times he ventured close, were starting to wear more and more stuff. And more noticeably, something seemed to be wrong with the trees? They were changing colors to something more red and brownish, and they were... shedding. A lot. The entire entrance of his den was getting crunchier and crunchier as the wind kept blowing the tree bits in. He would be lying if he said it wasn't fun to go bulldozing through piles of it, though.

Still, despite his naturally high temperature, the cold wasn't very pleasant. It seemed like the only time he was comfortable was when he was safely tucked away with the nesting stuff the silver beast had given him... So he started taking them with him whenever he ventured out.

He didn't have clothes like the people in town, save for the now VERY ratty and worn form-fitting shorts he'd been outfitted with at the lab... but the cloth rectangle was closest thing he had besides that, especially if he pulled it around his shoulders and over his head. At the very least it helped keep in his body heat and made him feel a little safer in regards to how easily a camera drone might spot him. The bad weather seemed to bring fewer of those, and it probably helped that he didn't actually enter the town in a while. He didn't have to, not when that one building with the pond had food out every day. It may not have filled him up entirely, but the feeling like he was going to die didn't crop up like it did when his food sources were less... certain?

...Part of him still wasn't sure about it, but he'd been going there daily for a while now, and still no ambush of any kind, save for the one time that person leapt out of the pond.

It was weird. He didn't know them, but he'd sort of gotten used to the routine with them. He knew when the food would be left out. Sometimes he'd arrive a little early and hide, watching from the safety of the trees until they went back inside, but it wasn't like they tried to look for him.

....Still had no idea what to do with those little metal things, when those were there. They almost looked like they could be some kind of weaponry- a blunted knife of some sort and a little four-pronged pokey thing- but they seemed kinda flimsy, and probably wouldn't be more effective in combat than the abilities he already had at his disposal... Not really worth the extra effort of carrying with him, so he left it be. Was it a sign of concern to want to arm someone...?

Either way, he would go there, eat, and somewhat cautiously go check on that second burrow on the way back. Still no sign of the silver beast.

...

Soon the day came when he poked his sleepy head out of the burrow, only to see the ground covered in a layer of... dust? No, as he climbed out and it melted around him, he realized pretty quickly that it was a powdery layer of ice. How'd all this get here? He shivered a little and pulled his cloth rectangle tighter around himself. His back stung when he did, but that feeling had almost turned into background noise for him at this point, and he gave it little notice.

The icy ground and dead tree stuff turned out to be a pretty slippery combination, especially since his footsteps melted it a little and made it more wet. Eugh, it was a quick way to make this walk completely unpleasant, though it still wasn't as bad as the days where water fell from the sky. He spent as little time outside the burrow as possible during those days, but would still accumulate mud on him regardless, that would bake in his body heat and come off in chunks.

...Okay, flaking it off was kinda fun, when he was bored. Which was kind of a lot of the time...

As he walked, he glanced over at the other burrow, which remained as quiet as usual. It didn't look like anything had come out of it, otherwise there probably would've been fresh marks of that big spiny tail dragging in the icy stuff. He was starting to wonder if maybe they left, and this had only been a temporary den...

Mystic

....

crnch

shfff

scrnchhh

Something was coming this way.

thnk

A mass of the powder fell from the branches of a tree at the edge of his vision. It lands with a dull whump.

"...hrmf."

The sound of a chain link fence rattling.

scrnch

thmsh

Then- the sound of something big letting out an equally big sneeze.

Spooky

He had been crouching at the entrance of the second burrow, peering into the darkness to see if he could catch a glint of light shining off one of those armor plates, when the sound of something huge slogging and crunching through the ice jarred him from what he was doing. He stood very quickly at the huge sneeze, looking like a kid who'd just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, and turned around to look.

To his credit, he didn't try to hide this time. He was genuinely surprised to see the huge creature after days and days... How many days was it? A lot of days.

Mystic

He's greeted by the sight of- no surprise- the big silver beast. It's shaking its head back and forth, which... is covered in the white dust, freshly fallen from the tree. Said tree is making subtle vibrations, as though-

-it just ran right into the tree, didn't it.

Shaking its head wasn't doing the trick, so the shaking increased until it traveled all the way down the length of its body and tail. The chain link fence noise returned- ah, so that was what it sounded like when it shook out that pelt of metal plates. By the time it settled, a substantial amount of the white powder had fallen from its back.

At this point, it notices him. Squinting in the bright albedo from the icy coating all around them, they regard the kid, then hang their head, letting out another big sigh.

Stepping into the clearing, the shake off their limbs one by one, like a dog. A low humming rumble passes from their throat. Was that supposed to be a greeting? It didn't sound like words, but it didn't feel hostile.

Spooky

As... kinda silly as it was to witness a huge creature, the size of the trucks he had seen at Aria, go bonking into a tree... it was hard not to still feel somewhat intimidated when it approached him. Something about being near a living creature that enormous made him feel small, and that wasn't a very common feeling for him. At least he didn't feel like he was in danger this time.

It sighed again, he was pretty sure of it. Between that and how it hung its head while trundling along, he sensed it probably wasn't a fan of the cold, or the ice on the ground. Maybe wasn't feeling its best. Made sense though, it was covered in what looked like metal, and that would get really cold when exposed to this kind of temperature.

He stood there in thought for a few moments, then walked over cautiously... and after a few moments of uncertainty, he pulled out the pillow from his makeshift blanket cloak. He'd been hugging it for additional warmth and softness, and he gently pressed it against the side of the silver beast's snoot. It was kind of dirty by this point, but it was warm, very warm, like it was fresh out of the dryer.

"Aa.. hh..."

He'd opened his mouth and sounded like he was starting to try to say something, but his voice was a weak rasp from lack of use, barely above a whisper, and it was mostly lost beneath the sound of the wind.

Mystic

The beast blinked in surprise as- of all things- the kid approached them rather than ran away. It looked even more confused when the pillow is presented.

However, once the pillow is pressed against their cold snout, the frilled ears perk up. Their eyes widen, holding this strange position of mid-shaking a limb while the odd kid in the blanket burrito holds a pillow to their muzzle.

...they let out a snort. The edges of their mouth curl up. That was definitely a smile, and perhaps a laugh.

They enjoy the warmth for a minute or so, before retracting their head. Lifting one forelimb, the silver beast gently places their thick clawed digits over the hands holding the pillow, and pushes them back towards his chest. Plopping back down onto all fours, the beast stretches its back, tail curling into a spiral as they do so. Their tongue flops out as they let out a big yawn, showing off all those big teeth before they close the mouth again, rubbing at their muzzle with the opposite hand-paw from the one that nudged the pillow back.

"Mmmrf," the beast rumbles, the thudding steps continuing once more as it crunches its way through the snow towards the hole in the ground. Crawling through the entrance, it slips down to the base of the burrow, and wraps itself up in its tail at the bottom of the den. Faint shivers run through their chilled body, and they tuck the tail closer around themselves like a pointy cinnamon bun.

Spooky

Wrapping his arms back around the pillow, he felt himself smile a little as well, watching the big creature crawl into their den and get comfortable. Sure, the pillow was small, but he still felt like he helped, if only a little bit.

Also... it was weirdly kind of a relief to know they weren't gone.

Remembering why he was outside, though, he turned and walked back along the usual path he took to the food building. Curiously, as he walked along, he could see the big path in the snow the silver beast had taken to get to their den. Seemed they also walked this way. Actually... huh! He slowed a little, his eyes following the big footprints and lines where the tail dragged. It kinda looked like it swept its tail back and forth in some places, but for the most part...

He hopped from footprint to footprint as he followed that instead of the usual path, since it seemed to be running pretty parallel. It was kinda fun, though he cut it out when he slipped on some leaves and fell on his ass.

Ow.

Okay, had to be more careful walking in this stuff.

Still, it was strange... The trail was visible through most of the walk, but he lost sight of it somewhere around the time he was approaching the food building. Guess it was still a mystery where the silver beast had been... Oh well.

There was the white disc in its usual place on the steps, though the food seemed like it had been out for longer than usual. There was a very thin dust of ice on the two pieces of bread with meat and stuff in the middle that had been left out for him. No little stabby things this time, but whatever, he would've left them anyway. Maybe the person was in kind of a hurry this time.

Weird, though, their truck was still here...

Didn't look like they were inside, either. The windows were dark.

Mystic

The food, even though cold, was still delicious. It must have been sitting outside for a while. A few hours, maybe.

Sitting on the porch, wrapped in the blanket, he's able to sit back and take in the peaceful scenery. Despite the thick coat of white powder and ice on everything, the cylinders of food for the 'birds' (and ambitious fluffy rodents) were still out on their hanging hooks- with the exception of the sticky syrup ones. Those were put away somewhere he did not know. The tiny buzzing birds that used that feeder- which gave him a heart attack the first time one flew by his head- were absent once it got too cold outside.

...huh.

That was odd. There were scrape marks in the snow here, too. A lot less noticeable, due to the jumble of bird feet stamps around feeders, and snow mostly being replaced by thicker ice on the black stone path, but they were there for sure once he paid close enough attention. They looked like- scratches. Had a scuffle taken place here?

To the side of the house, on the small juncture of black path where the blue truck off-and-on rested, the scratches were deeper, and more numerous. Some wooden structure he couldn't fathom the purpose of had broken planks in the center, as though pushed by great force.

A small corner of something colorful poked out from underneath a haphazardly placed box at the side of the house.

Spooky

The pond was too frozen to drink from, so he scooped up a handful of snow into his mouth, letting it melt into water as his eyes traced the path of the scratches to the strange structure. Huh... he'd never really noticed that thing before. Mostly because there weren't any tubes by it, but the corner of something bright and colorful stood out like a beacon among all the white and gray and muted brown.

Soon, curiosity got the better of him, and the signs of damage and scrapes were concerning... He got up and moved closer to the box to investigate, too curious to just leave it be. What happened here...?

Mystic

The colorful thing was a piece of fabric, sticking out from under the edge of the box.

Removing the box entirely revealed it to be-

…a tattered shirt. It had been torn asunder, but even he would recognize this article of clothing from the shredded remains.

It was the fish lady’s shirt, the one she wore almost every day on her trips out of her house. Blue strings hung off the edges where something sharp had rent the once-whole article of clothing into many, many pieces. Most of those pieces were shoved under the box, and some were caught under the edge of the wooden porch.

Spooky

Realizing the implications of what he was looking at, he dropped the box in shock, eyes wide. The claw marks, upset snow and broken wooden structure- signs of a struggle, and now a torn piece of clothing, looking like it was hidden... And the fact that the trail seemed to lead back here...

Did the-

...Did the silver beast EAT the fish lady?!

There wasn't any blood, was the weird part, but maybe it swallowed them whole?? ...Minus the shirt? Somehow? It tore off the shirt, and then ate them?

Shit... Why didn't it just eat the food left out for him instead? It was a little cold but that's no reason to eat the person that made it!

Mystic

What was he even supposed to do, now? If the beast did eat them, his reliable food source was gone. He’d have to go back to swiping from trash cans as his primary method of scavenging. And on top of that, the bird feeders would be left empty, too- not only was he getting shorted on bird seed, but so were the birds!

If big silver animals ate people, how was one so close to town? And- why didn’t it eat him, then, when it found him trapped in that hole? Maybe he was saved by the trash smell- but then, it didn’t eat him earlier, and he was a bit less stinky now after a few rain showers. The beast never seemed hostile or territorial- or hell, even hungry.

…

Was that house just- going to be empty, now? It felt sad, in a way he couldn’t place.

Spooky

He paced anxiously in the yard as he tried to make sense of it all. If this happened- if the fish lady was... dead... there was nothing he could do about it, and that upset him even more. For the first time, he ventured up to the windows and peeked inside in hopes that he was wrong, but the place was indeed dark and empty.

...This was awful. He'd never really gotten to know this person, but... To feed random creatures outside even if they weren't people, just because they could...

Man, he didn't trust people, as a general rule... but this one seemed different. And they were gone now.

He sat on the porch for a while, staring blankly at the snow. Finally he got up, went back to the box, scooped up the tattered shirt remains, and marched all the way back to the silver beast's burrow. While it might have been a dangerous idea to confront it... It looked like he was gonna have to start risking his life for food again anyway. And he wanted some fucking answers!

~*~

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noisynaia · 2 years

Text

9 to 5

[Dieter Bravo x Reader] One shot

summary: You’re the personal assistant of washed-up academy award-winning actor Dieter Bravo. It’s your day off and you were supposed to be on a date, your first date in ages, but a text from Dieter have you ditching your date to come to him.

word count: 4.3k

rating: E

pairing: Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

note: Soft Dieter Bravo. A little jealousy. Body worship. Cunnilingus, thigh-riding, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception (please wrap it irl!)). Brief description of past overdose (nothing too graphic, but please don't read if it is a topic that upsets you! <3). No use of (y/n). The reader uses she/her pronouns. Reader is implied to be curvy and having hair, but no other physical descriptions are used. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language. (18+, minors please don't interact)

crossposted on my ao3

The Dolly Series Masterlist

My main masterlist

Can you come over..?

Your grip on the steering wheel is tight. You feel bad for Alex… Alec..? No, Alex! Yeah, Alex! Right..? Jeez, you left the restaurant 10 minutes ago and you already forgot the guy's name, real classy of you… Not only did you leave him at the restaurant, but you can’t even remember his name. You had tried to ignore the text, you really had. Dieter’s text had come just as you walked into the restaurant. Alex seemed sweet, and you had to admit he had looked real sweet too. He worked as a personal trainer so he definitely looked… Sharp. But you couldn’t really focus on anything he was saying, you kept thinking about Dee, and then you couldn’t focus because you got mad at yourself for thinking about him instead of listening to Alex.

You had gone into this date hoping for a good time and maybe for a little action in the bedroom. It had been too long. But instead of going home with your stupidly attractive date, who actually seemed like a nice guy, you are now on your way to your boss’s place. Ending the date early, excusing yourself, you had told Alex that you had gotten a text from a friend that had concerned you, which wasn’t actually a lie. You trusted Dieter to not do something stupid, but you knew him better than probably any other person and you know he isn’t always in the best headspace and that the last 6 months have been hard for him. And you couldn’t get the image of him in the ambulance out of your head. You were the one who had found him, luckily you always have naloxone in your purse. You had been told that it had been the thing that saved him.

The wait for the ambulance had felt like hours, you had been sitting with Dieter’s head in your lap, you had thought you might lose him. It was the scariest thing you had ever experienced.

You’re using this to defend your choice about leaving Alex at the restaurant. You had actually looked forward to this date. You were proud of the outfit you had picked out. A simple black dress, timeless and classy, but on the shorter side, giving a good view of your legs and hugging your curves in all the right ways. You had finally decided to treat yourself and get those Jimmy Choo’s you had been dreaming about for so long. The look is giving the impression of effortless sexiness.

You had put effort in, a lot of effort, spending hours on your hair and make-up.

You let out a sigh. You never really feel that sexy, most days you’re simply too busy with work to put in the effort to make yourself feel good, the fact that the man you work for will attend business meetings in a worn-out bathrobe doesn’t exactly help on your own motivation when it comes to making an effort to look nice. When the weekend finally comes around you’re usually too tired from your work week to do anything fancy, or you had to assist Dieter at some event or something. It always seems like there is something you have to do.

But, fuck… You looked so good tonight. And you had also felt good when you took the last look at yourself in the mirror, before you left to go on your date.

You have had to listen to your friend’s complaints about your lacking dating life for years now, and you had finally given in. Your friend Gina had set you up with one of her coworkers. It was just a silly blind date, but you had decided to go all in after finally agreeing on going. It also wasn’t a complete blind date, your friend had shown you the guy’s Instagram profile, and you had to say he was hot. You had not let your hopes be high on the ‘this could be the one’ department, that wasn’t really something you were looking for right now.

… Workin' 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin'

Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin'

They just use your mind and they never give you credit

It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it …

“I swear sometimes, Dieter… You're driving me fucking crazy! I actually have office hours, did you know that, huh? 9-5 from Monday to Friday, Dee!” You push past him the second he opens the door for you and you see that he is okay. Of course, he’s okay. He texts you all the time to get you to come to hang with him. Very unprofessional, you keep reminding him. (And yet you always end up dropping what you’re doing to go to him…)

You hang your purse on a hook, take off your new stilettos and grab the pair of slippers that you know he has just for you. You are very familiar with his penthouse apartment, not bullshitting either yourself or him by pretending you aren't comfortable enough with the place to not just walk in and make yourself at home. The only room you are not familiar with is his bedroom and the attached bathroom.

“You can’t call or text me If it isn’t an emergency! ” You huff as you grab a slice of the pizza sitting on the kitchen island before jumping up to sit on the counter. The food at the restaurant had been good, but the portions had been way too small and you had not stayed for dessert.

“Seriously, you have to stop calling me every time you’re bored or need someone to entertain you.”

“You could have just texted me back that you didn’t want to come.” He says, now with his own slice of pizza in his hand. “I thought you were busy or maybe napping when you didn’t text back. Looked like you were busy..?” He is eyeing you up and down

Right, you hadn’t even texted him back… You could literally have gotten fucked your brains out right now by a greek god if you just had texted Dee if he was okay. Instead, you had left only and had driven straight over here.

“Yeah, I had a date tonight…”

“Wait, that was tonight!? Sorry, I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I knew you were busy .”

“My job is to keep you in check, Dieter, being busy is my default at this point.”

“Isn’t your job to be my friend ?” He says with a fake hurt demeanour, clasping his hand over his heart like what you just had said had hurt him deeply.”

“My job is to be your assistant, Dieter. You need to call your real friends”

“I know, I know …” He throws his hands up in surrender abandoning his half-eaten pizza slice in the box.

“The problem is that If I call any of them they’ll bring an eightball and then I’m back in the shitter.” His tone is weaker than normal.

Your heart clenches. You have spent much time with him over the years, and even though you like to keep up the pretend game, that you find him annoying and obnoxious. You care very deeply for him. He might even be one of the closest friends you have. But you have especially spent much time with him the last 6 months, you know that the image he keeps up for most people is simply a facade. You are one of the few people that know the real Dieter Bravo. The Dieter that wears his heart on his sleeve. The Dieter that has bad days where he barely can get out of bed in the morning. The Dieter that loves to stay up until late at night with you watching silly rom-coms or trashy reality tv.

“Then they're not your real friends Dee…” Your voice is low as you have dropped your act about being mad at him.

He simply shrugs. Staying silent for a moment. You want to say something more, but the lump in your throat keeps you from doing so.

He finally breaks the silence. “I was actually about to put on a movie.” Pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the living room.

…9 to 5, for service and devotion

You would think that I would deserve a fair promotion

Want to move ahead but the boss won't seem to let me

I swear sometimes that man is out to get me …

You end up deciding on a movie that Dieter insists should be so bad that it’s good.

You sit at each corner of the couch, Dieter in one corner and you in the other, a bag of KitKats between you. The conversation back in the kitchen is still hanging heavily between you. You have a hard time focusing on the movie and it seems like Dieter does too.

He is the one to break the silence again. “I really am sorry for ruining your date. I would never have texted you if I knew…”

You shake your head, you’re not mad at him anymore, not that you really had been mad at him at any point. “He was sweet, but honestly a bit boring too. I don’t know, we would probably not have been a good match anyway. And I know you have felt a bit, y ou know … Lately. You didn’t force me to come, I’m here because I want to be here.” You sigh, before continuing.

“And seriously… I am really proud of you. You have almost been clean for half a year now, that’s really great, Dee.” You glance over at him on the other end of the couch.

“Well, let’s see how long it lasts, I don’t have a great record of people being proud of me” His hands are fidgeting with the edge of his cardigan.

“It’ll last… And if it doesn’t then we will take it from there. I have gone through enough shit with you through the years to give up on you now.” And you really mean that. You could never give up on him, even though you have tried.

“Well, I did promise you I would never put you through that again…” He says, matter-of-factly, but his voice is both lower and softer than his normal tone of voice. His eyes fixated on the tv screen, clearly avoiding eye contact. You are okay with that, you don’t think you would be able to keep your act up if he looked at you right now.

The memory washes over you, Dieter laying lifeless on the floor.

You had been crying. “Never do that again Dieter. Don’t you dare ever do that to me again!”

You feel your eyes getting stingy, the warning of tears.

“Eat your chocolate old man.” You say softly. Throwing a KitKat at his face, without turning your gaze from the tv. It is your turn to actively avoid eye contact, but you can feel his eyes on you.

You sit in silence for a while after that, the only sounds in the room, besides the ones from the tv, are the occasional crackling of chocolate wrappers being opened. It is not common for Dieter to be this quiet though. He usually can’t keep his mouth shut when you watch movies together, always commenting on the plot or the acting or something . Even though he is an oscar winning actor, he has very bad film-watching etiquette.

But the silence keeps stretching out before Dieter finally breaks it. You thought that you had reached a point in your relationship with Dieter Bravo where you couldn’t be surprised by any of the wild shit he could say, but this catches you off guard.

“I have wanted to fire you for a long time, you know.” He says it so casually.

What?! You tore your eyes from the movie, turning your entire body towards him.

“But, besides the fact that I'm very flawed and fucked up, I have not managed to be that selfless yet. I should let you go, but I just keep clinging me to you.”

He has not moved, as he tell you this, his feet still on the coffee table and he is still looking at the tv.

“What the fuck Dieter?! I work my fucking ass off, I’m literally sitting on your fucking couch on my fucking weekend, right now when I could be fucking a frigging personal trainer and then you say you want to fire me?!”

“Yeah, I know and that isn’t fair. I ask too much of you… I just think you deserve better, okay.”

Is he serious?! He has been thinking about firing you. You decide to ignore the reasons he is giving you, you can’t process them right now. Anger is the only emotion you’re letting yourself feel right now, the hint of desperation with which he spoke is gonna give you hope if you don’t keep your emotions in check. The chance that he could feel about you as you do for him. The deep feelings you had realized was between when you had looked at him on the ambulance stretcher, the fear of actually losing him had made you realize just how important he is for you. So you let the anger control you.

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw a dick, yet I blew off my date to come here. You can’t fucking fire me!”

“I know, but it’s not…” He sighs, throwing his hands up in the air with frustration. “I like you okay… I really, really like you and it is making me selfish, okay!”

The feelings you have for him, the feelings you have had for a long time but have ignored and buried deep inside of you, are flaring up.

“You like me?!”

He nods. “I like you…”

You can’t take it anymore, the bag of now mostly empty KitKat wrappers lands on the floor as you throw yourself over the couch towards him. Your lips crashing together. He’s tasting sweet like the chocolate he has been eating.

His arms are around you, holding you close against him. You're deepening the kiss, letting your tongue slip between his teeth. It is sweet but needy. You can’t help but grind your hips softly into him.

“I like you too, Dieter.” You whisper against his lips, as the two of you break for air. Your words make him crash is lips back on yours in a hungry and desperate kiss. He is devouring you, mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue, like an explorer on a mission, all the while you slowly rock your hips against him. You can feel the effect you have on him.

“What if I assist you, for a change, huh?” His low voice is making a shiver go up your spine and it’s making your cunt clench.

You are straddling his left thigh, your short dress scrunched up, exposing the skin of your own thighs. His hands are on your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin in the most delicious way. A moan escapes from your mouth as you feel the muscles of his thigh flex under you.

“Fuck, Dieter, I...” You murmur, feeling the fabric of your panties getting damper and damper against the soft fabric of his pants.

“It’s okay, sweetie … I got you.” His thumbs are drawing circles over your hips as his grip firms. Dieter begins to move your hips. He is moving you slowly at first, but the sounds you’re making as your clothed pussy is being rubbed against him make him eager to pick up the pace.

“So fucking sexy, doing so good for me.” Dieter is cursing under his breath and the grinding gets sloppier.

“Fucking hell … I, fuck , ne-need… I need you, Dieter” You lock eyes, hoping the plea of your gaze can convince him about how much you want him. His brown eyes are burning you, his hands coming to a still.

He nods, eyes still locked with yours as he moves you, switching position so you’re under him with your back pushing down into the soft couch. He is kissing you again as his hand dives down your panties.

“Fuck , baby, you’re dripping . Soaking wet baby. My sweet girl. All soaked, just for me.” His mouth leaves your mouth. He licks your inner thigh before gently biting down on your soft skin. He is pulling your panties down your legs. “My sweet, sweet girl… too sweet for fucked up bastard like me.” He kisses your other thigh. “Want to taste you, baby. Want to eat you out until morning.” He lifts his head, locking eyes with you again. Soft brown eyes, pleading with you. “Can I sweetheart? Can I taste you?”

You swallow hard, his eyes are dark with need and desperation. He looks at you like he has been stranded in a desert for days and your pussy is the water that will save him.

“Mm…” You nod, feeling your arousal pulsing through your cunt at the mental image of Dieter’s tongue between your thighs.

He swallows hard at your response, soft eyes still locked with yours. “ Fuck , sweetheart, you sure you want this.” Not letting himself begin before he has gotten a verbal go from you.

“Yes, Dee. I’m sure .” You bring your palm to his cheek, stroking your thumb along his stubbles “I want this Dee, want you .” This is all he needs to hear.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when Dieter buries his head between your thighs. He slides his tongue through your wet folds before pushing it into you with a groan when he tastes you. He is taking his time, letting his tongue flicker through your folds for a long time before sucking down on your clit. He keeps going like this for a while, but your sounds are driving him crazy, and something in him goes feral.

He now goes at you with such devotion and affection it makes you wanna cry. The thought of how much he seems to enjoy himself makes you even wetter. “ Oh , fuck … Fuck, Dieter, you’re so …” You whine, but choke on your own pleasure sounds looking down at him.

His face buried beep between your thighs. He has lost the cardigan, giving you a full view of his bulky arms. His moustache is tickling your sensitive skin, and it is so hot . His thin t-shirt is hanging loose giving you a look at his chest. You bury your fists in his fluffy curls, making him groan against your heat, the vibrations from it make your toes curl. He is now flicking his tongue over your clit with a determination that has you seeing stars. You can’t keep his name from falling from your lips, over and over again. His name is your orison, his skilled mouth is the deity to which your prayer is devoted.

His grip on your thighs tightens as your own grip on his hair does too. You fall over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over you. Dieter hums into you as your legs shake and your cunt clenches, he never stops lapping into you as your orgasm unfolds.

“So good , my sweet girl, tasting even sweeter than I had imagined.” He pants as his mouth finally detaches from you.

He climbs up over your body. “Fucking hell, baby. You’re so perfect” Dieter whispers against your skin before he softly bites down on your neck, it makes a moan escape from deep down your throat. He keeps himself occupied with your neck for a while, kissing and sucking on your pulse point. It has you whine out with pleasure. You can feel his hard dick against your stomach. The thought of his thick hard cock is making your mouth water.

“I need you inside me, Dieter...” You whine. You feel how his cock twitches from your confession.

“You sure baby?”

“Very sure. You haven’t been with anyone since your last check, right?” You know he is clean since you are the one dealing with his doctor appointments.“I haven't been with anyone either and, uh, I have an iud, so…” So you can fuck me raw . You don’t say that part out loud.

You’re still under him. He is looking down at you, gently pressing you down into the softness of the couch.

“No, I…” You swallow hard before continuing. “I wanna ride you, Dee.” You mirror the desperation he had spoken with when he had asked permission to eat you out. You're rising up towards him “Please, let me ride you, Dieter?” You whisper into his ear, you can barely recognise your own voice so low and husky with desperate need.

“Fucking hell , baby… You can’t say things like that, you’ll have me cream my pants like a fucking schoolboy.” You can’t help but let out a soft giggle. You switch positions for the second time and you're back in the same position as when you were riding his thigh.

You’re leaving matching kisses on the tattoos on his forearms. You throw your leg over him Flattening your hands on his chest, spreading your fingers as wide as possible in an attempt to get as much of him as possible. You slide your hands under the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his soft stomach, showering it with kisses and licking along his happy trail. You love his stomach, you know he is a little insecure about it, as he had gotten a more healthy appetite after he got clean and had lost the defined muscles of his youth. So you are devoted to showing him just how beautiful he is in your eyes.

You are grinding down on him, making your cunt slide up and down the underside of his hard-on, which lies thick and throbbing over his belly, it’s twitching under you.

You readjust yourself and begin to slowly slide down on him. You’re really taking your time, both so you can get used to the impressive size of him, and enjoy the sounds he’s making for you as you slowly take more and more of his cock. Your walls are stretched in ways you don’t think they have ever been stretched before.

“Fuck baby. You’re so perfect” Dieter whispers. “So fucking good and sweet to me. Always… Always so good to me.”

You begin to bounce down on him. His hands are on your hips, but he occasionally slips them back to your ass, squeezing the soft skin with his hand. It makes you go wild.

His hips meet you hard with each bounce as he thrust up into you, burying so deep inside you it has you screaming. The sounds of your skin slapping and your wet cunt getting fucked are ringing through your ears. Your arms have begun to shake and you finally can’t take it anymore as you collapse onto him. Your lips meet in a sloppy, hungry kiss while you keep slamming down on him while he simultaneously thrusts his hips up into you. You reach your climax with your lips on his, moaning into him. He keeps fucking up into you while cum around him. Hands firmly on your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock, helping you ride out your orgasm.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you…”

Tears of pleasure are wetting your eyes. After needing this for so long, wanting him for so long - longer than you have ever been able to admit to yourself.

You feel how his dick twitches inside you as he comes undone. Fucking his cum deep into you. The warm seed covering your walls. He finally removes his hands from your hips, sneaking them around your back, hugging you against his chest. You lie like this for a little while, both of you catching your breath.

“Should we start the film over? We missed a lot of it.” You giggle.

“Nah, don’t think I can focus right now…” He squeezes you tight, pulling you against his bare chest, planting a kiss on the top of your head “I’d rather focus on you.”

You nuzzle your face into his warm sternum. “Maybe we could hit the shower then?”

“Oh, we suddenly can, sweetheart.” He answers, moving his arms so he has one under your knees and the other under your back, lifting you up bridal style. You laugh softly as he carries you to the master bathroom.

… Waitin' for the day your ship'll come in

And the tide's gonna turn an' it's all gonna roll your way …

You are laying in his bed now, tangled up together in the soft sheets, half asleep and smelling freshly of his lemon body wash. Your dress has been replaced by one of Dieter’s t-shirts. Your hand are in his hair, mindlessly scraping his scalp with your fingertips, and his hands stroking your back.

“I think I’ll be quitting.” You whisper before leaving a loving kiss on his lips. “Can’t have you keep fucking your assistant.” You add against his mouth.

“So, this wasn’t a one-time thing?” He sounds stunned and hopeful his voice dropping an octave.

“Nah, I don’t think it was.” You tell him with a soft smile.

His lips are back on yours again. The kiss is so sweet, you can feel him smiling against your lips.

“Guess I’ll have to look for a new assistant then. No one is gonna be as good as you though.” He nuzzles his nose against your chee. "But maybe you could still come along to the award shows, red carpets always makes me nervous, you know and you're very calming for my nerves, sweetheart… "

"That would make the press think we’re dating."

“Would that be so bad?” He whispers, sounding both serious and nervous. The implications of what he's asking are making your stomach do a flip and warmth spread through your chest. He wants to date you!?

“No, It wouldn’t.” You answer and you mean it.

“Even though I’m not some young hot personal fitness trainer guru person…” He rambles jokingly, but you can hear a hint of seriousness and uncertainty.

You can’t help but laugh at that, warmly. It’s a silly thought as if you could ever want someone that wasn’t him. Why be with anyone else when you could have him. Not because he is a famous actor or because he is some sort of perfect person. But because you could have the real him, the version he usually doesn’t show others, you being one of the few that get that side of him.

“Dieter, you are literally on the sexiest men alive list, you have a fucking Oscar statuette on your bathroom shelf.” You shake your head with a grin. “Besides, that wouldn’t be you.”

"Cool, cos there are no others I'd rather bring." He kisses you again and it is sweeter than ever.

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the bubble #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo x f!reader

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around1302 · 1 year

Text

IX. SATELLITE

SPARE PARTS: a series (9/20)

RHEINENERGIE STADION, COLOGNE

(W) strong language, panic attacks

THIRD PERSON’S POV

Amelia's in between a rock and a hard place: the rock being the last tequila shot she did three hours ago, the hard place being a looming hangover. A sliver of exhaustion between.

“So you still hate him?”

“Yes.”

"Even with the orgasms?"

"Even with the orgasms."

"And he still hates you?"

"With a passion."

"Are you sure?"

The standing issue is that Amelia isn't convinced Harry hates Charlie as much as he puts out. As the party who's been in a perpetual argument with him since 2016, Charlie’s pretty damn certain he does. Amelia, on the other hand...

"Because let me just lay out the facts for you," Amelia holds her finger up, stopping Charlie before she can groan, "he begs you to kiss him again at Louis' party, he climbs into your bed on the tour bus, he fingers you on a plane with no expectation of a hand job in return, and-"

"Amelia-"

"And, he's been flirting with you for years. Has he not?"

"No," Charlie stands up, wrapping her arms around her torso near protectively as she starts to pace, "well, yes, but only because he know it annoys me. He's never meant it. He's not had a minute of celibacy in the entire time I've known him."

"Maybe he's just being a whore to get over you."

Charlie laughs, now. Hard. Amelia rolls her eyes and stands with her, and it’s only now noticeable how worn out she looks. They have to leave for the stadium in a few hours, and Charlie’s kept her up with something she could've just said in a text.

Harry's the best I’ve ever had, and I hate him.

"I'm not saying this whole thing is dumb, but it's sure not smart," she grips Charlie’s shoulders, "just be careful, yeah? You remember what happened with Zayn."

Charlie’s throat thickens. "That's entirely different."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is.” She shrugs Amelia off, "I had feelings for him, they weren't reciprocated. That's nothing like this. I don't like Harry."

"Maybe you don't," Amelia bends down to get her bag and her heels from the mattress, "I never said who was who in this scenario."

Charlie frowns, but she can't argue back as she's already out of the door. If it wasn't 4 AM she’d go after her, ask her what the fuck she means.

Charlie knows Amelia thinks Harry has a little crush on her, but that's because she's a romantic. Her and Niall have the perfect love story, and Charlie’s previous aversions to casual sex have her romanticising every person she so much as bat her eyes at.

So she screams into her palms, gets into bed, and tries and get a few restless hours of sleep before she has to perform to 50,000.

“So then Amelia jumps on this dude,” Niall belly laughs, arm over his stomach (making the mic guy’s job very difficult) as he recalls a tale from their night out, “starts pulling on his hair saying she’s the rat from Rateatoullie,” there are actual tears streaming down his cheeks, “dude didn’t bother us again for the rest of the night.”

“He probably went home and cried,” Liam chuckles as he taps his sticks against the covered speakers, absentmindedly practicing, the only other person who didn’t go out last night eating up their stories.

Well. Almost the only other person.

“Fuckin’ wish I saw that,” Harry laughs, tying his hair up into a bun. It slightly lifts his black shirt out of his purple pants, and Charlie hates the fact her eyes instantly find the motion. Harry loves it.

“You should’ve been out with us, man,” Zayn says, perched against the speaker Liam drums at. Amelia’s adjusting Louis’ outfit, completely absorbed in her art, so much so she didn’t even notice Niall telling everyone about her Remi cosplay.

“Yeah, well,” Harry’s eyes flicker toward Charlie’s as he adjusts his mic pack, mind racing, “doing other things.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Louis speaks up, looking at the others knowingly, an amused spark glinting in his eyes, “things,” he exaggerates, earning snickers from the others.

Charlie’s heart drops as her mind goes into instant panic mode. They know; Amelia told them, or they saw her leaving his room somehow, or–

“You ignorant fuck,” Niall chipes in, the crewman happy to be finally done with his mic while scurrying off, “we banged on your door for ages trying to tell you we were going,” he grabs his guitar, slinging it over his body, “heard a few–”

“Cut it out,” Harry snaps. Niall shuts up.

Amelia finishes up with Louis, then spins to wish the band all luck. Crew’s rushing around like rats themselves and they’re all just stood here, anxiously waiting for the next move. Amelia swarms Charlie in a hug, careful of the outfit she carefully crafted (the first night of her own designs), then rushes away with Zayn to watch from the side.

“You too, Charlie,” Niall says to Charlie while people tell them to get into position behind the screen, “knocked for ages, no answer.”

“I was asleep, exhausted.” She hopes she’s a good liar.

Louis, forever the shit stirrer, appears beside the girl who’s about six over-thoughts into a spiral.

“Or were you doing things too?”

Charlie’s eyes widen as she spins her head to him, her eyes subconsciously flickering to Harry behind him. He’s too focused on bouncing on the spot, on tapping his mic against his palm, on cracking his neck. Everyone’s getting into the performance mindset and Louis throws that spanner at her?

“No,” she protests, a little too loudly, looking ahead as she instantly follows with a far too defensive, shut up.”

“She was!” Louis exclaims. Charlie turns to hiss at him, but a crew member’s starting to lift the screen and their earpieces give them a count in.

It’s too late – Charlie’s about to be flustered in front of 50,000 Germans. So she sucks in a deep breath, trying to pretend Louis didn’t nearly clock on to something, and focus on what they’re meant to do. Walk, talk, sing. That’s all. Walk, talk, sing.

“Cologne!” Liam shouts into the mic attached to his face, lifting his drum sticks up. They all step out onto the shiny stage as the crowd roars, the open top providing little fresh air as Charlie’s vacuumed with anxiety. She needs to shake this off, fast.

The band’s surrounded, Germany not being their biggest stadium of the tour so far yet feeling the most daunting. The stage extends into the crowd this time, giving them leeway to run. Also giving them the opportunity to spot so many more faces, signs, screaming, crying people. It’s always overwhelming, but God. Charlie has not felt this anxious stepping on stage since their first proper show.

Their earpieces count them into Wolves, and she lifts her shaky hand in the air to wave (to try and bring Charlie Greene to life) which only incites more screaming and crying.

Harry brushes past Charlie, nodding in her direction as if to ask if she’s okay. She swallows and quickly nod, knowing she’s being unconvincing but it’s damn difficult to feign sincerity when you’re up there. It magnifies anything you’re feeling, and this time the adrenaline rush isn’t hitting Charlie in the usual calming way. If anything, it’s making her feel worse.

They get through the song, then the next, and then she knows it’s time to talk to the crowd for a little bit. Charlie lets Harry take the reigns at first, the break cooling her off, but when she lifts the mic to her lips to say a few words herself, nothing comes out.

Not a squeak, pop, or breath.

Her breathing speeds up, her palms slick, her vision trembles. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Charlie hasn’t had a panic attack on stage in… ever. Never. This has never happened. Oh fuck.

Harry’s eyes are filled with concern, or is that anger? Charlie doesn’t know and she quite frankly doesn’t care. She doesn’t read his mind as the words HELP HER, IDIOT flash in bright, bold crimson. She doesn’t feel the way his lungs fight harder, right along side hers. All Charlie knows is that she can’t be up there right now.

Thankfully, her bandmates are the best people in the world, and Louis quickly takes over when he realises she’s not speaking where she’s supposed to. The crowd cheers nonetheless, or maybe they don’t. All she knows is the world around her is crumbling, and she has to get off this stage.

So she bolts.

Charlie runs back to the right, ignoring the crewman glaring and yelling at her to get back out there. A few even try and push her back out, but she fights it. She can feel the hot tears flowing freely down her cheeks now, and how her lungs burn so tightly against her ribs she feels like she can’t breathe.

She knows Amelia and Zayn are around here somewhere, but she just needs to be alone. She needs to breathe. She needs to go home. She needs to not be here.

Charlie runs all the way out into the hallway of their dressing rooms, not stopping till she’s far enough from crew. She leans against the wall, mic dropping the ground as she slide with it. She rips her earpiece out when the scolding becomes too much, brings her knees up to my chest, and holds them as she sobs.

“Charlie?” Harry pants, earpiece draped against his shoulder. She glances at him once, then realises she really need to focus on breathing, so she looks back at her feet.

He hurries over, his feet now beside hers. She stared at them, focusing on the stupid gold glitter of his boot. It’s calming. They can still hear the muffled yells in their earpieces, but there’s no fucking way she can handle going back out yet, and Harry can do no better once he’s seen her like this – sobbing and shaking against a cold wall.

Harry crouches, placing his mic beside hers. Gingerly, never one to know what to do in these situation, he lifts her face, thumbing Charlie’s jaw as his eyes flit back and forth between her red ones. He’s never looked at her like that, probably because he’s never seen her like this.

When Poppy happened, Charlie isolated herself from almost everyone. Especially him. As far as Harry knows, Charlie didn’t even grieve.

So, she tilts her head, ripping herself from his touch.

If I didn’t need him then, I don’t need him now.

“Charlie–” He starts, gentle. But someone hastily interrupts him.

“Charlie!”

Their heads whip to the new body, Charlie’s heart rate retuning to normal when she realises it’s only Zayn and not some crew person here to drag her ass back. He’s as out of breath as they are, which only reminds Charlie of her own lack of oxygen.

“Harry, go back out there, they’re all panicking like crazy.”

“It’s fine–”

“They need at least one singer, go. I got this.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, but Zayn’s right. The guys can only stall for so long without a singer. So Harry looks at Charlie with that look one last time, before sighing and reluctantly returning to the stage.

As Harry walks back through the hallway, he wonders how he got here. Not that he’d admit it to himself, but Harry’s subconscious knows damn well hating her for the last six years has been a lie. Irritated by her? Sure. Who wouldn’t be. But hate? No. That’s a dynamic chosen for them by her, he could never.

So when he rushes back on stage and calms the crowd, his usual showman charm coming into play, he can’t help but worry through the stalling process that is picking out random signs from the crowd and talking to fans.

Is she okay? Why was she upset? Was it him? Was it someone else? Was it no one at all?

Harry wasn’t entirely certain why Charlie was so set on being this looping pedal of insanity in his mind, but she had seemingly found asylum in it and wasn’t showing signs of seeking shelter elsewhere.

And now there’s Zayn, there’s always Zayn. He was the one who broke the once impenetrable force that is Charlie, and he’s stayed in her soft spot ever since.

It makes Harry’s stomach churn every time he thinks about it. About him, her. Them. He figures why wouldn’t the thought of them together make him sick: his friend with the girl he hates? It’s logical, it has to be.

It’s the only explanation for the way his gut twists and turns with every second he’s on stage and he knows Charlie’s using Zayn’s shoulder to cry on.

“Charlie, love, what’s wrong?” Zayn rubs soothing circles into Charlie’s right knee, trying to be as patient as he can be.

He told crew he would get Harry back out there for them if they just gave them five minutes alone, knowing damn well Charlie wouldn’t be okay in five minutes but doing the best he can with what he has.

“I don’t know,” she chokes out, honestly, “there’s so many things that I just don’t know.”

Zayn sighs, slotting himself next to her. He draws her into his chest, kissing the top of her head as she finds home in his warm sweater and kicks her feet up, makes a cup of tea. She closes her eyes, breathes in his scent, focuses on the feel of his thumb against her shoulder. He’s calming, it sucks, but he is. She can’t deny that, however much she’d love to tell herself she’s completely over Zayn Malik.

“I knew something was up when you wouldn’t come out with us last night. I know you’re a homebody, but you never usually say no to a club.”

It’s true. She’s a dancer at heart.

Charlie knows there is no way in Hell she can tell Zayn about Harry. Telling Amelia was a risk as is, telling her sort-of ex she’s sleeping with the one guy no one would ever expect her to even touch would be like placing a bomb in a needle filled room.

So, she lies.

“I think this whole stadium world tour thing is a lot more over whelming than I expected,” it’s not a total lie, “and it hit me at the worst time.”

She stifles a muffled chuckle, Zayn doesn’t.

“It’s understandable, babe.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

It slips out completely by accident. A subconscious spill. Charlie would be kidding if Zayn being here wasn’t throwing her, too. Since… since, they spent at most a few nights a week together. Even then, she would be intoxicated almost every time. They’d hang in a bar, for God’s sake.

Having him here, all day every day, is confusing in all the worst ways. Bringing back old memories and old feelings… it’s not good for her.

“Sorry,” Zayn whispers after a beat, “habits.”

“Hm,” She hums, picking at a loose thread on his jumper.

“Are you… is that why…?”

“No,” she jumps to deny, “no, I’m not…”

They’re saying nothing at all, yet everything’s passed between them. They understand each other completely, crystal. It’s a type of bond reserved only for each other, even if it’s toxic.

“Because it would be okay if that was the case.”

Charlie sits up, nearly knocking Zayn’s chin in the process. Her brows knit together as she feels her throat tense again, for an entirely different reason.

“What?”

“I don’t want to confuse you,” Zayn chews on his bottom lip, a nervous habit, as he stares at Charlie’s ear – clearly contemplating before tucking a loose strand behind her pierced ear, “but I miss you, Charlie.”

“You… what?”

“Okay, five minutes is up.” A crewman appears by the door, looking and sounding rather stressed. Charlie’s stopped having her panic attack now, par some smudged liner she could go back on stage. Or, at least, she could have up until two seconds ago.

“Look,” Zayn stands, extending his hand to Charlie, which she takes hesitantly, “we’ll talk about it later, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Charlie feels like she’s been catapulted into space, “okay.” She mumbles, unconvincing and panicking for a whole other reason, now.

“Just go and kill it on stage, okay? I’ll be right there watching with Lia.” Zayn hands her mic back, to which she barely grasps it.

Charlie gulps and nods slowly, the bouncing crewman anxious in her peripheral. To save the poor man a heart attack, and to save her own heart, she quickly turns from Zayn and rushes back down the corridor.

“They’ve been stalling, so go back on and say you had a technical error. We're going to kick back off with Alive…”

Her directions fade to static as Charlie returns to the stage, to her job, the crew around her acting as nothing more than a soundtrack to Zayn’s echoing words.

We’ll talk later, I miss you.

That, and the surprising guilt that seems to wrack her the second she steps on stage and sees Harry visibly exhale in relief.

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things

#harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles #harry styles series #1d ot5 #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #one direction series #harry styles friends with benefits #harry styles fic #one direction ot5 #one direction smut #one direction #1d series #1d smut #1d imagines #spare parts series

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extremelyblackandwhite · 1 year

Note

you gotta give us more diane and chris!!!!

pairing: bar owner destroyer!chris x reader

Chris didn’t follow women, that was one of his unshakable laws. He knew that love declarations only worked in movies and women really found it creepy when a random man just followed them home. Besides, she had been on a business trip and what has he supposed to do? She hadn’t returned ever since so he accepted what that meant. Not that he ever had any expectations. He hated New York anyway and going there to her flat and dealing with her flat mate only made him put it off more. He usually only made it to New York in days he had to talk to suppliers such as today. Good to know some things remained the same and he still hated the city as much as he usually did. This was not the place for him, he couldn’t believe he’d ever lived here before.

- Chris? - a familiar voice stopped him before he could enter his car. He turned around to see her wearing something much different than what she had worn before. It wasn’t any of her smart outfits or even that awful wedding dress, she was wearing a skin tight black dress with a cut that was sure to make every man wonder what she looked like naked. - I thought it was you. No one else drives a red Chevy pick up truck in Manhattan.

- No one drives in New York. - he leaned against the truck, trying to discreetly check her out. - Nice dress, Diane.

- Just came back from a partners’ dinner. Been busy since I came back from Seattle, I may make partner next year.

- Fair. - he put his hands on his pockets.

- So, what are you doing in New York? Came to visit me?

- Don’t flatter yourself, Diane. I have more things to do than follow you around. - he fished for his keys trying to exit the situation. In all honesty, part of him had hoped he’d never seen her again. He didn’t know if he liked her, yet whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He didn’t know how to act around her and Chris for sure was not gonna allow to make a fool of himself. - By the way, I wanted to apologise about the last time we saw each other. I don’t think of you like that ... anger got the best of me. You’re not even my type, truth be told.

- Oh. - she took a step backwards, almost creating an imaginary divide between the two of them. - That’s ok. I’ve had worse, I reckon.

- You need to stop by sometime. Bill won’t shut up about how you won’t go and visit him and I can only give him so many pints before he dies from alcohol poisoning.

- You be good to Bill. - she crossed her arms. - I’ll see you around, Christopher.

Chris hide his smile from her, starting his pick up truck, his eyes still trained on his mirror, watching as she smiled at some of her colleagues. She was annoying and she was not his type, she was stuck up and too prim for him. However, he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger as she tossed and toyed with her hair while talking to her friends. For the rest of the day, his mind couldn’t get away from her. Part of him was mad, mad she didn’t even say anything. Not that it mattered or that he even cared, but she had kissed him too. Actually, he’d only kissed her because she drove him crazy.

He looked out the frosted glass, watching the rain hit the windows. The bar was empty, most customers away and dry leaving him to mostly be washing and rewashing glass and cutlery. He was preparing to close down when the door opened, a silhouette entering the bar.

- We’re closed. - he groaned, solely thinking about the fact he’d have to clean up those puddles.

- No, we’re not. - Y/N closed her umbrella. - Where’s Bill? I got him some stuff from the city.

- It’s raining, Diane. - he said in a manner of fact. - He’s probably home or doing whatever.

- The Diane stick is continuing, uh? - she sat in her favourite seat as she usually do. - Well, I guess I could have a Diet Coke before going back.

- Alright.

She was quiet and he would’ve know, she never shut up, yet she remained there, mostly on her phone. He knew he’d been rude to her but she’d been oversensitive. How was he supposed to react when he discovered his ex was pregnant? Be happy about it? Be all smiles about it? She’d cried about leaving her poor bastard fiancé and she’d been the one who cried about it.

- So, that’s it? You’re not gonna talk? - he pipped up from behind the bar. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He didn’t know why he was picking a fight, what he did know is that he hated when she was silent. - You talk and talk and talk; yet, here you are, silent.

- I thought you’d be happy about it.

- What is this? Are you still upset about that shit a month ago? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.

- An apology? - she furrowed her brows. - My, my. Sam Malone can apologise after all. I do not hold a grudge for that long but it’s nice to hear you apologise.

- Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N? - he threw the rag that usually hanged over his shoulder onto the counter. - Is that what you’re gonna say? You’re not gonna apologise back?

- No, I won’t. - she shrugged. - I don’t have nothing to be sorry for.

- Then why are you in such a mood?

- I am not in a mood.

Chris chuckled sarcastically, his hands gripping the counter so he could get closer to her but still maintain his distance.

- Then why aren’t you talking my ears off about whatever little champagne problem you’re having?

- Because I was here to see Bill, not you.

- Tough luck, princess. I am part of the package so you can stop your little pretend games. If you wanted to see me at least admit it instead of using Bill as an excuse.

- Oh yes, because there is nothing I enjoy more than chasing a guy who told me in the middle of the street that I was not his type. Very clever of me.

- Oh so that’s it? - he crossed his arms. - You’re being a bitch because I’m not into you?

- Me? A bitch? You’re the one who kissed me and then just fucking blanked until we ran into each other.

- Oh, swearing. - he mocked her. - Go on, little Diane Chambers. Go on, throw a pity party for yourself just because someone’s not remotely interested in you.

- Oh, please. You’re such a coward. Why won’t you just admit it that you actually enjoy my company instead of just insulting me whenever we get closer?

- You’re delusional. You’re a prissy, prim, proper, spoilt princess. You’re all filled with gumption but you don’t have the vaguest idea of what the real world’s actually like. The last thing I want is you.

- I know more about the real world than you do. At least I get out and go other places rather than sulking in a bar.

- My bar. Sulking in my bar. Can you even call something yours? That’s right, you can’t because you’re 27 living with a roommate. Grow up, Y/N.

- I must really get you rilled up if you are still carrying on with this stupid argument.

- I am not carrying on with anything. You’re the one upset that you’re not my type.

- You know what? You’re not my type either. You’re a lowlife, stuck in routine man child who argues with everyone and anyone. The only reason people put up with you is because you sell beer.

- Coming from a little yuppie from New York, that’s rich.

- SO WHAT?

- SO WHAT? You’re not my fucking type and I’ve never wanted to bend someone over this fucking counter more.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/You #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #chris #destroyer!chris

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jupitercomet · 1 year

Text

Kiss Me

word count - 4.1k

je te laisserai des mots masterlist

“I love you.”

That was what Bradley had said. I love you. Like it was easy. Like it was obvious. Like there was nothing else he wanted to do more. Like he wanted to love you.

“I love you.”

Bradley told he loved you and you found yourself thinking what a privilege that was. To be loved by Bradley Bradshaw. You also couldn’t exactly believe him.

“Before you say anything,” Bradley’s tone was soft, his hand leaving your face as he reached for something in his coat pocket. “Will you allow me to show you something?”

“A day or so after your fall,” he began, “I was at a loss as to what to do with myself, so I went to retrieve a book from the parlor room.”

Your eyes widened in sudden understanding.

“I should probably explain it, shouldn’t I?” Bradley tried to joke lightly.

You only nodded, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

You blinked, a tingling feeling starting in the back of your throat. He had drawn you?

Those eyes that Bradley spoke so highly of — that he said he loved — were welling with tears, still downcast and fixated on the piece of paper in your hands.

“I love your lips because they’re how you smile,” Bradley’s own lips twitched at the thought. “They’re what form the words that I find so entirely profound.”

Finally, his index finger dropped below the sketch of your face, pointing at the last object on the paper.

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “How long have you been carrying that around?”

“Since I drew it,” Bradley answered honestly.

And, as if anticipating your next question, he spoke again.

“I keep it with me because I realized that I am unable to find meaning in everything like you can. But I find meaning in you,” Bradley smiled, his eyes enamored. “And, to me, that is enough.”