#thinking how he send u letters when he could and they make u long for him even more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulaforza · 5 months

Text

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself.

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death.

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did.

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears.

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her.

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him.

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now.

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention.

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her.

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over.

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears.

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down.

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume.

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least.

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him.

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do.

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature.

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose.

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message.

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension.

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given.

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer.

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you.

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter.

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening.

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site.

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door.

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad.

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming.

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception.

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one.

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends.

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about.

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— —

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears.

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him.

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it.

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick.

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering.

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet.

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads.

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit. “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms.

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse.

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead.

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket.

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours.

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red.

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder.

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it.

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print.

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be.

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says.

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did.

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs.

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him.

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs.

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich.

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh.

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person.

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn.

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly.

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think.

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer.

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high.

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed.

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though.

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is.

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod.

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— —

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes.

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now. “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought.

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you.

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you?

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums.

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny.

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

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theholypeanut · 6 months

Text

♪ You Belong with Me ♪

Characters: Bachira Meguru, Isagi Yoichi, Kunigami Rensuke

Cw: stalking, fake dating or is it?, fluff and a tiny lil angst, mention of Barou not getting bitches (pov he goes to the same school as Isagi) , mention of Otoya being a horny perv (Otoya slander as always love u Eita)

Plot: Being a football star is not an easy task, being popular can really get on your nerves when someone goes too far. That’s why he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend to make all of this unwanted attention to go away highschool au, fake dating trope, afab!reader, ~800 words each

Bachira Meguru

Bachira was never very popular with girls, so when he started getting anonymous love letters, he was excited. Someone is crushing on him? However, as time passed, it seemed like this person was more obsessed than in love - writing about how cute Megu looks under the shower (how do they know?) and thirsty messages about how amazing he smells - it got very uncomfortable, especially when you don’t know who is sending you all of this. So he asked you if you could pretend to be his partner, just so the stalker would leave him alone.

Fake dating Bachira was actually a lot of fun. Since you were close friends, so you essentially did the same things, except his hand was wandering on your back a lot, around your waist, in your hair. He started to call you Bumblebee in front of others, making you blush with his affectionate behaviour. To be clear, he was clingy before, but now Bachira Meguru was just a menace. However, it didn’t take you long to get used to wearing his sweatshirt when it was cold, and holding hands around his teammates “because you’ll never know if the stalker is seeing or not, so we have to be like this all the time”. But as time went on Bachira started to be more bold. At first, he kissed your hand occasionally while you walked home, and eventually, he moved on to kissing your forehead goodbye. He didn’t care if it was around people or not anymore. You couldn’t control the butterflies in your stomach every time you felt his lips on your skin.

Obviously the creepy stalker sent some nasty stuff to Bachira about being heartbroken, however after two weeks you got a familiar envelope in your shoe shelf. Scared that it might be some threat, you opened the letter with shaky hands.

“Take care of him well. I can see how much he loves you”

It caught you off guard, but without a second to think about it, you felt familiar hands around your waist. “Good morning baby” Bachira’s face was right next to your ear as he planted little kiss on your cheek. And just as you looked at him you thought: god, I really don’t want this to end.

He saw the envelope in your hands and got angry at the spot. “I really hope they don’t even try to mess with my-” you shook your head and showed him the letter. “It’s good. You are good” You stopped for a second with a sad look on your face. “I guess if it worked we don’t have to-” the bell starting classes stopped you from ending the sentence. But Bachira knew what you wanted to say and he hated it.

You spent morning classes thinking about Meguru way more than usual. The silence on his part was frightening you, because what if for him it was really just an act? What if he doesn’t mind to come back to things as they were?

On the lunch break you felt your phone vibrating.

Megu: Can we talk? Come behind the gym

Without answering you just stood up and went feeling anxiety taking over your body. When you arrived and saw a familiar silhouette, your heart skipped a bit. Meguru came closer and pushed you gently against the wall and put his forehead on the crook of your neck. Feeling his breathe so close to your skin make you shiver.

“You are right, you don’t have to pretend anymore” he said, and your throat got dry as you felt like tearing up any moment.

“But if we stop pretending, and do it for real, does that mean I can kiss your lips too?”

Isagi Yoichi

Isagi was your best friend since childhood, the best neighbour, an amazing companion to play board games with. And of course, you were always the loudest fan cheering on all of his matches.

Isagi got very popular when he became one of the best players in his high school and girls and boys finally saw the side of him you saw all along: a very athletic, nice and cute boy. And a very, very handsome one.

At first it flattered him that so many girls came to see him play; however, the louder they screamed, and they squeaked every time he looked in their direction, the more annoying it was to him and distracted him from the game. “Isagi, control your fun club” he heard from angry Barou.

But to be fair, he had no idea what he could do with this issue. He was simply too kind to snap at them, and too shy to stand up to them either.

“Maybe they’ll stop if you date someone?” Bachira mentioned in the locker room after practice. Then he whispered right to Yoichi’s ear: “You have someone who you want to date for some time already, right, Isagi?”

Isagi blushed. Of course there is only one person he would even consider to date: you. But how could he ask you to date him because of something so stupid? He couldn’t do that for years now, so how will he grow a pair now?

“Maybe just get a fake girlfriend” he heard Aiku speaking. “If you are such a virgin you can’t actually get one.”

So obviously, when he asked you, if you could pretend to be his partner to get rid of unwanted attention, how could you say no?

And that’s how you two ended in this situation: holding hands with your childhood friend while going back home together. His hands were so warm, and big, and for the entire route you felt hyper aware of his presence.

“So… how was the practice?” You asked to fill the silence. Normally you’d talk for hours and joke all the way home, but apparently Isagi is also not used to holding hands.

“It was very good… I think the fan club might get more and more discouraged” Yoichi barely could make a full sentence, that’s how much he focused on the way your hand felt. If he knew he could hold your hand everyday, he would ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend years ago.

Pretend. Yeah.

However is it still pretending if you are doing that on your way home with no one around?

“So… what are your plans for the weekend?” He asked trying to get himself together. His team didn’t have to play any matches this week, which was a rare occurrence. And gave him some time for himself.

“Well, I don’t have any particular plans” you started holding his hand tighter. He blushed. “I was thinking maybe I’d study some, watch a movie… on my own”

Oh?

“Do you maybe…” he started while looking away, so you won’t notice his embarrassment. “Want to watch it together? Or… or study together?”

You looked on the ground. Isagi started to regret his boldness - what if you don’t actually like him this way? What if you are actually embarrassed to hold hands with him and it makes you uncomfortable, and you only let it happen because you are a good friend? With growing silence he started overthinking everything and started taking his hand back, just to not make you feel more uncomfortable.

But you held it tighter and raised your brow.

“And what do you think you are doing, huh?”

“I’m sorry, that was very stupid” he started. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, you are already spending so much time with me because of this whole situation, just tell me and I’ll stop bothering you so much”

For a football star he was really insecure, but what could he say? He crumbled under the idea that you might be annoyed with his touch or by his presence. Even if he’d have to keep his feelings for you forever, he’ll do it if that mean he gets to keep you as his friend.

“Yoichi” you started quietly. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. You could never bother me, you know? I actually…” you felt the feelings stuck in your throat. “Missed you a lot, since you are so busy with your football career. I missed spending time with you. Just us”

Isagi felt adrenaline was rushing through his veins just like before he was about to shoot a goal. This was an occasion he was waiting for so long.

“Do you maybe want to go on a date together?” He said without hesitation. You blinked a little surprised.

“You mean like, a fake date?”

“No. A real date. Just us. We can go to cinema, or maybe for a picnic, or we can just study together too…” he held your hand so tightly his fingers turned white. You smiled.

“Yeah, I’d love that”

Kunigami Rensuke

Saying that you and Kunigami were very good friends would be an overstatement. You were a manager of his football team for a year now, and you had a massive crush on him, but you never really talked regularly.

Kunigami was always a very polite guy, thanking you for every towel, every water bottle, always helping you with tasks that require strength, but he wasn’t very talkative, so you just assumed he was doing it out of simple generosity - he was a truly decent person. No wonder so many girls were swooning whenever he was on the field, it was always like this. His physique, handsome face, manners - you sometimes felt jealous over girls who could just openly state their feelings for Kunigami, because in your position it would be inappropriate. So you kept it nice and hidden.

Until you regretted it deeply.

There was this one particular fangirl who was on every match, cheering the loudest, always bringing Kunigami food “with lots of protein just as you like”, made herself a shirt that looks just like his football jersey. She was indeed very annoying and most of the team would either find her unbearable, or, as Otoya, were always staring at her ass in this very short skirt she was wearing.

And then you heard one day as you just arrived to school, that Kunigami has a girlfriend. It was like time stopped for a second. Till now you never expected your crush to date someone else, so in split seconds your heart was aching. Was this that girl? Did she finally succeed in her obnoxious tries?

The whole day at school felt like a fever dream. “Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve” was all over your brain. Maybe you should’ve confessed? Be more aggressive in your tries for his heart? Could you even have any chances?

You took your lunch out and tried to find a quiet place to eat, so you can spiral into your teenage depression a little more. But while going around school you passed the girl’s bathroom, just to hear The Short Skirt crying to her friends. You stopped right behind the door.

“He said that he has a girlfriend… and that I should stop coming on the matches… because it’s not okay towards her…” she took breaks to sniffle.

“You shouldn’t cry about it, we know you are way better than this half-ass girlfriend! There’s no way he got someone better than you!” - her friends were seriously doing their best.

Your brain was working fast. So it wasn’t her? You never saw Kunigami talking to any girl outside of you and her. Does he have a girlfriend outside of the school? Actually, Kunigami gives this vibe “neighbours to lovers” or “childhood friends to lovers”, so it wouldn’t be that far off.

You went to think about it in silence to one of the quieter wings of the school, and was just about to eat your sashimi, when someone aggressively entered the room.

“Oh, good. I found you.” you could see Kunigami was running just seconds ago. He was breathing just as he just ended a marathon. Was he that desperate to tell you that your presence bothers his girlfriend too? “Can I sit with you?”

“Sure” you only let out. He took a place meter away from you and didn’t say anything for a while. It started to get a little awkward, so you brought your bento closer to him.

“Do you have any lunch? Want some sashimi?” you went into your manager mode. If your players don’t eat well, how can they play well? Kunigami considered your offer for a split second.

“No, thank you” As always, you thought, Man of few words.

“So…” he started, while looking at the wall. “I don’t know if you heard the rumours yet”

You tried your best to keep your composure. “Yeah. You have a girlfriend? Congratulations” probably the lack of enthusiasm sold you away. At worst you can always pretend that you are just worried that he will play worse if he’d date, right? Because he is a valuable player.

“Yeah this one. So I kinda wanted to talk to you first, before you hear it, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Yeah I should have told you yesterday. Sorry”

Oh? You frowned your brows. It’s not like you are such good friends that you would be the first person he’d say that he dates someone? Again you barely talk outside of practice. “Yeah I don’t think you owe me anything. Again good for you, Kunigami-kun”

“No, I don’t think you understand what I mean” he said quickly, like he was afraid you’d leave. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” You felt a little lost now.

“Actually…” he started, still not looking directly at you. “When I told this cheerleader girl that I have a girlfriend, I did it just so she would stop acting like this. It’s not true”

Oooooh. You blinked. Well, now the day started to get a little brighter. “And you wanted to tell me that… why?”

If you sit closer, you’d see how Kunigami’s ears were bright red. “So Bachira said, that maybe I should ask you to pretend to be my girlfriend for a while, so we would be sure that it looks realistic” he paused and finally looked at you. You never saw him looking so vulnerable. “Of course you don’t have to do anything. I was thinking that maybe I would walk you home, and we would eat lunch together, and we should exchange phone numbers…” With every word he looked more and more red. Could he be any more adorable than in this moment?

You smiled, and then dramatically sighed.

“I don’t know, Kunigami-kun. That is a lot of heat I am taking on myself - you have quite an aggressive funclub” you could feel how he freezes in fear, afraid of where are you going with this. Just like a scared puppy. “I think lunch and walking home are not enough. You owe me at least one date per week, where we go to the cinema, or to the arcade…” you thought for a while. “Honestly if you will not after every goal look at me and obnoxiously scream THIS ONE IS FOR YOU BABY, I don’t know if this is worth it. If I’m gonna get murdered by this witches, at least I wanna know you embarrassed yourself enough to compete with Shidou’s cringe. ”

You could feel how all of the stress just disappeared from his shoulders. He really had all of his little speech prepared.

“Okay” he said smiling. “But I’m not saying anything sexual, some things Shidou screams during the matches are seriously nightmare’s material.”

“Ah shoot, no INTO THE WOMB?” You decided to tease him some more, as he is technically now your boyfriend.

“Please stop”

“Then we go to the arcade twice per week”

“If you skip the embarrassing screaming, I can even win you plushies on every outing”

And just like that, you kinda wished The Short Skirt will never be fully convinced about you two, so you can spend time like this for long enough, so it will just become real.

And so did Kunigami.

By slowlyholypeanut please give credit don’t translate and don’t steal love u

Bachira is the best wingman for both Isagi and Kunigami 🫶 (and for himself) what an icon

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hyuckssunshine · 1 month

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what do you think the dreamies will be like long distance?

nct dream in a long distance relationship

notes: tried smth different this time, if u want a text version just lmk! Hope u like it, its my first time doing it like this <3 Also, not proofread so there might be typos!

Mark makes playlists with songs that remind him of you and listens to them 24/7. Also makes playlists with you so you can both put in stuff you like and listen together. When he comes to visit you, he hides random little love notes or short poems around your house for you to find later (adorable pls). Gets so excited whenever he sees your name pop up on his screen and replies in 0.5 seconds.

Renjun sends you letters, actual handwritten letters (😩), where he pours his heart out. For some reason texting his feelings makes him cringe, but writing them in a letter's fine. Sends you pictures of his drawings and draws you sometimes, adding every little detail so he doesn't forget them. Complains to the other members about how much he misses you allll the time.

Jeno prioritizes you over anything, he'd drop everything to pick up your call. Listens to you talking about everything going on in your life, just happy to hear you voice. Also calls you while doing daily tasks, where you two don't necessarily talk a lot, but he enjoys just knowing that you're there. Makes movie dates over zoom a weekly ritual and you take turns picking the movie. He usually just ends up staring at you on his screen instead of the movie.

Haechan has absolutely no patience at all and expects you to reply to his texts as soon as he presses send. Would block you when he's mad but unblock you after 5 minutes because he genuinely can not go longer than that without telling you the most random things on his mind. Sends you a ton of selfies every day so you "don't miss his handsome face too much". Everyone's aware that he's a physical touch type of person, so whenever y'all do get to see each other he'd spend the most time literally clinging to your side, you can try whatever you want, there's no way you're getting him off of you.

Jaemin is so cute, he remembers your favorite flower and whenever he sees it somewhere, he takes a picture and sends it to you to make up for the flowers he can't give you in real life. Jaemin has one of those widgetable pets with you, which he takes very seriously by the way, he takes care of it like its his child. Cooking dates over face time, where you both (try to) cook the same meal, which usually just ends in very messy kitchens, but atleast its fun.

Chenle tries to go see you as much as he can or flies you out so you can visit him, which sadly still isn't a lot due to your busy schedules. He got y'all totwoo bracelets so you could communicate through them at all times and absolutely loves them, cause he can annoy you even when he doesn't have his phone on him. Gets gifts delivered to your house or just orders food from your favorite restaurant to your address when he feels like its time for you to eat something.

Jisung would try to get you into videogames so you'd play with him and he'd love to go on minecraft dates with you. Texts you a lot and then stops out of nowhere because he's worried that he's doing too much and you'll get bored of him. Overall Jisung's quite anxious because of the distance, so he needs you to reassure him a lotttt. Any new app for long distance couples to exist, trust me he has it and he makes you download it too.

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hanichani · 2 months

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hii!! could u do a skz (preferably i.n or ot8) when they have an idol!so and they reveal their relationship??

hi anon!! i tried to make this kind of as realistic as possible but at the same time i feel like jyp would never let this happen so this is what i came up with😭

Pairing: ot8 x gn!idol!reader Genre: fluff, a tiny bit angsty i guess Warnings: none that i could think of, everyone's stressing Word count: 1,3k

i hope you like it <3 (sorry it took so long)

Channie

realistically, i don’t think chan would want to reveal the relationship up until after the peak of their career if ever. i feel like he’s just too tied down by all the responsibilities he has towards the company. but i also think that out of all of the other members he would do the best at consoling you if you ever wanted to go public and he told you no. he would feel so bad but it’s just something he knows he can’t risk. and a big part of why he wouldn’t do it is that he’s afraid you’d receive hate so he’s really just trying to protect you and your career.

if the relationship ever got leaked, boy would have to do so much damage control. even if it’s accepted by everyone and actually somehow boosts your careers and only has good outcomes. mans would be out there writing apology letters like “hi, this is stray kids’ bang chan and i’m so sorry i lied to you all about my relationship.” like it’s not his private business.

Lee know

lee know would throw in little quips and hints during things like skz code and stuff. do you know how he talked about the friend he went to japan with and said he was his boyfriend? he’d do that with you as well. pretend that he’s joking and when they’re all asked about your group he’d say “yea, we hung out once. they’re actually my partner now.” and then do the little :] smile. hannie would obviously throw in a little “what about me?” and then the whole mention about your relationship goes unnoticed. but he would try to slowly get there through hints.

if this relationship ever got leaked, he’d come over that same day with the biggest smile on his face. i feel like he’d genuinely be happy and i think someday, down the line, he’d confirm it on his own by sending a not the most flattering picture of you surrounded with his cats to bubble. for which you’d scold him later.

Changbin

i feel like changbin would really want to tell EVERYONE. like, he’s so proud to be your boyfriend and he wants to tell the world. but he knows he can’t. he would also just mention you during skz talker and stuff. i think he’d show the camera a video of you doing a dance trend or something and be like “waaah, aren’t they so talented?” meanwhile in his head he’s also adding “and they’re all mine”.

he’s happy as well when the relationship gets leaked. is even happier that it happens around the time of your new comeback because now he can do your dance challenge with you and not feel weird about it. wouldn’t address it but in his next vlog, he tells the staff not to blur you out anymore. (which i know that they don’t really post vlogs anymore BUT BINNIE’S WERE MY FAVORITE AND I MISS THEM OKAY)

Hyunjin

feel like hyune would be STRESSED when you first bring up the idea of going public. he’d tell you that he’ll think about it but is probably the most open to it. he’d have a meeting about it with the higher ups and you would too but it would be a while before they actually allowed you to do it.

when it does happen, i think it would just be him posting pictures from a versace event and then the last picture would be the two of you together. your back pressed against his chest, his hand placed over your stomach and your hand reaching back to hold his face while looking at each other. you’d obviously be wearing your versace outfits and the caption would be something like “thank you donatella, me and my y/n enjoyed the event so much”. safe to say stays go crazy and your fandom does as well.

Jisung

i think hannie wouldn’t be comfortable revealing it but we all know boy has a big mouth. i think he’d just leak his own relationship tbh. yk how sometimes he just speaks poems about how he’s so fond of minho? one question asked about you and he’s spilling on air. “ah y/n? yeah, i’ve never met anyone as hard working… well, except for my members. yeah, they’re just so amazing and we match so well, you know. it was honestly like out of a fairytale. i mean, um… like… you know, like the friendship?” and then chan is jumping into the conversation and changing the topic, thank god for his leader.

he’d be terrified after but you’re there to calm him down. at some point you get asked about it in an interview and you decide to just clear it up. “did you hear what stray kids’ han said about you the other day?” the interviewer asks. “ah yeah. adorable, wasn’t he? i have to say, it really was like out of a fairytale. it might sound corny but we just clicked so well, you know.” you smile and wave into the camera, mouthing a hi baby because you just know that he’s going to watch this interview the moment it comes out. (chan is beyond stressed because of you two)

Felix

lixie would love the idea of going public but he would be too scared of the consequences i think. feel like it would be similar to hyunjin because he would want you at all of his events and at some point the fans start to be like…hmm is it a coincidence that they always appear together at the same events. but obviously that’s not enough to just assume that you’re both dating.

at some point lix accidentally sends the wrong picture to bubble and it’s a picture where you’re cuddled together in bed and you’re kissing his cheek. he meant to send the one of him alone that he took when you went to the bathroom. he’s freaked out but then he just kind of accepts it and is happy because so much pressure has just been taken off his shoulders. the next picture of the two of you that appears on bubble is sent intentionally with a bunch of light blue hearts.

Seungmin

seungmin would absolutely NOT want to reveal the relationship. he has a reputation to uphold as the grumpy one. that’s what he says but really he’s just too scared of the reactions and feedback. he doesn’t mind getting hate, he feels used to that but he doesn’t want you to receive it. he’s also worried that people would put you down for dating him out of everyone else. this leads to you both having a looong conversation where he starts sobbing at some point because he does feel insecure but he never lets himself feel those things unless it’s with you.

this in turn makes him realize that you are very important to him and now he’s even more conflicted. should he tell everyone that you’re his or should he work even harder to protect your relationship. in the end, he decides to let you make the decision. he’s happy with whatever you choose as long as you’re by his side.

Jeongin

i think innie would actually be the one to bring this up with you. after they all get their instagrams, hyunjin gets his piercing and the company lets more loose in general, he feels that it could go through. so he brings it up with jyp and gets the green light (which is not realistic at all but let’s pretend for the sake of this drabble).

i know that innie doesn’t do the ootd posts anymore but i think it would be so cute if he revealed it through that. he would post an ootd post and then on some of the pictures you’re there as well. just a power couple posing together. and then also, some of the more observing fans would notice that hey, isn’t that innie’s shirt that y/n was wearing in their new post. and hey isn’t that the same bag that y/n has in jeongin’s new post? it’d just be really cute because you’d both be so excited about it and flaunting it.

a/n: requests are open by the way!!!

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redbleedingrose · 3 months

Note

that baby girl Lucy thing could be a drabble or headcanon or whatever ur comfortable with btw 😁 or you don’t have to do anything at all with it if u don’t want! just wanted to mention it bc GIRL DAD ERIS

GIRL DAD!ERIS AND LUCIEN RECONCILLING PART 2

A/N: OKAY YES I AM SO SORRY I GOT BUSY WITH MED SCHOOL, HAD A SHELF EXAM TO TAKE AND THEN I GOT LAZY BUT IT IS HERE!

Edit: So I started writing and realized this is getting a bit long, like I am not done with this part and I am already 2.2k word in, so this will likely be a 3 or 4 part mini-series giving y'all girl dad!Eris lore! I hope you enjoy and I am sorry I had to split it up, but it seems like I had more to this story I wanted to share!

part 1

Your first letter remains unopened, buried beneath legal documents and trade deals in a locked drawer of Lucien's desk. Each week, another one of your letters is added to the ever growing pile that Lucien can't bring himself to open.

Part of him wants to rip all your attempts of communication to shreds, throw it into the fire place and forget that you and Eris exist.

The other part of him, the one that he tries to bury deep within himself, is curious, anxious really, to know what it is you have to say to him. What is it that you continue to reach out to him?

Is it a part your duty as high lady of autumn? Are you looking to start relations between Autumn and Day? Are you trying to keep your relationship to your brother in law as professional as possible? What if you are trying to get to know him? Would that be the worst thing in the world, to get to know his sister in law? He has always wanted a sister.

What if you are writing out of need? For help? What if you need asylum from his brother? Gods, he hopes not. What if Eris turned out to be the exactly like his father, cruel and abusive in his marriage to you? What if he, like Beron, was ruining Autumn court with outrageous regulations and taxes too high that most of the autumn population were left in poverty?

What if you were writing to him to brag about how well Eris has done without him, that this is the only way he will receive any updates on Eris, and to not expect anything more?

What if you are lovely and kind? What are you like? Are you good to Eris? Is he good to you? Do you make his oldest brother happy? Does he make you happy? What is Eris like now? Has he changed or is he the same paranoid male who plots conspiracies?

The lack of response from your brother in law does little to defer your efforts. You continue to write to Lucien, without skipping a beat, sending a letter to him every week, giving him updates on his brother, updates on your pregnancy, even updates on the pups Eris is raising to protect your babes in the coming months. You share with him your feelings about Eris, the story of how you met, how your mating bond had snapped abruptly and without notice, how he fought against your relationship for years until he couldn't hold back anymore, how when he finally gave in, he had made you the promise of a safer home, a safer land, a place in which his father could never lay a hand on you.

You confide in him your concerns over his brother, your fears that his duties as high lord will consume him, that Eris has anxieties about being a good father, and you are scared it will paralyze him. You tell him about the things you notice about Eris, things you think Eris doesn't know about himself. That, sometimes, Er will get a distant look in his eyes when he sees young children playing together, especially when one looks older than the other. That, sometimes, Er mumbles in his sleep, how often his name comes up while he is asleep, how Er wakes up from those same dreams gasping and clutching at his chest, how it takes hours for you to calm him after. How when Eris struggles to sleep, he stares at the family portrait, with his eyes fixated on Lucien before he comes back to bed with you at your urging.

You write to him as if he is your best friend, as if he is sitting across from you and you are just talking to him. You write to him as if you have known him for centuries.

With all of Eris' stories about his beloved brother, you feel as though you have known him for centuries.

It takes a long time for Lucien to muster the courage to open your letters. After weeks of receiving letters and storing them away without a second glance, after weeks of forcing any thoughts of the letters away, after weeks of catching himself thinking about Eris, thinking about you and Autumn court, does he finally force himself sit down to read the letters. To be done and over with it. To read the letters, and never think of you or his brother again. To give closure to that horrific chapter of his life. To have this as his final goodbye.

It takes him several minutes to unlock the drawer after he slumps into his chair by the desk. It takes him a couple of minutes to open the drawer before staring at all the papers on top of the letters. It takes him 20 minutes to pluck the letters out from beneath and toss them onto his desk. Another 30 minutes is spent of him grabbing the letters and setting it onto the side table near his hearth, pacing around his office, biting at his nails, wringing his hands, running his fingers through his long auburn hair to sit in his cozy leather chair with the letters at an arms-length. An hour is spent staring blankly into the near extinguished fire, the pops and crackles from the desperate surviving flames being the only times he blinks. Another 10 minutes of delay, spent with breathing exercises while pouring himself a two, maybe three, fingers of night court imported whiskey and taking several bated sips of the hard liquor.

After almost two hours of delay, does Lucien use the letter opener the night court general gifted him during a visiting trip, to slowly and carefully, with shaking hands, tear the seal open. Deep breathing does little to stop his pittering heart as he opens the first letter, glazed eyes racing over each sentence, each word multiple times, nearly seizing as you break the news of your pregnancy. Tears he didn’t even know were leaking down his cheeks, meeting at his chin to drip down his neck began to stream. Choked sobs with a hand clutched at his chest, your letter delicately being placed to the side as his emotions crash into him.

Weeks of pent up feelings become unrelenting waves that makes it near impossible for him to catch his breath. All of grief for the time he has missed with you and his brother, all of happiness at your pride and clear love and devotion for your mate, his brother, all of sorrow and concern for what Eris turned out to be after years of torment and unrelenting abuse, all of quiet hope for the future relationship he may have with you, with his future nieces or nephews, with his older brother, all of that is almost unbearably overwhelming. The only source of respite, coming from your gentle handwriting.

“Lucien, I implore you to take all the time you need. I will patiently be waiting for a response, whether it takes weeks or months, years or even centuries. I want a relationship with you. As does your brother. And I want our children to have a relationship with their uncle. So I will wait. And if you decide that having a relationship with us is just too impossibly painful for you, then with the deepest regret and with the most profound love, will we accept that fate as well.”

It is your own hope that pushes Lucien to read all of your other letters, whiskey set aside and forgotten. Letters that have his bereaved sobs turning into silent tears of joy. Letters that have him bubbling with laughter as you express your loving annoyance at Eris’ puttering about the nursery and his great insistence that your future babes will need 15 chicks, and at least 6 baby cows to grow up with.

Letters that have him smiling softly, reminiscing in the good memories of his childhood Eris whispered to you in the dark recesses of night. Letters that have him pondering if what you say is really the truth, because you give a convincing argument that his older brother may actually miss him, may have actually loved him… still loves him. Letters that give him insight into all the years he missed, that he now almost feels a part of, like he was actually there to witness all of the events surrounding your relationship and Eris’ ascension to the autumn throne. Lucien spends hours, even as the fire in the office gives way to death and the only remaining source of light becomes Lucien’s own magic pulsating through the room, reading your letters. Over and over, in the order it was sent in and in backwards order. And by the end of it, he is speechless.

No words come to mind that can describe how he feels. He cannot come up with what to say. The only thing he knows is that he is appreciative for the time and patience that you have given him, the grace that you have shown, the honesty of the hardships that you and Eris went through, of the relationship you have formed with his brother, and of all the changes Er has gone through and has brought to Autumn Court since his escape. So, Lucien folds your letters following the exact lines you used, making sure not even a slight crease is created, before carefully placing back into the envelopes you sent them in, holding them to his chest as he walks to his room and retires for the night. Sleep, however, the trickster it is, plays the most exhausting game and evades him most of the night. His usual tossing and turning is replaced with his ember eyes focused on the letters, hands clasped tightly together resting on his chest because his fingers kept twitching with want to reach back for your messages to reread them. Lucien’s thoughts are wildly free of the endless possibilities of what might come in the future… a happy future.

Days were spent rereading your letters. Days were spent stressing out over what to do, he never had a choice when it came to his family. All things were inevitably decided for him. He was brought up to be competitive with his brothers, it was decided that he would have to fight his brothers for the autumn throne, a throne he had no desire of having. It was decided what kind of training he got, despite his lack of interest in violence. He didn’t choose to leave Autumn, he barely escaped with his life. He didn’t choose this. Having a choice… it was a delicacy he hadn’t been offered before.

Lucien knew though. Deep down inside, he knew what he wanted to choose. Going back and forth with his options inevitably landed on one outcome. He wants to try. He wants to get to know you, a sister he always wanted and now, finally has. He wants to get to know his future nieces or nephews. He wants to be a part of their lives; he wants to be the best uncle he can be. And he so achingly wants to know his older brother, wants to know his side of the story, wants to know if he was wrong to blame him for everything. It is alarming. The prospect of it all. It’s… fully… wholly… thoroughly and completely terrifying.

What if he was wrong about it all? What if he spent decades… centuries hating his own brother… someone who should’ve been blameless? Would Eris forgive him for it? What if he comes to the conclusion Eris didn’t try hard enough? Could he forgive Eris, a crimeless, unwilling accomplice in the murder of Jes? What if Eris is uninterested after a near lifetime of rejection? How will they build their relationship, beyond what it ever was? What if, even after all of that, he ends up alone? Was it worth it?

Was the hurt, the fear, the hope… was it worth it?

It took another month of Lucien’s contemplation to come up with a response, not for lack of trying. He had so many thoughts, so many feelings and emotions regarding his brother, his past, his future, you as his new sister in law, the fact that he is going to be an uncle, to work through, that he is still working through. He is afraid, afraid of what he has missed with Eris, afraid of what or who Eris has become. But one thing about the Vanserra brothers is that they have a burning courage within them. So despite the fear, he wants more. He wants to try. Every time he sits down to muster an acknowledgement to your letters, though, he chokes up.

A ball of anxiety runs rampant through his stomach, a knot in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, that he can't seem to clear even with a rough rub at his neck. His hands quake as he readjusts the pen in his hands, over and over, feeling pins and needles at the tips of his fingers as he tries to figure out the words to respond with. Your letters had so much thought, so much effort and sentiment and zest poured into them. And all of the thoughts and feelings he had during the time he took, it seemed… inadequate. A simple letter… it wouldn’t be enough. Not with all the things Lucien wants to say to you and eventually… to Eris as well. Finally, after staring at the blank sheet placed in front of him, sweaty hands rubbing furiously up and down his thighs, does he figure it out.

So… with a shaky inhale, he brings his pen to the page.

Hello dear sister,

I apologize for my delay in responding. If I am being honest, I spent a lot of time, quite a lot indeed, thinking of your letters. Thinking of you. Thinking of my brother Eris the Autumn High Lord. Thinking of the past. Thinking of the future. One letter to tell you all of my thoughts in response to your attempts of communication feel woefully insufficient.

If you are ever so inclined, would you be open to meeting with me? I understand that your pregnancy condition may make it difficult upon you to travel to Day. I’m happy to I am set to be in Spring Court for two weeks from now for a week. Would you be willing able to meet at the border in three weeks time?

with warm wishes,

regards,

Lucien Vanserra

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loserlvrss · 2 months

Text

꒰ 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ꒱ 석우현

summary : you've been getting secret admirer notes for the better part of your senior year, however you never expected them to be from your best friend

genre : fluff, matthew x afab!reader, hs!au tws : language, kiss author notes : i hope you enjoyed your request @sadfragilegirl thank u i love machu ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ♡.°₊ˎˊ˗ word count : 1.2k

you couldn’t believe it. how long had it been? you, in all reality, couldn’t remember the last time you didnt open your locker to a note falling out of it. you picked the meticulously folded notebook paper off the dusty floor, studying the small red penned-in heart — the signature; whoever it was.

if anyone was to ask, which they have, if you had any idea who was sending you secret admirer notes almost every week now, you wouldn’t be able to answer them. you didn’t even have any candidates, because if someone loved you secretly, they sure as hell were good at keeping it that way.

maybe it was out of embarrassment, but at this point you’d like to know anyways.

“another one?” a familiar voice broke through the average chatter of a high school hallway, “what is this, the second this week? he’s getting bold.”

“maybe they’ll finally confess.” you laughed out at the light brunette. “it’d be about time. i think it’s been a little while, hasn’t it?”

he cut you off promptly, “since november, and we’re graduating in a couple weeks.” your eyebrows raised in amusement at his details into your life, “so… yeah. a little while, i guess.”

"wow, matthew... i might start thinking they're yours." you gave him a serious look, which morphed into you both hysterically laughing — even to the point where passerbys were giving you a dirty look. “that’d be so cliché! oh my gosh, could you imagine the look on my face if you confessed your love to me?”

"i'd never." he acted offended, "that's fucking disgusting."

you pouted, acting offended back, "what the fuck! i'm not disgusting!" then you both broke into another laughter then received dirty looks here and there. “but seriously, tell me now if they’re yours, matt. wait! actually don’t, i’ve got to mentally prepare myself. tell me tomorrow!” you spewed out through jagged breaths.

and that’s how you ended up with your jaw dropped to the floor. your bestfriend sat in front of you, knee bent over his thigh leisurely — in contrast to the way his head hung, face a deep shade of red. matthew wasn’t the type to feel embarrassed about much, being extroverted and all, but he couldn’t help it this time; not when you looked at him so confused it basically broke his heart on the spot.

he looked up briefly, catching your eye and immediately cowering, “i-i thought you’d hate if i did something over the top, y/n. i’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time now — i’m sorry, but when you said tell me tomorrow, it made me think you already knew.”

you blinked a couple of times, “well, i did not.” you replied, pouring salt on his open wound, “and, thank you? for this.” you held the cute plushie between your hands, another note plastered between your skin and the artificial fur. “but, matthew, i-i don’t even know what to say right now. you’re my bestfriend of years… wha-why?”

you could see him biting his lip, and honestly him not looking at you was making you angry for some reason. you weren’t disgusted at the thought of him having a crush on you. no, actually you were quite delighted deep down that your late night fantasies — that you deemed beyond stupid — were actually true. how could you not like matthew? he exuded boyfriend-energy. he was your golden retriever bestfriend, so why couldn’t he be more?

you were just confused as to why; why now? why wait so long? why give you letters for months? why you?

you, in contrast to him, weren’t very sought after by the people at your school. not that you were unlikable in the slightest, you were just so engrossed in your studies that it made it hard to have a romantic life. and, people seemed to have figured that out the older you all grew.

the question circled around in his head. why? truthfully, why not? matthew thought of you as the moon to his sun. the star to his sky. the light to his dark. he looked for comfort within you, always knowing that you were the one to pick him back up. it’s like you were his prescription drug; his happy pill; his serotonin; his oxytocin.

his love.

he’s known that he’s loved you like a bestfriend for a long time. and somewhere within those years it deepened into something a more than that. now, he loved you like you were already his girlfriend. he loved you so deeply that any ounce of rejection from you would send his heart reeling with physical pain.

maybe he was crazy, he thought, maybe he stupid for thinking that there was a chance with someone like you. someone he saw so far out of his league. he cursed himself for confessing, he could’ve been contempt secretly adoring you because it’s not like he didn’t get to see you everyday.

it scared him — you scared him. there was a lot of debating that went into his confession, but there seemed like none now. and the thought of losing you over something this silly put a pit in his stomach.

“y/n. let’s just forget it. we can pretend this never happened. this is just a stupid prank by your bestfriend. a platonic-valentine from me, okay? nothing more than that, i’m sorry. i just don’t want to lose you as, at least, a friend. you’re more important than a stupid crush, y/n.”

you tried to listen to matthew ramble, but couldn’t help focusing on your racing heart. did he mean that? was he really willing to push aside his feelings to keep the friendship alive?

no, you didn’t want that. you didn’t want to forget now that you knew. and maybe you always have. maybe you knew that eventually matthew would be the one to hold your heart for real. you thought you must’ve been the most oblivious person to not see this coming, but maybe the jokes you made every time about the notes being from him were you subconsciously thinking it — wishing it.

you put the stuffed rabbit on the bed, scooting closer to him. matthew was so taken aback that his eyes grew three sizes, and he strained his spine, just a little.

“matthew,” you punctuated, “i’d be so stupid to not admit that i’ve felt the same way. honestly, i wasn’t interested in the whoever the notes were from because they weren’t you — at least, i didn’t know it was at the time.” you giggled slightly, “it’s kind of adorable how shy you’ve gotten.”

it must’ve calmed him down a bit, as his sassy demeanor came back ever-so-slightly. he huffed, “shut up.”

“what? i’m serious! it’s cute.” you poked his rosy cheek, his hand flying up to trap your wrist gently. your eyes locked, and for a moment you had to fight off the unsteady beating that matched your hitched breath. the truth is, you’ve never seen matthew so close to your face before. he always kept a platonic distance because he never wanted to make you uncomfortable; you were boy-girl bestfriends after all, and he’d never be the one to take advantage of that fact. but now that he was inches from you, you didn’t want him to back away.

your stomach was in knots, and if this is what real butterflies feel like…

“y/n?” he searched you for any kind of discomfort, “c-can i? ca—“

and before he got the chance to get it out, your free hand cupped his cheek, pulling his face into yours to finally acquaint your lips.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

Could you write something about like camp counsellor remus and camp counsellor reader like flirting a lot or something during like summer camp? If that is ok with u

Hope you have been having a good new year lovely!!

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :) (Y/C/N -> Your camp name, i always had camp names at my summer camps so just pick whatever you'd like <3)

"Moony, Moony!" Remus hears little feet pounding against the dusty dirt trail behind him, and he turns while leaning up against the pop tent they've set up a stove beneath. He turns to see the camper, and finds you chasing after him, calling frantically out for the boy.

"What's happening, Ranger?" He stops the boy, reading the sloppily written R-A-N-G-E-R in puff paint on his handmade nametag.

"Y/C/N had this in her bag," Ranger holds out a woven bracelet, green thread spelling out Moony against a brown background, "Is this yours? It has your name on it."

"Uh," Remus reaches for the accessory and you finally catch up, your bag hanging over your shoulder. He flounders, holding the bracelet opposite you.

"Ranger," You pant, "Go back to-" You groan at the pain in your chest from chasing the boy who knows how long, "Go back to the crafts table, please. Find Padfoot."

"Okay," The little boy runs happily back to where he's supposed to be, satisfied with having been a messenger.

"Um, it's-" You start, stammering slightly as you avoid Remus's eyes, "It's for you, yeah. I just thought- well I had lots of time on my hands, and all the kids were making them, so-"

"It's fantastic," Remus marvels, looking at the intricately woven bracelet, "I- how did you do this? I guarantee we weren't teaching the seven year olds this."

"Well-" You look sheepish, "No. But they are making bracelets! It- It was meant to be gifted to you on the last day," You smile bashfully, "Ranger just... took it."

"He's a troublemaker," Remus wastes no time in slipping the bracelet onto his wrist, cinching it tight in case, god forbid, it falls off, "He stole my banana yesterday at lunch."

You let out a laugh that dies out in the small clearing of trees you're in, a secret sound for only him to hear. He's monitoring the oven beside him, but that's not where the warmth in his chest is coming from, not as he smiles fondly at your reaction.

"Well," You stick your hands in your pockets, "Hopefully you like it. And- uh, sorry about the commotion."

"I love it," He assures you, smiling wide with slightly rosy cheeks, "Thank you, Y/N."

You smile and nod, turning to set off back to your post at the crafts tent. As soon as you're out of view, and Remus can turn away without worrying about missing a backwards glance from you, he yanks his phone out of his pocket, desperately clinging to the one bar of service he's got.

Bracelet weaving letters, he types, then, when the page stalls, Writing letters into bracelets, then, Weaving thread into letters. Each search times out, reception in the woods spotty.

"Fuck," He hisses, squinting at the intricate design you'd made for him like he deserved it, "I'll figure it out, Y/N, for you."

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bunni-v1 · 6 months

Note

HELLO HONEY HOW ARE YOU?

malleus SFW alphabet mayhaps?

thank u 🫡

🍓Hello lovely! Sorry for taking so long to answer this, but I wanted to be sure yours was the first one I got to out of them all!

A - Affection: Answered Here

B - Best friend: Answered Here

C - Cuddles: Malleus LOVES to cuddle. Seriously, it's one of his favorite hobbies. He didn't think he'd like it all that much, but he really does! He runs warm so he's really nice to cuddle up to as well, except for summer when it's blazing hot outside. He's a bit stiff when he's cuddling you, but he relaxes into you like melting butter.

D - Domestic: Malleus would LOVE to settle down and start a life/family with you. It's his biggest dream to be treated like normal, and starting a life with you is just the perfect way for him to feel like a normal, loved guy. Now, he's not exactly GOOD at the whole... having a life with someone thing yet, but he'll get there. You just have to teach him how to clean, cook, do laundry, and pretty much everything else that comes with domestic life.

E - Ending: If he had to, he would probably just ghost you. He doesn't want to see the look of hurt or anger on your face, especially since you were so kind to him for so long. He can't handle facing you to break things off, so he sends Lilia and a long and well-crafted letter and proceeds to avoid you like the plague. It's... pretty bad.

F - Fiance(e): Oh he wants to marry you REAL quick, so you'll have to push the breaks on that one. He just really loves when he loves, so he doesn't know how to stop himself from getting excited. He absolutely wants to marry you, and he will only wait a few years before he starts asking again. He brings up the idea of it frequently until you seem ready for it, at the very least.

G - Gentle: Ohhhh, Malleus is so gentle with you -- physically speaking at least. He handles you like you're made of glass, which you very well may be when compared to him. He could hurt you easily, and he wants to avoid that as much as possible. Emotionally... he tries, he doesn't want to hurt you, but he has a tendency to just say whats on his mind and make you feel bad about things he doesn't mean to.

H - Hugs: YES! Malleus loves skin-to-skin contact so much, and the easiest way to get that outside of handholding is hugs. He only gives you hugs, but he gives them to you all the time. He sees you between classes? Hug. You're visiting him in Diasomnia? Hug. Sees you at lunch? Hug. They're so warm and comforting too, like you'll always be safe in his arms.

I - I love you: He says I love you very fast. He's not lovebombing you or trying to manipulate you by jumping in too fast, he just feels that strongly about you that quickly. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he wants you to know how much he cares for you as quickly as possible.

J - Jealousy: Malleus is tricky to talk about when it comes to Jealousy. On one hand, yeah Malleus gets jealous and he gets jealous fast. He's like an angry cat watching its owner play with a dog from the window. He's got an intense aura that chases most people off without him having to say anything. On the other hand, he doesn't really get jealous often because no one wants to piss off Malleus Draconia.

K - Kisses: Malleus, much like other forms of affection, loves kisses. He is NOT good at them. He is all teeth and nose and way too fast and eager, but it's really cute. He wants to kiss you all over and be kissed all over.

L - Little ones: As I mentioned before, yes. Malleus really does like kids -- he spent a good portion of his life helping raise Silver and Sebek, so his affections for kids stem from a young age. He really wants some of his own, and it's honestly a dealbreaker if you don't want them.

M - Morning: Mornings with Malleus can either be slow, gentle, and quiet. Basking in each other's presence and relaxing in bed until it's near afternoon. Or they can be chaotic and full of things to do. Depends on his schedule. But, regardless, Malleus makes sure that you are comfortable and happy over anything else.

N - Night: Malleus is a night owl. He loves the quiet and peace that night brings. He loves to take you on walks outside around campus or stay up way too late talking to each other in bed about everything and nothing at the same time.

O - Open: Answered Here

P - Patience: Answered Here

Q - Quizzes: Answered Here

R - Remember: Malleus has quite a lot of memories of you that he adores. Your first date, walking around campus with you, the ball at Noble Bell. His favorite, though, is probably the first time he proposed to you. You'd been together for a little over a month, and he decided to pop the question because he knew he would want you for life. You didn't freak out or yell at him or break if off with him on the spot. Instead, you smiled and told him "Not yet." For some reason, that little smile of yours and the 'yet' made his heart soar, and he knew that you were his one.

S - Security: Answered Here

T - Try: Malleus is a very go-big or-go-home person, however... he doesn't know how to plan dates. He doesn't know the first thing about romance or being sweet, so he's really just stumbling in the dark and accidentally hitting all the right targets. You think he's so sweet and loving. Lilia thinks it's a miracle he's lasted this long.

U - Ugly: Malleus' bad habit is assuming you're always on the same page as him. You are not always on the same page as him, and it causes arguments from time to time because he thinks he can speak for you when he cannot.

V - Vanity: He's relatively aware that he's good-looking, but he doesn't really have too big of an ego about it. He cares about power more than beauty, but he does know that he is attractive and is proud of that fact. It's just not something he thinks too hard about.

W - Whole: Malleus feels so empty when you aren't around. You consume a lot of his thoughts, so he's constantly wondering what you're up to and how you're feeling. Whenever you're gone, he feels a little piece of his heart ache in sadness.

X - Xtra: Malleus shines his horns. In fact, he takes care of them better than anything else in his life. They're a part of the royal look, which is one reason why he takes such good care of them. The main reason, though? He thinks they look pretty all shiny. He's a dragon, after all, he likes shiny things a lot.

Y - Yuck: Answered Here

Z - Zzz: He sleeps like a corpse. Just completely stiff and still, even if you're sleeping beside him. He just doesn't move at all. He also sometimes sleeps with his eyes open? Very unsettling, that Malleus.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #bunni's treats 🧁#malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia

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soobnny · 1 year

Text

practice makes perfect — hwang hyunjin.

trope. best friends to lovers. fluff. just kissing.

synopsis. hyunjin stresses how important it is that you help him practice for his role in your university’s upcoming play, especially the kissing scene.

word count. 2.1k words

warnings. hyunjin overthinks for a moment in the beginning. nothing else.

note. hello hi, i’ll be busy with exams in a few days so i thought to post something before i disappear for around a week !! please enjoy :) oh n u can still send an ask to be added in my skz permanent taglist!

Hyunjin’s falling, straight into the fire, because now, the harsh pull of pressure is weighing him down — sitting on his shoulders and refusing to budge from its place.

When he had decided to audition for your university’s upcoming play, it had been something of mere fun — a passion he was (unseriously) pursuing. It’s not like he had time anyway, he had a lot of deadlines that were way on top of his priority list for him to be participating in something that would for sure take up hours of his days. Hours that he needed.

It just so happens that he likes the play, and knew a song or two to participate in the auditions. It wouldn’t hurt to try out for extra credit, right?

When he got news of his acceptance, Hyunjin was a little conflicted, but grateful for the opportunity. He does enjoy performing, and if his acceptance letter to play the main role in their musical wasn’t enough of a sign for him to maybe start pursuing it seriously, he doesn’t know what else could push him. Besides, he has been thinking about it for a while. Maybe it was okay to sacrifice a bit of his hours.

So, he was ecstatic, to say the least.

But now, seated on his bed at nine in the evening with the script in his hand, he’s starting to regret his decision. What if he wasn’t good enough for the role? What if acting has never been made for him, and he was right to treat it as a silly hobby?

Hyunjin’s thinking, I could’ve really used this time to start that artwork for my midterm project.

It’s nine in the evening and he’s preoccupied in his own thoughts. It’s obvious when Hyunjin’s nervous — you’ve known him for so long to consider yourself an expert in his not so subtle ticks. The light tapping of his feet, the constant running of his hand through his hair, the fiddling of his fingers and flipping of the pages without a single thought behind his eyes.

So, you swallow the thick air. Your heart physically cannot take the sight of him looking genuinely terrified and conflicted.

“What’s wrong?”

His head peps up at the sound of your voice, his smile a little too tight lipped for your liking as he shakes his head in response to your question. “Nothing’s wrong.”

And yet he doesn’t stop fidgeting his hands on his lap. You know him too well to not be able to notice.

“Cmon, you know you can be honest with me.”

With a humourless laugh, he sighs and takes your hand in his. He finds that holding your hand has always calmed him down.

Something in the way your hand feels, touching the palm of his makes him feel that the entire world is at his fingertips, and he can conquer just about anything. It’s become a habit for Hyunjin to call you backstage just before a performance so he can spend the time holding your hand, or when he’s about to submit an artwork.

Hyunjin still remembers how you held his hand for the first time, and how he spent everyday after that memorizing the feeling of your hand tightly intertwined in his.

“Are you second guessing yourself?” When he snags his bottom lip between his teeth in response to your question, you know you’ve hit the nail.

Hyunjin has always hated admitting his insecurities and was thankful you always understood without him having to tell you.

Without missing a beat, you lace your fingers with his and tug slightly to get his attention. He maintains contact with your hand, his nervousness speaking without words as he rubs his thumb in small circles against the back of your hand.

“Jinnie, you can do it. You know, I really wish you could see what I see. Talent and success surrounds you and encompasses the entirety of your life. And I will spend the rest of my fucking life reminding you that you’re so worthy and capable of becoming who you want to be.”

He lets out an airy laugh, his free hand balling up a fist to punch your shoulder gently.

You know he gets the message, though, when he brings your intertwined hands up to his lips and places sweet, grateful kisses on the back of your hand and a small ‘thank you’ is mumbled in between.

He’s really grateful to have you, he thinks. And it amazes him how the one thing that means the world to him fits in the palm of his hand in this moment.

“Okay, now let’s memorize these lines, yeah? Practice makes perfect.”

He whines when you let go of his hand, but swallows it down anyways. You were right, he did need to practice, and there’s still time to hold your hand later and tomorrow and the day after that. So, he nods, getting back up to his feet, script in one hand and the other motioning for you to get up too. You confusingly follow.

Hyunjin grins brightly as he rummages through his school bag before shoving an extra copy of the script in your direction. Before you get the chance to ask, he’s already nagging at you — “You have to help me rehearse now. No take backs.”

You turn to shake your head, but fuck, it’s so hard to say no to Hyunjin when he’s standing so impossibly close you get an HD view of the stars in his irises and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks. Why did he have to look at you like that? How come you’ve forgotten how to say ‘no’?

“Please? Because you believe in me, and being alongside you makes me believe that I can do it too. And because I’m your best friend who’s doubting himself?”

“Fuck you.”

He knows it’s a joke when you begrudgingly grab the script he’s offering you, flipping through the pages to mirror the one he’s on.

“You better treat me to so much food after this. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night.”

“You’re my person, did you know?” A smile pulls at his eyes, pulling you in for an embrace and staying there for a moment. “I know, and you’re mine too. Now shut up so we can get this over with, and you can buy me my food.”

It was only supposed to be a quick run-through of the script, at least you thought it would. And yet two hours later, you’re still standing with him, going through every single detail and aiding him in which emotions would perfectly fit with the dialogue.

Hyunjin’s a perfectionist.

He’s analyzing every body movement, ever line, every intonation in his voice. His overenthusiastic energy and burning passion for his craft masks the concave of your undereye and is enough for you to keep going.

It’s not everyday Hyunjin feels this much inspiration, and you were determined to be there with him through it. You know how hard it is for inspiration and motivation to spark. It’s there, and then it’s not.

But in the moment, inspiration is burning bright and you don’t want it to go away. He doesn’t deserve to feel terrified.

Besides, the part you’re playing and the lines you’re being ordered to say gives you the perfect excuse to look at him a little longer than friends do. It allows you the experience of what it must be like to be in a requited love with the boy. For once, you’re not scared to look at him like you always do when he’s looking away.

You just have to make sure your actual emotions don’t bleed through the character you’re pretending to be.

Hyunjin brings a hand up to his face, dragging his palm down his cheek as he gets deep in thought again — a phenomenon that has been so rampant for the past few hours you’ve been working on the script together. It usually happens in between scenes, when he’s thinking about something. Like how to improve, what to do to make it better, how to connect with the audience.

Fuck, even the sight of his frustration has you thinking, he’s art embodied into a young boy.

“We should do the last part. I think that’s what we’re missing, why the scene feels so… lacking.”

You don’t even have to look at the script to know what he was talking about. It was a stupid idea, and you knew it. It was the one specific part the two of you awkwardly glossed over and skipped while running through the scenes. The thought makes your heartbeat quicken.

All you can do is nod at him. Your voice feels too betraying to attempt to even say anything. You can’t bring yourself to refuse when he’s standing so close to you and he’s licking his lips at the thought of kissing you under the pretense of practicing. It’s not like you haven’t thought about kissing the boy before.

Maybe a kiss would finally help you move on?

(That’s complete bullshit, and you know it.)

“Okay, let’s do this.” He’s smiling a little too happy compared to the smile you’re used to, tossing both of your scripts aside and urging you to get into character.

You fail to hear his heartbeat drumming through his chest and the warmth creeping up from his neck to the tip of his ears and the way he has to bite down at his lips to stop himself from smiling too much.

The scene runs so smoothly between the two of you — the chemistry so clear and undeniable as you spoke each line. When the dreaded “last part” neared, you were sure he would back down last minute due to the awkwardness it might elicit from the two of you.

And yet, he continues, stepping closer.

One step. Then another. He’s grabbing your arm gently to pull you into his chest. A line is spoken, and then another step. His hand finds home in your face rather quickly. The last line. And just like that, he kisses you.

And although the scene called for a short, sweet kiss — his goes on for a while. His lips meet yours in a slow burn of longing, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding through your ears as you kiss him back. His lips are chapped but soft, and the way his hand caresses your cheek takes precedent in your mind.

There’s a sound creeping up from his throat but he forces it down, his other hand finding home on your face so that he’s holding the sides of your head.

A thrill runs down your spine.

“And cut.”

He whispers, looking down at you with the most boyish smile playing on his lips, end of his ears overwhelmingly red as he blinks at you with his glittering eyes and long lashes.

You clear your throat, chuckling nervously at your best friend. You don’t think you can think of proper words especially when you’re still basking in the way his lips felt against yours, so you refrain from talking about it. There hasn’t been a time when your words have ever helped you around the boy, so why should they now?

You know yourself too well to understand this is the perfect moment for you to self-sabotage. You know that if he stares at you for one second longer, you’ll trash the pretty lines written in the script and confess how you’ve loved Hwang Hyunjin for years now, and you don’t think you’ll ever stop loving him.

“Alright, now that that’s done, let’s get the food I was promised?” You smile nervously, breaking eye contact and patting his arm to motion for him to pack up so you can get your snacks.

Although, that’s really the last thing on your mind right now. You’re still stuck on the feeling of his lips pressed against yours and how gentle he held your face and the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and the stupid way he looked at you when he pulled away.

“I don’t know… I think we should go through it a couple more times. Practice makes perfect, you were the one who said that, right?”

That night, you kissed each other a total of eight times — all in the excuse of perfecting the scene and establishing the chemistry and relationship of the characters you were ‘playing’. It doesn’t matter that both of your feelings are bleeding through, and each kiss always lasts a little longer after the other, right?

You make plans to come by his house the same time the next day and repeat.

Afterall, practice does make perfect.

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padfootdaredmetoo · 1 year

Note

Hiii i love ur writing so i have a request for tommy shelby but its kinda weird so feel free to ignore it so this is how it goese

Readrer and tommy are childhood friends and he always loved her but didnt tell her andd one day the reader gets with someone and they do the deed and tommy finds out and also he kinda like brags it to tommy so he gets angry and either kills him or hurt him badly and when she finds out shes like super angry n screaming cursing like full angst but then a happy ending after a few years or anything basically ill leave it up to u

Thank you

Love

Hey Anon,

Thank you for this cute request. I really tried for angsty but may have failed slightly. Hope you still enjoy it and thank you for waiting so so so long. <3

Warnings: Cursing, fighting, happy ending, descriptions of panic

Tommy was sure that his life was comprised of inconvenient moments. He was born early, setting the rest of his life off balance. Everything happened a few moments too late or too soon. He was used to struggling enough as it was but this bad luck weighed heavily on his shoulders today.

The current moment he was caught on, was you getting stuck on the opposite side of the city, making you miss his train departing for the war. The exact moment he was going to kiss you and tell you to wait for him. A situation that could have been completely avoided if he’d just listened to Arthur and asked you out ages ago.

He’d had to wait for your letter that was delivered wrongly three times before finally finding him. His annoyance was buried under the relief he felt knowing you’d not stood him up. Just got tangled up in his bad luck. He had a moment where he was tempted to write back. Confess everything. The thought that he’d not be able to see you react prevented him from writing anything of meaning. What if he wrote you something soul-baring and it destroyed his only friendship outside his family? In person he could be casual and see if you showed interest, then he could proceed to the soul-baring nonsense.

He just had to make it out of this alive.

Getting home he almost regretted that choice. He was broken, and you were hardened by the hardship of running things with Pol, but still very much intact.

Your eyes and bright smile seemed to follow him everywhere. So much of himself had sunk away. The realization that if he took you, he’d have to share you with his ominous bad luck. A belief that was only further reinforced by the obvious interactions with his family. No matter how much he tried. Someone always needed you or wanted in on the conversation.

Feeling defeated and jaded he got lost in his plans to push the business, something he thought was productive till it created a larger rift in the family. A divide you’d not chosen a side for yet.

Just when things had really spun out of control a large sum of inventory fell into his lap. One of great importance to the government.

All that running around and yet he still noticed the way you left work that evening, hair and makeup done. Fancy dress. Everything for someone else.

He rarely had feelings anymore, but when he watched you greet him on the sidewalk a sharp pain emerged in his chest. One that he hoped would grow to consume him whole before sending him to the grave.

But he was granted no such luck.

____

Three days and you’d been off in your own thoughts, thoughts about someone else when all he could do was think about you.

“Alright, Tom?” You’d asked putting the kettle on.

“Fine.” He answered in an even tone before pulling out a cigarette.

“Things between us-” Your words grabbed his interest just as John came through the kitchen entry.

“Got a lot of folks down there, help Pol.” He asked you easily before moving to take your spot at the stove. You gave him a look. He had no idea what it meant but he felt stupid thinking it was anything at all. You hurried down the stairs.

“What’s that about?” John asked pouring the hot water into the worn tea pot.

“I’d know if you didn't interrupt her.”

“Don’t like that new fella of hers,” John said ignoring him.

“Why?” Tommy hoped there would be a valid reason. Something he could save you from before stealing you away.

“He’s not you.” John laughed. “If I knew you were going to leave her up for grabs, I would have snagged her ages ago.”

Tommy didn't have the energy to respond. He only picked up the newspaper and went back to sulking.

_______________________

The day ended in the Garrison. Some Irish broad decided to sing a song meaning it was his time to leave before he burnt the place down. Getting up from the nook he gave John a nod and they both moved outside.

“What a bunch o’ whining,” John muttered pulling out a cigarette, Tommy did the same. They both stood there enjoying the cold air when he noticed a few men approaching from further up the alleyway.

“Shelby!” One of the men called out. He was clearly high on liquid courage as his voice slurred. Tommy turned in his direction catching the look of enjoyment on John’s face.

The men continued shouting till they finally came out of the shadows. The tallest man was unmistakable and for once he was more excited for a fight than John was.

“What you on about?” John asked flicking his cigarette at them.

“Slept with your sweetie! Billy Kimber sends his regards.” The men began laughing and Tommy felt a small flicker of something growing in his chest.

It didn’t take much from him and John before the men were badly bloodied.

“You leave what’s mine alone. Now give my regards to Mr. Kimber.” He spat on them as John pulled him back, looking down at them he wondered if they were dead.

He on the other hand felt very much alive. A momentary sense of victory washed over him and let out a breath he’d been holding for what felt like years.

They enjoyed the cold walk back to the flat, his mind on high alert thinking of all the possible outcomes that could be around the corned. Seeing you sitting with Polly at the kitchen table made everything in his head fall silent.

He’d slept with her because of him.

You and Pol sprung into a million questions. He thought about telling you but decided to descend the stairs up to his room.

“Tom” John’s voice called out from the landing and he looked down at him over the railing. He made a bunch of gestures that translated to something along the lines of “This is your shot with her - stop fucking it up.”

“Later.” He said quietly before continuing up the stairs. He needed to think of a plan.

Kimber was already all over them, Campbell right behind him. Then there was the Lee family. Finally, the mob boss of all the problems, how angry you were going to be when you found out.

He sat there on the bed, the pain from the hits he’d not avoided starting to sink in.

________________________________________________________________________

Reader POV

You were conflicted about Tommy. Well, you were always conflicted about Tommy these days. You were overwhelmed with joy and felt sure that he’d not waste any time with you once he’d gotten home.

You gave him a timeline in your mind. If he didn't ask you out within the first month of being back you’d move on.

Easier said than done. Especially when he and John come home looking like they’d just slaughtered a bunch of pigs. All for the mystery business Tom was conducting behind your back.

You sighed and said good night to Pol before walking home. You were waiting for one of the boys to do it, but that didn't look likely. You were about to tie your jacket when Arthur came downstairs.

“Walk you home, love.” He said while opening the front door.

“Thanks.” You said before following him out into the darkness. You rarely spent alone time with the eldest Shelby and wondered what you would talk about. You set out down the street wishing you’d brought an extra sweater.

“Now, I know you're probably mad about what went down. But there's a few things you gotta understand ‘bout Thomas.”

“Oh?” You didn't know what he was going off about but decided to play along.

“He means well, just gets all twisted up inside his big head. Wants to get the family out of this” He waved his hand around, gesturing to the heaps of garbage spilling out of a dumpster in the alley they were passing. “ I don't think he wants to bring you any closer to himself in case you get hurt in the process.”

“Look while all of you were gone I was in the line of fire more than anyone ‘round here. I can handle myself” You growled tired of always being brushed off and looked down on. Amusement flashed in Arthur's eyes but he knew better than to let it reach his face.

“I know love, I’m just telling you he loves you he’s just at war with him self -”

“He loves me?” You stopped in your tracks and turned to Arthur. His face flushed obviously realizing he’d said too much.

“We’ll I - I thought that was a bit obvious - ya know” He shrugged while looking up at the sky awkwardly looking for the right words to fix things. “Why else would he do that?”

“Do what? Be distant and miserable?”

“Well yeah, that’s what it's like for us blokes” He shook his head “No, I mean he almost killed that bloke for ya. Working for Kimber this whole time, John said it was a blood bath - Havent had to pull him off someone like that in - well, possibly ever.”

Your stomach knotted up painfully and you looked at Arthur in disbelief.

“Don’t beat yourself up lamb, men are truly awful creatures if not tamed by the right crowd -” Arthur trailed off but you stopped listening. That bastard - he lied - or is Tommy lying?

No way he was working for Kimber - this was just Tommy, trying to get his way the only way he knew how. You felt the anger bubble up inside you.

“I’m going to kill him,” You said breathlessly as hot rage started to spill over the edges of your mind.

“Ah Women -” You slapped Arthur’s arm before turning and running back towards the apartment. You threw the door open and ascended the stairs. Polly stepped out of her bedroom looking startled in her nightgown.

“What the -” She started but her voice was drowned out by the blood pounding in your ears. You opened his door and saw him perched on the side of his bed. He’d changed and cleaned himself up, his face looking at you with a concerned expression.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER-” You shouted and something heavy dislodged itself from your chest causing a long stream of abuse to fall out of your mouth.. You hated how well he took it. Sitting there, watching you patiently on his bed with an unamused expression. It drove you insane, the way his eyes followed you. You’d kicked off your shoes and thrown them in his direction.

“You can’t just make up stories and beat people up because your too cowardly to do the right thing. If you liked me then you should have loved me. Been kind to me, been there for me. Instead you just - you just - act like a fucking monster all the time -” You’d been throwing things around the room a large vase smashed at your feet.

“You don’t love me and he doesn't work for Kimber.” You said finally, looking down at the glass surrounding your sock-covered feet. Slight miscalculation. Your eyes were filled with tears and despite wanting to shout a thousand more curses at him, your throat had closed up tightly.

He stood up and moved towards you. His hands picked you up by the arms and you were too startled by his calm nature to do anything other than let him move you. He placed you on top of his bed, you looked down at him only slightly taller than him with the bed under you.

He pinched your jaw and looked you dead in the eye.

“I do love you.” He said firmly and you couldn't bring yourself to look away from his wide eyes. Filled with things you hadn't seen in so many years.

“This is my fault, you understand? I should have told you long before you fell into his grip. My fault - so I’ll apologize.” You watched him carefully. “I’m sorry.” His voice was low and his breath brushed across your face.

You were too consumed with his close proximity to feel the full weight of his words. His eyes held you in a way that made you know you were seen. You had all of his attention.

“I want proof.” You murmured under direct order from the one part of your brain that was still functioning. He put the final nail in the coffin when he gave you a small crooked smile.

“Then I’ll get you proof.” He said back, amusement plain on his face. With your jaw still trapped between his fingers you felt him press his lips to yours. There was a starving neediness that had been weighing on you both for so many years. No amount of kissing or passion could possibly satisfy the feelings inside of you. You grabbed for him and held him as close to you as possible. All that anger only intensified the heat that was radiating through your body.

He pulled away from you and your fingers started to work open the top button of his shirt. His hand grabbed both of yours and his eyes caught yours again.

“Stay here, alright. Wait for me, for the last time eh?”

“Why?”

“Going to go get your proof.” He moved away from you and you stepped off the bed. “Stay.” He motioned to the bed. “Lots is going to happen tonight. But I need you to run things tomorrow with Pol. Keep the place a float.”

“Alright, when will you be back?” You started to get angry again at his secret keeping.

“To try and sort things between Kimber, then hopefully deal with Campbell. Won’t be gone long - Keep the place safe, take the gun in the drawer. Keep it on you at all times.”

You nodded at him then watched the back of him walk away like so many times before. Something settled in your bones.

The next three days it was like in the war, back up at all times waiting for something to happen. But on the third night, he finally came back to you. The door opened and you saw him move into the small bathroom to clean himself off.

He pushed you across the bed and climbed in beside you. You looked as he handed you a piece of folded paper. There were bloody fingerprints soaked into the paper making you wish you had a hanker chief to cover your fingers.

Opening it you could tell it was a pay stub made out to that idiot, signed by none other than Billy Kimber. Your stomach twisted painfully, and you wished you had a mother to tell. Someone that knew the embarrassment and shame, someone to tell you how to carry it. You wished this could have been some normal heartbreak where you can push it down and never speak of it again, but here it was on display.

“Oh.” You whispered not knowing what else to do.

“There’s your proof.” He said a faint sound of victory in his tired tone. His reaction made you angry all over again, but before you could lay into him about thinking this was funny he put his arms around you pulling you against his chest. “Finally fucking won one.” He let out a long breath.

“What do you mean?” You whispered. They won the war, won various street fights, they’d really rarely lost.

“Been trying to ask you since we were 12.” He mumbled placing a kiss to your neck that made your heart flutter. You let out a small laugh. “Now I won’t have another day where I'm not beside you. No war, no work here you don't know about or can't handle. Nothing between us.” His words warmed your heart, and years of pain fell from his features. He sounded like your best friend again, filled with dreams and wonder.

“Except clothes.” You said in a coy tone. His eyes opened and he took no time manhandling you causing a much-needed loud laugh to escape from your chest.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

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somebluemelodies · 5 months

Text

DAY FOUR OF SPIDERBIT THEME WEEK STARTED BY @anonymous-dentist! :D SELECTED THEME: KISS took a new approach with this one bc i really really wanted to write an absolute soft fluffy mess and i present to you: a compilation of different types of kisses :> this is kinda long sorry guys-

Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos.

Everything is a hazy blur. Everything. Waking up and finding Felps. Breaking Felps out and reuniting. Stumbling into the room overlooking the massive dungeon and finally being able to send coordinates, desperately hoping that someone, anyone, will see them and come, despite everything he’s done.

Did they all get their letters?

(Did Roier get his letter? The amaranths?)

If they won’t come for him specifically, maybe they’ll come for Felps’s sake.

And then, after God only knows how long, people show up. A lot of people show up.

And they’re rescued. They’re freed. It’s a mess of voices shouting, swords clashing, armor clanging, and heat. Cellbit barely has the energy to hurry, mentally and physically exhausted, but he’s being ushered along and he has no choice.

(People care. They came. They care.)

The first moment of clarity, oddly enough, comes when he’s standing on the roof, and he’s just indirectly proposed to Roier— oh, God, is this actually—

And Roier accepts.

(Were they even dating in the first place?)

(Does it matter? Anything could happen at any moment. The last few days are an example of just that.)

Well, nothing about them is normal, anyway.

There are arms thrown around his neck, drawing him back from his mind. Roier is laughing, and warmth blooms in Cellbit’s heart as he laughs alongside him, arms wrapping right around his waist as they rock in place.

(Incredulousness. Surprise. Happiness. Love.)

When the laughter finally calms, and they still, Roier pauses a moment before moving back one of his arms, tentatively cupping Cellbit’s face.

The investigator’s eyes widen slightly, heat threatening to creep up his neck, and it takes all of his willpower to try not to lean into the touch.

(He fails, borderline miserably. But the fondness in Roier’s eyes runs so deep he isn’t sure he can be embarrassed.)

Roier presses a kiss to his cheek, then, and his stunlock must be visible, because Roier laughs again, dark eyes crinkling and God, he just looks so happy and perfect and Cellbit thinks he might melt and die right here and now—

His cheeks flush and the spider-hybrid only laughs more, burying his head into Cellbit’s neck. Cellbit breathes in, but a smile splits his face once more and they’re both laughing like idiots again, holding each other tighter all the while.

(Love. Love. Love.)

…

“Don’t fuck this up” repeats like a mantra in Cellbit’s head; over and over and over again. He feels impossibly lucky Roier even agreed to let this date happen, nearly physically wincing at the recollection of all the events that had transpired prior to this point.

(Roier deserves better than him, really.)

(But if he’s who Roier wants after all, then he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to be at least half the man the spider-hybrid deserves.)

All things considered, though, the date is going really well. Although the investigator is still kicking his own ass at his carelessness, things are finally returning to a semblance of normalcy, and for that he’s eternally grateful.

Roier spends more time talking between the two of them, but it’s perfectly fine by Cellbit; he’s always been more of a listener, anyway.

(It’s not like he’s too distracted by the man himself to make any extended commentary. No, not at all!)

Roier is fun to watch, though. Captivating. He’s expressive, charming, practically everything adoring under the sun. And he’s, well, beautiful.

Really beautiful.

(Handsome? Pretty? Beautiful?)

(Does it really matter?)

The lighting in the taqueria isn’t spectacular by any means. But if anything, the slight dimness only makes the spider-hybrid more distracting pretty. His eyes twinkle with fun and mischief, and his smile could light up the whole taqueria itself, Cellbit thinks fondly. And—

“Cellbo?”

Cellbit blinks, snapping back to reality. “Yeah?”

Roier is a rather cute mix of puzzled and amused, quirking an eyebrow. “¿Estás bien? You spaced out or something; you okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. Sí. Sorry.” The investigator rubs the back of his neck.

“No worries, man,” Roier dismisses. And much to Cellbit’s admiration, he backs up a bit in his story and continues right on.

At some point, Cellbit’s eyes drop to their hands on the table, a short distance apart from each other. And a thought starts to creep into his head.

(The mantra repeats itself. Don’t fuck this up.)

Gingerly, Cellbit takes Roier’s hand in his, thumb brushing along his knuckles. The spider-hybrid doesn’t make any moves to pull his hand back, and, to the other’s surprise, his momentary surprised pause doesn’t even disrupt the flow of his story.

They stay like that for a short while, and Cellbit’s adoring thoughts amble back to him as he listens to Roier.

(Him. Him. Him.)

Before the investigator even fully processes what he’s doing, he’s lifting the spider-hybrid’s hand and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

This makes Roier actively pause, and Cellbit’s heart drops for a moment, eyes widening.

(Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up—)

(You’ve fucked this up—)

Roier starts smiling, cheeks tinted the faintest of reds. Nothing is said, but he lowers their hands to the table, lacing their fingers together.

And they stay like that until Leo reappears with their food.

…

Both of them have barely been able to stop smiling since the ceremony began, when Cellbit stepped onto the aisle and their eyes locked.

Everything is a bit of a haze. But a pleasant one. Hands clasped, the world seems to get smaller and smaller until it’s only them at the altar, Father Peta’s voice a hum of white noise in the background.

It’s something that’s felt like a long time coming, oddly enough. Thinking back, the pieces seem to fall into place, like a puzzle.

For Cellbit, it started that very moment he and the other Brazilians were rescued off the boat. When the first face he saw on the other side of the glass, beaming and laughing and shouting, was already etching into his mind. Unforgettable.

(That was it.)

He didn’t know, then. He didn’t understand the little piece nagging him at the back of his mind. How could he know, when the future was so uncertain? An island full of mysteries, that was a mystery within itself. His priorities were elsewhere.

For a while, at least.

It’s a little blurrier for Roier, when things, feelings, started to grow more apparent. Their adventures got longer, more frequent. Seeking each other out with no excuse, supporting each other. The flirting stopped being just for the sake of flirting, of having a little fun. Cellbit made him nervous in a way not quite foreign to him, but a way that made him try to deny it. Try to hide from it.

And then Cellbit disappeared, leaving Roier to stare at a letter, a painfully familiar photo, and a bundle of red flowers. Amaranths.

(Everlasting love.)

And it became crystal clear then. He knew. Even if it was too late. God, had he hoped it wasn’t.

(He couldn’t take another loss.)

(But he wouldn’t.)

So, in a strange cacophony of events, for better or for worse, here they are. Admiring each other, exchanging vows that make both of their eyes glassy. They don’t need to talk about the interruption.

It’s all led up to this, one way or another.

“I now pronounce you married!”

Hasn’t it?

The ‘kiss cue’ has barely left Father Peta’s mouth before Roier is grabbing Cellbit’s face - quick but gentle, never harsh - and pulling him into a kiss he’s gotten rather impatient for.

(They were both getting rather impatient, but nobody needs to know that.)

It’s not much of a kiss at first, though, the way their noses bump first and they can’t stop smiling and fighting laughter against each other’s lips. But as it sinks in, that they’re married, they’re husbands, Cellbit holds Roier tighter, pulling him closer still. Their eyes flutter shut, lips pressing together in a way that feels nothing short of home.

(They’re finally right where they needed to be.)

…

“Espera- I want to try something.”

Cellbit shoots his husband a questioning look. Roier only grins.

The investigator folds his arms, watching as the spider-hybrid flicks his wrist up towards the ceiling, a thin string of web shooting out.

With an athletic grace that never ceases to impress Cellbit, Roier jumps and flips himself upside-down, suspended by the web.

They’re eye-level now— well, if Cellbit looks straight ahead then he’s looking at Roier’s chin, and vice versa, but his eyes lower to his love’s own. “Okay, and?”

(This feels oddly familiar. Is this the set-up for what he thinks it is?)

Roier’s grin doesn’t falter. “Kiss me.”

(Of-fucking-course.)

Cellbit wants to facepalm, flick his husband on his very kissable face, but the fondness in his heart is quickly growing, and he laughs instead, shaking his head to himself. “Que? Like the fucking movie?”

It’s the spider-hybrid’s turn to laugh. “C’mon, man! You know you want to!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Bésame, pendejo. Before I get light-headed and fall on my face or some shit. You don’t want me cracking my—”

Huffing another laugh, the investigator tilts his head up and cups Roier’s cheeks, connecting their lips and effectively shutting him up.

The angle makes it wonky and awkward, and the kiss only lasts a few seconds before they’re smiling and snickering, and snickering turns into even more laughter.

(How did they get here?)

Still holding Roier’s face, Cellbit plants kisses to the corner of his mouth, his nose, and his forehead in succession. “Te amo, guapito.”

Roier’s smile softens, eyes bright, and his husband is certain he’s falling in love with the spider-hybrid all over again. “Eu te amo, gatinho.”

#holy shit that took ages HBEJDJWD #BUT I DID IT #is this coherent? i’m not sure #i wanted a fluffy mess and by god i got a mess at the very least #but it’s my mess #and i love my cubito husbands and their love very much #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #a.d's spiderbit week

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fatuismooches · 5 months

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Hello smooches, its 🥝 anon. I'm sorry for not popping up on ur inbox for a very long time again (health issues, again.) i hope that you are doing well! I see so many Dotty's rambling when i scroll down a bit and honestly i can't wait to read all of it 🙏🛐 (and also hoping to see just a bit of Capitano content from u-)

So.. Remember when i said last time that i have a brainrot about Capitano's Childhood Crush with fragile!reader? In ur Capitano Childhood Crush fic, reader always sends a lot of letters to him but he never recieved them, right? (It was disheartening, just like what u said on the fic..) And, Well..

Imagine that all of the letters are about reader telling him about their conditions, their illness getting worse and worse, until the last one about reader wanting to see him again for last time..

When Capitano wanted to see them again, he sends some of his Fatui agents to search for reader whereabouts (since it would be too dangerous for reader's safety if he is the one who come to them, also he never see them among the crowds for a very long time whenever he and his troops came back, reader always come to see him..).

Now, imagine his reaction when his agents told him that reader is already dead a long time ago or when he finally found all of reader's letters 😔

I'm trying to make my ask not too long, æügh 😩😭 i'm sorry if its messy- 😭 anyways, sending virtual hugs for u smooches for still feeding us Harbinger content for more than a year now 🤗💞🛐 as always, bless u and ur big brain writings

-a rotten 🥝 anon

(Also recently, i saw an "early" story leak about the next region on twt that we will have Dottore boss fight in Natlan instead of Capitano. Idk if its true or not, but if its true.. then, i guess you guys Dottore lovers better prepare for him now 👀 i want to see some C6R5 Dotty mains here)

HI 🥝 ANON!! I MISSED YOU! And don't worry about popping in! I want you to take care of yourself first above all! I hope you enjoy the plentiful Dottore brainrots though :3 (and i promise to post some Capitano brainrots. Just for you.) BUT AHHH THIS BRAINROT... WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME SAD. (Yes, I remember when I put that in my fic! I can't believe it was so long ago though- you made me go back and reread it 😭)

Imagine if you live in a secluded part of Snezhnaya. It's quiet and pretty with only the servants in the house to keep you company. Capitano let you stay here instead of the mansion because staying in that big house without him would probably make you sadder. Though you are already sad without him, it's a bit better. But you spend a lot of time writing him letters. It was a habit of yours, telling him what you've done all this time even though he's not here. Some letters get sent, some don't. But you always put the happier stuff in the letters that get sent to him. He's out doing a lot of hard work, you don't want to bother him with your illness! Though anyone could see the lingering sadness in your letters. However, the battlefield is a tough place and the long distance doesn't help your case. Things are bound to get lost and go missing. So you're left waiting, and waiting, and waiting for your husband's replies that never come... Eventually, you stop sending them, instead keeping them in a box.

Although Capitano is busy with his mission, he wonders why you haven't reached out to him. Amidst the war and battle, he does look forward to your sweet letters, perhaps your handwriting may not be the best, but he loves to see how his darling is doing. He of course focuses on his duties, but he always thinks of you. So it wouldn't hurt to send an agent to report on you, since clearly communication isn't the best right now. When the soldier arrives and hears of your demise, he isn't sure how to break the news to his Harbinger. All he can do is hope that the letter makes it to him after the battle is over, so morale isn't too down. And it does. The Fatui win this battle, and the letter comes just in time. Ah, finally he can see how you're doing, Capitano thinks. But when he reads the first sentence, he's... well, I can't explain his emotions very well. Empty would be a good word. Why? Why didn't he know? Couldn't something have been done? You were find before he left, how did your condition worsen that quickly?

He won't know, because he won't ever hear your voice again.

AND YEAHHH i saw that leak too but. To be honest i don't really believe it, a bunch of story leaks have turned out to be trolls so tbh i don't really pay attention to them anymore, especially when they're so far into the future 😅 But my c6r1 Arlie savings are going strong right now! (400 wishes >:)

#smooches talks #🥝 anon #fragile reader <3 #capitano love notes <3 #ughhh i want dottore so bad :(( I LOVE HIM SM #I NEED HIM ON MY TEAMMM #but i hope you are doing well too anon! im sending even more hugs! 🫂#and thank YOU for sticking around for so long! i greatly appreciate that 🥺❤️❤️

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atom-writings · 1 year

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If you don’t mind me asking, what would it be like if the Axis (including Prussia and Romano) were the reader’s next door neighbor. And how would they try to romance the reader?

(Hetalia Axis x Reader) Next Door Neighbor!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N thank u for giving me a reason to write romano i love him so soososos much. Also whoopsies i did not write japan if u guys want me to do japan i will do it separately and then it will be longer thank u for ur undertsanding <3

Trigger Warning: Men being incredibly insistent, other than that none!

Feliciano has never been subtle. Especially with those he wants to romance. As soon as you move in, and he lays eyes on you, he’s completely enraptured. It wouldn’t even occur to him to take it slow. You’re cute, so he has to have you.

Anytime he sees you coming out of your apartment, he immediately strikes up a conversation. Of course, this would become very irritating for you, if it weren’t for how charming he was. Originally he tries to line up when he works with when you do, but he’s always late for everything anyway. That plan doesn’t last long.

“Y/N!” Feliciano calls from down the hall, sprinting towards you, “W-Wait up!”

Obliging him with a huff, you turn around to greet him. As he catches up, he immediately keels over, out of breath and panting desperately.

“Feliciano, good to see you. “

“Y-yeah…” he sputters out, still trying to catch his breath, “Good to see you too…”

He takes a moment to regain his composure. While you wait, you set down the luggage you had down on the floor outside your apartment door.

“Listen, listen, I wanted to ask you something before you disappeared. Which, wait, where were you? Did you leave or was I just missing you?”

“Ah, yeah, it wasn’t anything big. Just visiting some family out of town.” He perks up at the mention of your relatives.

“Oh, great! B-but, uh, I wanted to ask… Will you go on a date with me?” As he asks that, you look at him in shock, clearly taken aback.

“Seriously?” You ask, incredulously.

“Yeah! I’m cute, you’re cute, why not?”

You jump a little bit in excitement, “Of course, Feli!”

Oh, Ludwig would absolutely despise this scenario. He thinks you’re absolutely adorable… and now he has to see you around every day? Why can’t anything be easy…

He’s definitely very aware of the complications that could come with dating someone you have to see all of the time. He’s never been the most smooth… and now, if he messes up, he has to hear you through the wall all the time. What if you started dating someone else then too? He’d have to move… oh dear, oh no… clearly the best route is to just not talk to you at all! If he can take it…

“Ludwig?”

Immediately spinning around from opening his door, pressing his back against the wall when he makes eye contact with you, he responds, “Y-yes?”

You step back in surprise at his extreme reaction, “Woah, something wrong?”

“Nein, nein, nothing is wrong. What is it?” As he says that, he tries to pose casually.

You calm yourself down, pulling out a letter from your pocket and unfolding it. His eyes immediately widen at seeing it, and your suspicions are immediately confirmed.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this love letter I got, would you?”

He stutters, “N-No! I mean… a little, but no! Yes! Maybe!”

“Ok, yeah, because I looked it up… and the only place that makes these kinds of seals is in some obscure German village. And I thought, who would know about an obscure German village? Probably my neighbour, right?” You smile at his reaction, noting his blush.

“Ja, ja, I do… I… um…”

You cut him off, “Did you send it?”

He freezes, his face flushing more, “Y-Yes…” he gulps nervously, “I-I’m sorry! I did not want to make you uncomfortable!”

“No… no, it’s really cute.”

He looks at you in surprise, “Really?” He continues as you nod, “Well then um… would you like to go out with me next Friday?”

Romano falling for someone super quickly? Someone who, if he dated them, could create lots of awkward situations? Shocker. Fortunately, reality has never stopped him before.

You’re gonna immediately realize what’s going on. Considering that he trips over himself every day to say good morning and try to strike up a conversation, he is just as subtle as his brother. Except he can’t help but add at least one compliment every day. If he wasn’t so handsome, it would definitely be a bit creepy.

“Bella.” Romano greets you simply. He stood before you awkwardly, sweating but trying to hide it smoothly. Although he was the one who knocked on your door, it seemed as if he was waiting for you to speak first.

You pause, “Yes?”

“As you may have noticed, I have been trying to get your attention since you moved in.” He continues, trying to keep his composure.

“Yeah… I noticed.” Multiple occasions in which he had almost cornered you to talk to you, for only a moment, come to mind immediately.

“Well… that is because I like you quite a lot.” You struggle to respond before he quickly takes out a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back. He thrusts them against your chest awkwardly, returning to crossing his arms and huffing.

“Oh… um… thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You're welcome. All of this… and that…” He cringes as he remembers his overly drastic behaviour, “was just because I think you’re really… attractive… and interesting. So go out with me, alright?”

You look back up at him, amused, “Not much of an offer there, is it?”

He freezes, wringing his hands and looking away, “S-Scusami… will you go out with me? There’s a new French place that opened down the road, I thought… maybe we could go there together sometime…” his voice trails off.

“I’d love to, you weirdo.”

Gilbert is very aware of how awkward this is going to be. Unfortunately for you, he does not care. He can’t stop himself from slipping little gifts under your door all the time, with a note proclaiming his entire full name, title, job history, and every reason you should date him.

But… every time you try to actually talk to him, he panics, yells, and runs away. A couple of times he’s told you he doesn’t speak English… after he just spoke English. It’s cute how he gets so flustered, but also incredibly frustrating if you actually like him.

“Hey.”

Just one simple word makes Gilbert desperately press himself against the wall to get away from you, but he quickly recovers, pulling a comically awkward pose.

“Funny seeing you here!”

“Outside… your apartment? …That I live right next to?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” His tone rises nervously.

“Listen, I’ve been getting all your little gifts and-”

“WOW! Would you look at the time! I have to be going, tschüss!” He yells, his strong accent coming through. He tries scooting past you to escape, but you grab his shoulder quickly, stopping him.

“Gilbert. Listen, you always run away-”

“Me?! Running away?! I can tell you, I have never done so! Ask any Danish soldier from before 1700!” He says, laughing nervously.

“Gilbert.” Your tone becomes sterner, and he deflates, his tone and face dropping, “Are you really in love with like you say you are?”

His face flushes and he brings his hand up to cover his cheeks, “Ja… Yes… I am.”

“Then, let’s go out already! I’ve been waiting for you to ask me on a date for months!”

“What, the notes were not enough?” He jokes.

“Not when you keep running away from me!”

#hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #feliciano tag #ludwig tag #gilbert tag #romano tag #hws italy x reader #aph italy x reader #aph germany x reader #hws germany x reader #aph prussia x reader #hws prussia x reader #aph romano x reader #hws romano x reader #not proofred at all

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junikicker · 10 months

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idk if u take requests but if you do could i request a fic w lady bellaston (maybe w the same reader character as your previous lady bellaston fics??) where they’re at a party and lady b is knowingly flirting with others to make reader jealous all the while sending looks at reader like ‘what are you going to do about it:);)’ and reader takes her to an empty room and fucks her lol no worries if you don’t take requests tho!!

Masquerade - Lady Bellaston x fem!reader

warnings: smut

note: I've really grown to love the oc I creadted with the whole Under Her Spell story. Love that even though the story is officially over, you requested the character again. Also love that you all love the series so much.

word count: 2.2k

“I understand you will attend the masquerade ball next week?” Your father asked, just as he was about to head out for the day. “Affirmative, father. I’ll have William fetch my clothes from the tailor this afternoon.” You responded, looking at him from your desk as you dropped the quill in your left hand.

“You’re not again writing that foolish poetry, are you? Son, how often must I tell you that you are no Shakespeare? And quit writing with your left hand.” He ordered, a deep frown on his face.

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to her.” You recited the words written down on the piece of parchment before you, looking your father straight in the eye. The man’s frown seemed to only deepen at your words. He turned around and left without saying another word. You sighed. Nothing you ever did could seem to make him proud.

Later that day, William arrived with your clothes for the ball. Your father had insisted on the family colors, however, you decided to only go for the blue and switch the black for silver elements. He was not attending either way, so you thought you could just as well do a bit of your won thing.

You hadn’t seen Lady Bellaston since the night the two of you spent at Champagne Lane, but you regularly exchanged letters. William was so gracious to act as a courier for the two of you, delivering your letters to her and her letters to you, so your father wouldn’t suspect anything. William truly was a man of honor. He’d been around the manor for as long as you could remember. For a long time he had been your only friend.

The letters mostly consisted of her telling you about how much she longed to be with you again, while your letters always included a new poem of yours that you had written for her and only her.

Since you met her, your creativity had increased. You saw her in all the little things. The flowers, the sky, the clouds, and the moon with the stars at night. Sometimes even a word was enough to make you think of her.

As the masquerade ball was approaching, you felt yourself grow nervous. It was the first time that you would be seeing her after Champagne Lane. What if she suddenly decided she wanted to end it all? What if she had told anyone? What if she had told your father?

“Are you quite alright, Y/n?” William asked you as he fixed the buttons on your shirt. Whenever your father was not around, he called you by your real name. Whenever you heard your own name, a smile appeared on your face. Your father always called you Atticus. Everyone called you Atticus. Everyone but William, Charles, and now, Clarissa.

“Yes, it’s nothing.” You sighed, your hands a bit clammy. “Is it about Lady Bellaston?” He asked and you met his eyes. “I haven’t looked at the letters. But I sense there is a strong connection between the two of you.” He explained as he stepped aside for you to look into the mirror.

“We have been sleeping together, if that is what you are asking.” You told him as you smoothed out your clothing. “I was not implying-” William started but you cut him off, chuckling. “It’s fine, William. Really.” You told him. “I suppose, I am just nervous to see her again. We’ve been talking over letters over the past two weeks, but what if she decided that she wants to end whatever we are having? What if she thinks it was wrong?”

“Everything will be alright, Y/n. I’ve seen how she beamed when I came with your letters every day. How she was eager to get your reply. She won’t change her mind. And if she does: Whatever happens, happens. Everything happens for a reason.” William tried to soothe your nerves. “Thank you, William.” You genuinely told him and he gave you a smile. “Now leave. And enjoy yourself. Your father is in Paris until the day after tomorrow, do not worry about the time of your return.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. And thank you again.” You told him as you got ready to leave. “My pleasure, Y/n.” He spoke and left you alone.

The carriage in front of your home seemed to have arrived just in time for you to leave. You were still nervous but William seemed to have managed to calm your nerves down severely.

There were already loads of people at the masquerade when you had arrived. You got off the carriage and looked at the mask in your hands. With a sigh, you secured the mask over your eyes and tied it at the back of your head.

You looked around, trying to find any sort of familiar figure but decided it was not worth the effort. Everybody looked so different with the mask on. You still tried to find that one particular blonde among the many people.

“You have got to be kitting me! Atticus Huntington?” A voice grabbed your attention and you turned around. You were met with a small man. His hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun at the back of his head. “Blifil? Is that you?” You asked. You hadn’t seen the man that you knew when he was still a boy in years. “So it is you! I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you been up to?” The young man asked. “Spent some time in the countryside. Wrote a book. Everything and nothing, really.” You explained. Then Blifil was saying something about how he wanted to go to the countryside too, but it just didn’t seem to be a fitting environment for him and some other things that you didn’t quite catch because you were distracted by something, or rather someone.

About fifteen meters away was a woman in a yellow dress, a mask hid her face, but you would know that hair anywhere. It had a different color than all blonde hair you had ever seen. It had a texture that you’d know everywhere. And she was talking with some man, a tad older than you. A hand on his arm as she laughed at something he said. You had a hard time drawing your eyes away from her but managed to get back to your conversation with Blifil.

“I don’t think you’d be a fit for the countryside either, lad… Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I need to find someone.” You explained and gave his shoulder a pat. “Yes, no worries, I must be off as well.” He said and you parted ways. When you looked back to where you had just seen Clarissa with the mysterious man, there were now two ladies, one dressed in delicate green and the other in a deep purple gown. You looked around. No sign of Lady Bellaston.

As you were about to give up on searching, you saw the yellow dress again out of the corner of your eye. There she was, talking to… Tom Jones? What could she possibly want from Tom Jones? Surely she was not going to allow him to wed Sophia. There it was again. That laugh. That laugh that you had come to adore so much. The laugh that you thought was only for you.

As if Clarissa seemed to have felt you watching her, her head turned and she looked at you, giving you a smirk. That was when you knew what she wanted. It was all a game. She wanted to make you jealous and you hated that it was working. Your jaw clenched when you watched her laugh at yet another joke Ton Jones seemed to have made. She looked at you again, quirking an eyebrow at you as if to say ‘what are you going to do about it?’. You took a deep breath before abandoning your drink on the next best table and then made your way over to where Clarissa and Tom Jones were seated.

“If it isn’t Tom Jones. Are you not supposed to be talking to Sophia? My Lady Bellaston.” You acknowledged her presence as you put on a fake smile for Tom Jones. “I was just about to leave.” He gritted out between his teeth before getting up and leaving.

“Follow me.” You said to Clarissa, grabbing her hand, leading her to the next best room inside that you could be alone in.

“What was that about?!” You asked her through gritted teeth. “Why in God’s name were you trying to seduce Tom Jones?! He’s not in love with you!” You were backing her up against the closed door, leaving no place to escape for her. She had a smug smile on her face as her hands reached behind her head to get rid of her mask before she reached around your head to get rid of yours as well.

She caught you off guard with that. It was not what you had been expecting at all. Confused, you looked at her, meeting her emerald green eyes. “Because I want you.” She breathed out. “And this was the fastest way.” She explained, a hand cupping your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“You’re mine.” You breathed once you had comprehended her words. “You belong to me. And if you ever look at him like that again, you are going to be very sorry, Clarissa.” You told her and her pupils dilated at your words. “Understood?” You asked her, looking deep into her eyes. You took the small whimper that fell from her lips as a yes. “Turn around.” You ordered and she immediately obliged.

You practically tore the dress from her body, not caring if it took damage as you removed it from her body. You just needed so much access to do what you had in mind. “Now I’m gonna show you who you belong to.” You growled into her ear. You looked around to find the next best place to take your activities to and saw a desk in the middle of the room. You got a hold of her hips and led her to the wooden piece of furniture.

One swift movement was all it took for you to lift her up to sit on the desk as you stood between her legs and removed her underwear. As you did, you got the perfect look at her breasts, corset so tight they were threatening to spill out of it. And the little heart-shaped mark was present once again.

You dragged your index finger up her slit and a low moan left the woman’s mouth. “Oh, darling. I’ve barely touched you and you are already drenched.” You chuckled at the wetness you found between her legs.

Without a warning, you thrust two fingers into her dripping core, Clarissa’s head falling back at the rough pace you set from the beginning. Your fingers play with her sensitive bundle of nerves, while one of her hands reach for your hair, gently tugging on it, while streams of moans leave her throat. Your lips latch onto her cleavage, leaving mark after mark on her porcelain skin.

Her gasps get higher in pitch and once you feel her flutter around your fingers, you pull away fully, gaining a groan and whimper in response. Just as Clarissa was about to say something about it, you slipped your fingers back inside, thrusting even harder and faster, a moan taking up the space of her words. Her pupils were blown wide, and her chest was flushed and covered in, what you thought was, art.

Your thumb on her clit continues to tease her further, her gasps becoming more frequent and the rhythm more frantic. Just when you curl your fingers into that special spot inside of her, her back arches fully into you, and a loud moan leaves her mouth. When you press your lips to hers in an attempt to silence her loud moans, the kiss is sloppy and messy. A few moments later, curses in what seemed to be French started leaving her mouth. Within the next few moments, you can feel her walls flutter around your fingers and her hands clawing at your back, into the fabric of your suit, while you throw her over the edge. You helped her ride out her high, before pulling away. “Who do you belong to?” You ask her, wanting to know if she remembered anything about your conversation from before. “Yours.” She panted, trying to catch her breath.

Her hair was now messy, the heart-mark washed away by sweat and her lipstick was smudged. You wondered if there was some on your face. The way she smiled at you made your heart ache. “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted out. Just as you realized what you had said, you put your hands to your mouth. “Sorry- that was...”

“You think or you know?” Clarissa asked, now back to her cocky self. “I know.”

#gxg #wlw #fem!reader #lesbian #rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #ted lasso #hannah waddingham #lady bellaston x reader #lady bellaston #tom jones pbs

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