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sukirichi · 1 day

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 008 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

c/w. modern royal au. infidelity. angst. gaslighting. toxic characters. toxic relationships. mentions of neglect and abuse. hurt and comfort. unedited.

notes. thank you to everyone who waited patiently, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3 this will be the beginning of kiyoomi arc!

wc. 11k

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[ EIGHT ] all they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride – the only kind of girl they see is a one-night or a wife

The Kingdom of Inarizaki was at a loss whether to celebrate the early return of the latest married couple from their honeymoon. The couple seemed to be doing great – according to the tabloids, anyway. When they arrived, the Princes and their wives waved to the people, all eager for a glimpse of the infamous couple who had married for love. For two years, society had their eyes on you – the shy, reserved noblewoman who caught the eye and heart of their one and only Crown Prince Suna Rintaro. And oh, what a wedding it was, broadcasted all over the world and celebrated like a holiday.

What the world didn’t know was that it was an entirely different story behind the Palace walls.

You may share a bedroom, but never the bed. You’d been acquainted with the couch for the next few nights, only seeing your husband once in the mornings before he left to do his duties, and every now and then when the Queen wanted to have dinner. Not that you were complaining – the space was most appreciated. Without Suna lingering, there’d be less reminders of how much of a fool he took you. A naïve, young woman who really deluded herself into believing a Prince could want her. Although…

Suna didn’t not want you, either.

In the few spaces in between, he would look for you. He would make small talk and ask if you’ve eaten. If you liked breakfast, which was a silly question, since it was always tea and waffles. If you enjoyed yourself while he was away, this, again, was a silly question. You spent the mind–numbing hours blaming yourself for being in this predicament. That, perhaps, if you had just been brave to walk away that night you found out the truth, then you wouldn’t be out here wondering if the maids’ whispers were true – that Suna spent most of his nights at Belleview Manor, because quote unquote, “he was unwelcome in his own quarters.”

As if somehow it was your fault he did not feel comfortable to sleep under the same roof with you.

Sighing, you flipped your novel closed. No one had given you official duties yet, other than the blatantly obvious one of giving the Crown Prince an heir. ‘They will have such sleepless nights!’, the Queen’s goons crooned. ‘So young and virile, they are, we’ll have a new Crown Prince in no time!’ Oh, if only it were that easy. If there were to be a Prince, Iris would most likely be the mother, considering he saw her more often than you did. And how funny of a thought that was – you wanted distance from him, yet something died inside you little by little the colder your room got.

“Since we have returned, my schedule will be full.”

You glanced up from where you sat. Suna had sauntered back into the room, his tie loosened; hair messed up like he ran his fingers through it several times. Already, a servant stood beside him to comb his hair back neatly. You couldn’t help but stare. How long had it been since you combed his hair for him? You knew he hated it when they gelled it back. He preferred it messy and unkempt, saying his bedroom hair felt most natural. The bedroom hair he’s shown only to you in the quiet breaks of the night when he was in your bed.

The bedroom hair Iris had seen, as well.

Just the thought of it forces a smile on your face. Standing up, you brushed off the imaginary dust off your skirt. Less than a week in the Palace, and you were already so miserable. You could at least try to look less bothered by his unrequited affections.

“Do what you must.”

Once his hair had been brushed to perfection, Suna gestured for his servant to step away. The man politely bowed down before exiting the room. “I mean to say,” he continued, stepping closer now that there was no one else around. Your breath hitched the closer he got, but you dared not move, not even when his warm, familiar hand cups the curve of your cheek. “The meetings I must attend and people to deal with will take up most of my time.”

You knew what he was trying to say – that he wouldn’t be around, and you had to entertain yourself in his absence. Gently, you take a step back from his touch, watching as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

“And as I have said, do what you must. I have my own duties to fulfill as well.”

“You do not sound bothered by this.”

“Why should I be?” you shrugged, “If I am to be stuck with you for the rest of my life, surely I can enjoy what little time left I have for myself.”

Suna’s lips thinned. “You could act a little less eager to get rid of me.”

“On the contrary, I have no intention of leaving.”

“So I will see you tonight?”

“If we run into each other at the palace, yes, yes you will.”

If he seemed discontent with your half–hearted response, he did not show it. Must be the practiced regality and composure befitting for a Crown Prince like him – all lazy, yet wary, watching eyes. He, too, must know the true meaning behind your words. There was no need to pretend.

You both knew Suna would run into Belleview Manor as soon as the night ends, and his duties for the day had been tended to. Meanwhile, his wife would stay up all night in her couch.

Not quite waiting for him, but not quite imagining if he slept better at her side, either.

It was an unspoken deal between you two already. So he leaves without another word, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding when the door finally slams shut.

Tears prick at your eyes for the umpteenth time. You were tired of this. Tired of not knowing where you truly were in his life – were you his wife, his friend? After you’d heard of his passion and dedication to Iris, you weren’t so evil to stop him from seeing her. He loved her first. And you of all people should know the pain of not having the one person you wanted most. To him, she was his unattainable treasure. She was already making him smile before you even came to his life. She was already offering companionship and the comfort he desperately needed in this tiresome world of politics and power. She was his solace in all this chaos.

And you… you were just his wife. And without a baby in your belly, you might as well be just another useless figure in the Palace.

You refused to be so.

You may be worthless to him as his wife, for you truly couldn’t have his heart, but you refused to be a worthless person. Deep down, you knew you weren’t. It was just the title of ‘Princess’ that made you feel incapable and short. Did that mean you weren’t meant to be Princess, then? Should you go back to your manor, learning how to handle the household and managing the family business like your parents taught?

If you were not for Suna, did that mean you were not for the Crown, as well?

You bit your lip in contemplation. There was only one person who could provide you a solution to this.

“It is not every day I am summoned by a Princess,” a smooth, deep voice filtered through the garden. Smiling, you stood up to greet the Third Prince. A curtsy, a bow, and soon you two were sipping tea – the momentary peace a guise of what was to come. Kita must have sensed it, too, his gaze flitting over your pinched face with understanding and patience. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely we are not here to discuss the pleasantries of your honeymoon.”

You grimaced. “Definitely not. There were no pleasantries to begin with.”

His face fell.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you… My apologies. I’m not sure how to proceed with this.”

Nodding, you set your tea town. You had a feeling he truly meant his apology, which felt good, seeing as most of the Princes had too much pride to know the word ‘sorry.’ But you hd always known that Prince Kita was unlike the other Princes – he had more honor, and a stronger sense of morality compared to his brothers. Maybe it was due to his being raised by his mother, who was a lawyer, and therefore was not so exposed to the greed and competition experienced by the other Princes.

Whatever it was, he was just different. And you could rely on him to be truthful, too.

“Have you always known about them?” you muttered, refusing to look at the Prince’s face in fear of being met with pity. That was the last thing you wanted – to be seen as the poor, unwanted wife. “Iris and Rintaro?”

“I have.”

“I see.”

Kita sighed. “Please don’t misunderstand, Princess. I never meant to keep it from you. None of us did – except for those truly involved. It was just… I grew up with them, too. Keiji and I were only a year ahead of Rintaro and Iris. When I heard the Crown Prince had become acquainted with a foreign royal scholar, we didn’t think too much of it. Her sudden marriage with Kiyoomi surprised us all, and none of us would’ve thought that her friendship with Rintaro would turn into something more.”

“You don’t need to explain all of this to me, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps, but…” reaching over the table, the Prince squeezed your knuckle. You chuckled, not having realized you’d balled up your hands into a fist. It turned out you couldn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, to act like you didn’t care how much it all hurt. “I do not want you to think I am not on your side.”

“You do not need to be on my side. He is your brother.”

“Blood means little to me when my own kind is cruel to others,” he retorted, looking offended you would suggest otherwise. “I have always been against it, Princess. I told him from the beginning that to covet one’s brother’s wife is one thing, but to involve someone else, all for his selfish reason of ascending a throne that was always rightfully his just seemed heartless.”

Heartless. Gods. To know that your husband was capable of being cruel was one thing, but to hear it coming from his own brother’s lips was another.

“But Rintaro is Rintaro. Of course he is stubborn.”

“Indeed, he is,” Prince Kita sighed in defeat, leaning back against his seat as he stroked his chin in thought. “Princess, while I cannot guarantee I can take all of your woes away, I want you to know you can trust me. If there is anything you need, let me know and I will do it for you. It’s the least I can do to make your stay here in the Palace tolerable.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do, and I am a man of my word.”

“Then I suppose there’s no point beating around the bush,” you gritted your teeth, forcing the words to come out.

It had always been a lingering thought at the back of your mind – to leave Rintaro – but there was this prideful, equally stubborn voice at the back of your head telling you it was too early to give up. That you needed to fight. But what was there to fight for? It wasn’t like Rintaro would learn to love you. And neither do you plan on wooing him. So, instead, you swallowed up your pride and called for Kita, knowing he would never judge you for the choices you were about to make.

“I actually called for you today because I wish to discuss royal marital laws, possibly with your mother. She would know about it best.”

“You need legal counsel,” he caught on, and you nod, “I can arrange that. I assume you want it discreetly, too. That is no problem at all. But if I may be bold, I wish to ask something from you in return.”

“Name your price.”

“It is about this maid that I am fond of. Airi,” her name came out breathily from his mouth, almost like a whisper. You noticed the Prince glancing around the empty garden almost warily, though you already took measures to ensure no one would be around to witness this conversation. Reassured, Kita sat up straighter and looked you in the eye, nothing but sincerity and determination in his expression. “I will do anything you ask of me, as long as it is within legal reasons, if you take her in as your personal maid.”

“I’ve heard rumors about you having affections for a maid in your quarters,” you mumbled, feeling almost sorry for the kind–hearted Prince. It seemed he, too, did not escape the heartbreaking torment for falling for a person you could never have. “So it is true, after all.”

“It is. You seem surprised about it. Is it so shocking to learn of a Prince having genuine feelings for another?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I think I should know best that passion is something you brothers certainly have,” you snort, and Kita fights back a grin. “Very well, then. I will take care of your lovely maid, although I do wish to know – why are you assigning her to me? Have you… done anything to stain her honor?”

The color seeped out of the Prince’s face.

“I would never do such a thing.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.”

Kita’s shoulders squared before he exhaled. “Airi is… Ever since I set my sights on her, she has been in danger. People have been very unkind towards her, especially with the staff in my quarters. And as much as I would love having her by my side in my every waking hour, it would break my heart to know that she is being looked down upon simply because I admire her. But I figure with her at your side, with a new assignment, she will have some peace.”

Your heart ached for him. You could tell this was not an easy decision to make, but a necessary one if he wanted to ensure his lover’s well-being.

“You can still see her, Your Highness. It’s not like I will take her away from you.”

“I wouldn’t let you, either, but these are very difficult times for everyone in the Palace. The security of the throne weakens every day. The Parliament is restless, and there is only so little I can do with all these failed unions,” he rattled on, eyes widening when he realized it too late. Bowing his head, the Prince’s brows furrowed. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to–”

“Our marriage is not a failed union. Not yet. I will make certain it will not be a failure.”

It couldn’t be a failure. There was only one way out of this dreadful marriage, and as much as you hated it, that exit only existed in a path where you had no choice but to let him be a great King. This is why you need Kita’s mother’s counsel. Surely there could be a loophole in the clause that would invalidate the marriage. But until that opportunity presents itself, you were stuck here in this Castle, surrounded by everyone but your husband.

You had to make it work.

“With all due respect, Princess,” sighs the Prince, looking more remorseful than irritated. “Why is it that you try so hard? You do not need to stay with him, you know. It may be against the law for royal marriages to be annulled, but surely we can find a way. You do not need to torture yourself by spending one more day with your husband.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because,” you croaked out, feeling a lump grow in your throat. “Because loving him is all I had known, and perhaps it is time I learn to despise him, as well.”

Silence stretches. The prince sat there, unmoving, as your words hang in the thick air between you two. You knew he would understand; he wouldn’t judge. But there is still concern in his handsome features that made you realize how pitiful you really are. And maybe there was no one else to blame but yourself, because you were foolish, and in love. But you were trying – by the Gods, you really were doing your best – to just be in love and not have to be foolish anymore.

Kita could see this as well. Your strength, your grit. He could see everything from where he sat, and that was why he simply nodded. “Are you getting there yet?”

“I will get there someday.”

Before the Prince could say anything else, a servant appeared from the bushes. He looked sheepish upon the intrusion, an apologetic smile on his face directed to the Prince. “Your Highness. It is time for your lessons.”

The Prince sent you a knowing look. This was not to be the last time you see each other, and you smiled up at him, grateful. It felt good to have at least one person you could lean on in the Palace. You stood up, too, shaking his hand just as his servant excused himself. If your memory did not fail you, the Third Prince studied law outside of the Palace and had to attend university, unlike his brothers who had chosen to indulge in their promised wealth after graduating high school.

“Excuse me, Your Highness. I have matters to attend to, but my words still ring true – I am only a call away should you need me.”

“Thank you so much for your time, my Prince.”

“It was my pleasure. I will inform you right away of my mother’s availability.”

“Oh, and Princess,” piped up the servant from somewhere around the bushes, “Princess Maiko is looking for you. She is waiting for you in her drawing room.”

You should’ve expected that Princess Maiko would come looking for you. The whole ordeal she witnessed back at your rest house must have come as a shock for her. Sure, her marriage didn’t go so well, either, but at least Tooru hadn’t gone around sleeping with someone else. For a man who didn’t want to get married, he kept to his vow of loyalty to his wife. Still, you didn’t want this to be a competition on who had it worse – Maiko was simply worried, and you had to explain yourself for your untoward behavior on everyone’s getaway.

“Princess! Oh my gosh – how are you?! I was worried sick!”

“Princess,” you return her hug, smiling despite the fact the smaller Princess had a bone–crushing grip. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I am well.”

“Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be,” she pulled back with tears in her eyes. You almost apologized on the spot now that you remembered demanding to return to the City without informing the others why. Especially not Maiko, who seemed to be clueless. “I… I heard from Tooru about everything. The entire situation with Iris and the Crown Prince – truly, I did not know a single thing. If I had, I would have told you right away.”

“I know, and I’m thankful for your support.”

You squeeze her hand in reassurance, and the Princess leads you to sit on the couch. She slumps on it rather ungracefully, her innocent, wide eyes moist as she shakes her head.

“I had no idea Iris could do that. I just… the moment she arrived in the palace, she was so lovely, you know? She was always a little reserved, and liked to keep to herself, but I never would’ve guessed. I truly thought she was a good friend of mine, and now I have no idea who she really is.”

“Neither did I.”

“How are you, though? And please, tell me the truth. You do not need to pretend all is well.”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I am the Crown Prince’s wife. I must learn to be strong.”

“You mustn’t torture yourself any longer,” she licks her lips, chuckling without a trace of humor in it. “Although I do not blame you for staying in a marriage without love,” she smiled sadly, holding your hand firmer where it sat on her lap. “What do you plan to do?”

“I will divorce him,” you announced, and finally saying it loud felt different than just having the thought float in your head. It now felt like a reality. A choice you had to be firm in making. Licking your lips, you couldn’t help but glance at the beautiful wedding ring sitting on your finger – how just like your marriage, it is sparkling yet meaningless.

Leaving him would be the right choice. It would not mean you were weak.

“Once I meet with Kita’s mother and work our way around the law… I’m going to leave him. If it is a proper marriage he wants, then it is the one thing he will not get,” braving to look her in the eyes, you force a determined smile. “I believe it is the right thing to do, Your Highness. I must pick my battles wisely.”

“I understand, and I support you if this is what you want to do.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Although…”

“Although?”

“I still find it hard to believe,” she quipped, momentarily letting go of your hand as she stood up, pacing around the room. Her dark hair, neatly braided and adorned with headpieces, slowly started falling into curled pieces around her delicate face with how fast she’d been pacing. Almost as if her feet couldn’t quite keep up with her thoughts. “Iris and Kiyoomi had been married for five years, and Tooru told me they’d loved each other long before then. I am aware I am not the best at reading the room, but surely I am not so foolish to miss the love in their eyes. I would have known, Your Highness, I swear.”

You smile, confused. “I… am not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I mean Iris never looked in love,” she reiterated. “Granted, she was never affectionate with Kiyoomi, so that much is clear, but with the Crown Prince? They barely even speak to each other.”

“You couldn’t have known if they did spend time together,” you told her as softly as you could, “I heard they often hid in Belleview Manor, away from the eyes of the public.”

“But I live here,” she argued, and you stopped trying to butt in. For such a small thing, you had already learned once Maiko had her head set on something, almost nothing could stop her. “I live in Honor Hall, just five minutes away from them! I could have heard something. And on the few times I do see them together, Iris had always seemed… walled off. If Rintaro was able to display his affections openly, Iris was not the same. That night you weren’t at the house, they did not seem like a happy couple to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Maiko shook her head again, causing more curls to loosen. “They seemed familiar with each other, but not intimate. It was almost as if they were lovers purely in the bedroom, but they couldn’t have known each other’s heart,” her eyes lit up, before it dimmed again when she took in your somber expression. “I do not mean to give you false hope, Princess, but believe me. I know a man in love when I see one, and it is not the Crown Prince with Iris. But… but when you were not married yet, everyone could tell the Crown Prince smiled more. He laughed often, too, and he even spent more time with his brothers.”

“Well, that is only natural. He has a lot of siblings. Of course he would enjoy their company.”

“No, no, you do not understand, Princess. The Crown Prince… didn’t grow up that way,” she bit her lip, and then scooted next to you. “As the only son of the King and Queen, he was already more important than the rest. Because of that, he was raised differently – away and isolated from his brothers. He was always tutored alone, and never played with the other Princes. He spent his childhood locked up in his study, but then the Queen allowed him to attend regular school, and when he graduated… he met you. And I swear, he was different then.”

“Because he already met her,” you remarked, hoping she would stop already. Rintaro does not love you. “He’d become happier because Iris was already in his life.”

“I went to the same school with them; grew up with them. I had crushed on Prince Tooru for so long that I followed wherever he went, and where Tooru was, the Crown Prince would follow. They were born just months apart. And Iris never made the Crown Prince look… look…”

“Look what?”

“Look content,” she finally supplied. “But when the Crown Prince introduced you to us, he had this look on his face. When you spoke to others, he would always be looking at you, listening to your every word. Even when you were not in the same room, he would speak fondly of you. And he even once told me he still could not believe someone as precious as you had been attending the same lousy balls he’d been enduring all his life. He said that if he had met you earlier, he might have never skipped out attending the dances.”

“I don’t know,” your lips trembled, “I do not know what to do, Princess. Hearing of this does not make it any better.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you must understand,” she squeezed your hand, desperation evident in her tone. “Your husband looks at you the way I wished mine would at me. He may say otherwise, but his eyes cannot lie. He softens when you are around, Princess. That night you did not return home at Greenville, the Crown Prince could not sleep at all. And these past few days…”

“I believe that is enough. I do not wish to hear how he spent his nights at Belleview.”

“He didn’t, Your Highness. The Crown Prince has never even spoken to Iris ever since we returned from your honeymoon.”

Rintaro could count the number of things pissing him off with one hand.

One: You had barely acknowledged his existence the past few days.

Two: Iris wouldn’t stop pulling him into dark, secluded corners in the Castle each time she chanced upon him. Two-point-five: She couldn’t understand he was not in the mood for another one of their trysts.

Three: Kiyoomi skipped another meeting concerning Itachiyama again.

Seriously, Rintaro understood being a Prince was tiresome work. It was not as grandiose as the tabloids made it out to be. Even in his sleep, he sometimes dreamt of paperwork, or he would wake up in the middle of the night with his hands signing off imaginary papers. The pressure was tougher on Kiyoomi, too, because he was expected to be ready to take after Wakatoshi at any time he even faltered – note: the First Prince never did – and to also act as representative for the other territory thanks to his birthright. But his brother was an hermit, and seemed to fear the sunlight, considering he never left his quarters. Or on the rare occasions he did, he would be hiding away in other countries doing who knows what.

He had just finished a meeting with some of the territory leaders regarding a public complaint that the price of goods had gone up, and some daily necessities were now ridiculously overpriced. One of the main suppliers of good livestock and coconuts, Itachiyama, made it even more expensive – not for any good reason, just that their leader loved to remind Inarizaki constantly that they needed him more than he needed the monarchy.

His goading affected his people, and Rintaro has had enough. Kiyoomi could at least try to pretend to be interested in the meetings. Out of all the nine princes, Kiyoomi was the most influential for being a half-blood. The Itachiyama president adored him. He wouldn’t have had to struggle negotiating for prices had he been doing his work. He was the damned mediator between the two countries, for goodness’ sake!

And to make it all worse, his life did not get any better outside the meeting rooms.

No, because his wife was intent on acting like he did not exist. And on the few times he did manage to be in the same space as you without you running off, you always looked through him. Like he wasn’t even a real person. As if he was just an apparition, a ghost in your mind that you could overlook if you tried hard enough.

He already knew you wouldn’t be in your quarters once he returned, but Rintaro still couldn’t help the pang of disappointment washing over him. He chose you to be his future Queen for many reasons, one of them being your wisdom in these kinds of things. You just needed a little encouragement to speak up, but Rintaro was confident you would make a great leader. You had genuine care for your people. You would have been able to help him make the best decisions for everybody – if you would just listen to him. Wasn’t that how marriages work? To share the burden of the Crown together? The Crown was too heavy for one person alone, which is why Kings cannot be crowned without their Queens.

Rintaro couldn’t do it alone. Each day was becoming more challenging for him, and he so desperately wished he could discuss the country’s future with you. He would feel more confident in his choices. He would be more reassured that he was doing the right thing, but it seemed that all he knew how to do lately was fuck everything up.

On his way back, Rintaro stopped trying to look regal. He let his shoulders slump and ran his fingers through his hair again. The gel be damned. Loosening his tie, he rolled his shoulders back and winced at how stiff his back was. Sitting on his ass all day long, having to listen to old men argue back and forth over money, and simultaneously having to deal with a marriage he’d already screwed over – Rintaro just wanted to disappear.

He wanted to return to Greenville.

It was peaceful there. People minded their own business, everyone had their own purpose and reason for waking up each day and there, he could just be himself. Not the Crown Prince, not a young man who had to hurt you for the sake of the throne. He could just… be free.

“Your Highness,” a servant bowed in front of him, keeping a respectful distance but enough to let him know he needed his attention.

“Good evening,” he greeted back, “Have you seen my wife?”

“Her Highness was with Princess Maiko this morning. Last I heard, she has not left the Palace, at all.”

“I see,” Rintaro was already moving towards Honor Hall before his feet could register it. It was a good twenty minute walk, and the chances of running into Iris weren’t miniscule, but it would be worth it. He could use some fresh air, anyway. And he figured with Maiko around, you would be less opposed to spending the evening with him – until he realized Maiko must have known everything, too. How he manipulated you, and left you in the middle of nowhere.

On second thought, having two Princesses who clearly did not welcome him would not make for a great night.

“My Prince!”

Rintaro stopped on his tracks. He had a split second to school his expression to surprise – the good kind – when he came face to face with the last woman he wanted to see.

“Mother,” he greeted, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles whilst she fanned herself. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting.”

She waved her fan around. “Oh, I had to nearly knock down the guards when they wouldn’t let me in, but I had to see my daughter. I heard from the news that you came home too early. Well, what is wrong? Is she sick? Does she not like the countryside? Or perhaps there was an emergency you had to attend to?” fanning herself harder, Rintaro’s hand wound at the small of her back to guide the older woman into a nearby seat. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls, and I am worried, my son.”

“Your concern for her will put her at ease, I’m certain,” he reassured, swallowing the uncomfortable lump growing in his throat. “This is just… a difficult time for us, Mother. I fear Her Highness is having doubts about our marriage once she saw how overwhelming the Crown could be. She simply wished to return home because she felt there were things to be done here.”

Your mother sighed and shook her head. “My poor daughter. She always felt the need to prove her worth by working herself to death,” spinning to face him, she pointed her fan in his direction – which would be considered a threat to the Crown Prince, but she was his mother–in–law. Her presence itself was a threat to his life. “Promise me you won’t let her exhaust herself, son. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“She is in good hands, Mother, I promise you this.”

Pleased with him, your mother beamed. “I was also… Well, I may be crossing the line, but now that you tell me my poor daughter is anxious about her royal duties, I was planning to hold a ball in her honor. A welcoming ball for the new Princess, of sorts. It should help her integrate into your world better, but still with the comfort of our support.”

“A ball sounds lovely. We can hold it anytime as we are still in our honeymoon period and she will be free for quite some time.”

“That is perfect! I will make the arrangements, then.”

Wearing his best Prince Charming smile, even if he was anything but, Rintaro found himself mindlessly agreeing to everything your mother wanted. He would have to squeeze all these events in his already hectic schedule, but he was not complaining. She was right. You deserved to relax and enjoy yourself. He should know best that having royal titles did not promise a life of gallivanting and endless tea parties. Once your mother had exhausted herself from all the planning, Rintaro escorted her out to the palace entrance, stopping only when your figure appeared from the corner.

Finally, you were looking at him.

But with a glare.

Well, he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“You are a far better actor than I give you credit for – lying to my mother like that.”

“I did not mean to.”

You rolled your eyes, and Rintaro bit his lip. Cute, he thought, but he would never say it out loud. He would simply enjoy the fact you did not push him away, or walk away as if you were scalded when he started walking next to you. For a moment, everything almost seemed normal. Minus the extreme glaring, of course.

“Surely. It’s not like telling her you manipulated me for the past two years was on your to-do list.”

“Do not use that tone on me.”

“I will speak with you however I wish. You do not get to tell me what to do.”

“You are right; I cannot tell you what to do, so do as you please, then,” he surrendered, and you must be surprised by how he easily gave in from the way you froze. Glaring harder, Rintaro bit his cheek, tilting his head to the side as he gazed upon your pretty face. And oh, how badly he wanted to smooth that frown you’re wearing. “I missed you. I have not seen you all day long.”

“Must have been a lovely day for you, then.”

It was hell, actually, was what he wanted to say, but even that did not seem enough to articulate what he truly felt. I missed you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. Please sleep on the same bed with me again. I want to hold you all night long, and your scent calms me. But instead, all that comes out of his mouth was, “It was not lovely at all.”

“Hmm. I’m not Iris.”

“No, you aren’t.”

He agreed wholeheartedly – you were not his lover. Iris would not argue with him like this; in fact, they never argued at all. Whenever they had misunderstandings, they resolved it by taking out their frustrations on the bedroom, and the next day, all would be forgiven and forgotten. It was easier with Iris, in some ways, because with you he actually had to use his words, and he had to say the right ones. Both of which he wasn’t good at, but would try his very best anyway.

“I heard you spent the day with Maiko. How was it? Did you two have fun?”

“As fun as two women suffering at the hands of men who despise them could have.”

Rintaro took a larger step to stand in front of you, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I do not despise you.”

“Really? You made me feel otherwise.”

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair again, feeling much more exhausted than he did after the meetings ended. “You do not have to make this so difficult, you know. I am trying to fix this.”

The laugh you let out is sardonic, teetering on the edges of borderline angry. But he would take it – because arguments with you were better than having you ignore him, and he would take a thousand more arguments if it meant you talked. He would consume your wrath over your coldness every other day. Even when you cross your arms and look at him like he was the most vile creature to ever walk the Earth – because your eyes are on him, and in that moment, in the middle of another of a hundred hallways in his Palace, there was no one else but you and him. A husband and his wife. A Prince and his Princess.

“Oh, are you now? Because last time I checked, you were still in love with someone else, and I’m still nothing but a pawn in your silly game.”

“I may be in love with someone else, but it was you who I couldn’t get off my mind.”

“Is that supposed to make my heart flutter?”

You reel back as if burnt, and Rintarou couldn’t fathom why your expression hurt him so much. As if his declaration, his vulnerability, of being putty in your hands repulsed you instead of excited you. However, he refused to show he hung desperately to your every word, refused to admit that you held all the power in your hands, not him. So, he plays it off, and flirtingly lifts a brow just to get you even more riled up.

“I was hoping it would.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, Rintaro, you won’t win.”

His eyes darkened. Suddenly, all self-restraint he previously had had been thrown out the window. The urge to press his lips to you – yes, those same lips scowling at him – becomes all too consuming. He fools himself into taking the heat in your eyes as desire instead of anger. And he takes one step forward, two, then three, until your back hits the wall and his large frame prevents you from escaping. He liked you best here, he realized, under his mercy and staring up at him with your soft lips, pliant and open to release a gasp when he leans in. Closer, closer, only for his lips to meet the skin of your cheek.

Rintaro stifled a disappointed groan.

Masking it with a chuckle, he trailed his lips down your cheek and to your jawline, all the way until he’s inhaling your intoxicating scent – he wants your damned perfume to stick to his skin for days to come so everyone in the Palace knows he is yours. And like a flower, you bloom only to him. Craning your neck and pushing your chest upwards to his despite your resistance, breathing hard and heavy to let him know he wasn’t the only one affected by this.

And by the Gods, he wanted nothing more than to take you in this wall right here and then.

Brushing his lips just above your pulse point, Rintaro smiled. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and he was certain his was, too, when you began to crumple his shirt in your hands. “I never knew my name could sound so important without the titles attached to it.”

“Wh–what?” your query came out breathily. Not that he could blame you, for his words have also begun to sound more like a whisper.

“Rintaro,” he echoed, nosing your neck to greedily take in more of your scent. If not on his skin, then he will settle for the evidence of you all over his clothes – and damned the servants who dared wash his dress shirt. “Not Prince, not Your Highness. Just Rintaro. It makes me feel like… it is just you and I, husband and wife, as simple as that,” you draw in another gasp just as his fingers start ghosting over your waist, fighting the urge to pin you in place, or to just hold you delicately because he knew he’d broken you enough. Rintaro felt weak, his head dropping in the column of your shoulder. “I truly did miss you. And I do not like how I spent many nights, in our bed, alone.”

“You do not deserve to share a bed with me.”

“I know,” he lamented, and that firm resolve of keeping him at a distance was enough to wake him up. Pushing himself off of you, Rintaro took a solid minute to admire you like this – lips parted, expectant for a kiss, and skin flushed with a thin layer of sweat, with eyes so bewildered he could see himself clearly in the reflection – that he was just a man now, and not really the husband you wanted him to be. Once he had his fill, Rintaro smoothed down the wrinkles you fisted in his shirt and took a step back. “But you do not deserve to sleep in just a couch. Take the bed tonight. I will sleep outside.”

“But that’s–”

“I’m the one who fucked up,” he smirked, sarcasm dripping from his face, “So I should be the one sleeping uncomfortably. I know I cannot tell you what to do, and neither do I plan on ordering you around, but this is the one thing you cannot argue with me on. You will take the bed. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Back to titles. Back to formality. Back to reality.

“Good girl,” he murmured absentmindedly, nodding in the direction of your bedroom. “Let us head back to our quarters. I’m buying you a new dress for the ball first thing in the morning.”

To say Rintaro had changed would be an understatement.

He was a completely different person than your husband in the honeymoon. It was as if… last night’s intimate encounter had brought him back to the Rintaro you fell in love with, but this time it felt different. He felt more intense. Maybe it was the fact that his secrets were now laid out in the open, which could mean his attentive actions toward you no longer held the purpose of winning you over. Maybe now he truly just wanted to spend time with you because he could.

Cancelling his plans for the day, he’d told the servants you were going out shopping, and oh, what a cunning, devilish Prince he is. He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of him out in public. With so many eyes watching, you spent nearly every second of the day with your arms looped around his, laughing and smiling at every word he said, and not daring to keep your eyes off him lest someone took a photographed and headlined it ‘Newly Married Royal Couple Having Their First Lovers’ Spat In Public.’ No. No, that would be catastrophic. The Queen would be furious.

Here, in public, you were forced to act sweet and touchy with him, to which the stupid Crown Prince basked in as he led you from boutique to boutique. He complimented you on everything, even when you wore a hideous bright orange gown that made even the designer flinch. But in Rintaro’s eyes, you were simply mesmerizing. He even got a suit that matched all of your dresses, claiming that everyone should know he was married to you. Everyone already knew that – the whole world knew – but you didn’t want to burst his bubble.

Aside from having a day off, your husband genuinely did seem to be doing things other than paperwork.

You stopped being kind once you entered the car, however, when the windows had rolled up and you had both stopped waving to the people. Here, it was just the driver and the both of you, and the driver knew better than to comment on whatever happened, anyway. Sighing, you scooted to the other end of the seat, prying yourself off of Rintaro’s tight grip around your waist.

“Drop the act.”

“What act?”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, taking off your gloves and folding them neatly in your lap. “We are in the privacy of our car. You needn’t pretend any longer.”

“Who said I was pretending?”

You looked at him dead in the eye. “You are not fooling anyone. This was all a PR act – you did not actually mean whatever it is you said to me out there, but worry not. I’ll get out of your hair and divorce you – surely that will make everything easier.”

The way Rintaro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head would be comical if he didn’t look so scared. In a flash, your husband crossed the distance and sat next to you, his hurried movements causing his bangs to fall into his eyes. His large hands began to engulf yours, and you suck in a breath – without the gloves, it felt more intimate. “What divorce?” he chuckled nervously, brushing his lips over your bare knuckles. It was the faintest of touches, only done to appease you, but it still didn’t stop the bolt of heat coursing through your thighs. Gods, it was just so hard trying to stay mad at him.

“You know that’s impossible. Royal marriages are forever. Look, if you truly wish to divorce me, fine. But you know you will have to help me become King first. Once I am crowned, I can write a new law that says royal couples can be separated.”

“You are despicable.”

“I am,” he whined. Whined! Seriously, who was this man? “But I promise you, if you help me, I will let you go. Look, I’ll even find a high–ranking nobleman for you. The best of the best. You wouldn’t have to be lonely anymore. Just… don’t ever mention divorce to me right now. I won’t let you.”

Scoffing, you pull your hands back from his heavenly lips. “You seriously think after everything, loneliness is somehow my biggest issue?” Rintaro opened his mouth to retort, but you shook your head, making yourself small between him and the window seat. You hated it, how helpless you felt, from wanting his touch to being burnt by it. You hated it even more how you couldn’t look him in the eye as you mumbled, “Have you ever thought that maybe I just want to forget you?”

“I do not want you to,” he breathed out, and your eyes snapped shut when you felt his fingers brush over your cheeks. “But I am not so selfish to deprive you of a good thing. You will find someone who can love you better than I could.”

Your heart fell.

“Well, that would be easy. You never loved me to begin with.”

The Crown Prince never spoke again. You both mulled over your silences as you arrived back at the Palace, heading into the bathroom to do your nightly routines. Rintaro was to your left, taking out his razor blade and shaving foam while you stood to his right, lathering on your cleanser and toner. Thankfully, the silence did not feel as heavy as it did on the ride back home, but it was still far from being comfortable. It was only after you’d moisturized and turned to leave the room that Rintaro caught your wrist, glancing down at you with a pleading expression.

“Please. Can we stop fighting? I thought today was fun. Let us not end it hating each other.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, if I ruined your precious day,” you snapped, leaning back to examine how he missed a spot below his jaw. A slight stubble was visible, but you had to stop your hand from reaching out to him. You sighed. “All this space in the Palace and they couldn’t give us separate bathrooms?”

“Traditionally, royal married couples slept in separate rooms. Everything was separate, too, including bathrooms,” he gestured around you, “Perhaps you would’ve liked the old ways.”

Screw it. The small talk is the most awkward thing you have ever experienced.

“…You missed a spot,” you finally mumbled, taking his razor from him and gesturing for him to crouch down so you can reach. “Do you want me to finish it?”

Rintaro, despite his surprise, nodded and obeyed. It must have been uncomfortable for him to slouch, but he did so without complaints. He let you shave him as you saw fit, turning his head side to side, lathering on more foam, and you watched as his shoulders visibly deflated. Eyes fluttering close, Rintaro sighed, the tips of his fingers gingerly tracing circles as they laid beside your hips.

“You will take the bed as discussed,” he reminded, “You will not argue with me on this.”

“Okay,” you answered, because you, too, had no energy for more arguments. Once you were done with him, you wiped off the rest of the foam with a warm, wet towel. You both left the bathroom and went your separate ways – you to your king–sized bed, and him just outside the bedroom and into the lounge room, where you spent the past few nights sleeping. You realized he must not be sleeping well from it because of his large frame, yet Rintaro did not seem to mind.

Just as he was about to close the door, he lingered for a few beats.

“Thank you for going along the happily married couple act today,” he said, lifting his gaze from the carpeted floors to gaze into your eyes. “And for the record, I meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”

Then he turned, and swiftly closed the door, leaving you to be with your thoughts – all filled of him.

It didn’t help that the sheets and pillows still lingered with his scent.

You had your upcoming ball to thank for distracting you from your confusing feelings for your husband. That in itself was such a ridiculous statement, but one that ringed true. After Rintaro’s surprising gentleness, and the revelation from Maiko that he hadn’t spoken at all with Iris, you were now in a dangerous zone called Getting Your Hopes Up. Truly, you should know better. You had known Rintaro for years to know he could be effortlessly charming. He could have you wrapped tight around his finger, smiling like a lovesick fool, only for him to break your heart once more.

If not for that cold, hard truth, you would have invited him to bed with you that night. It seemed too tempting. It felt like the right thing to do. But you didn’t, and you were glad you held back on your desire, because you weren’t sure you could handle another heartbreak.

Especially because these past few days made you realize one thing – that you were still in love with him. The next morning, you found yourself wishing you had woken up next to him, and that was enough to make you avoid your husband all over again. And much to your disappointment, Rintaro stopped trying to chase after you, too, after countless rejections on your part. He had kept his distance, and only spoke with you momentarily when you arrived at your mother’s ball and had to exchange niceties with everyone.

After that, your husband excused himself and spoke with his brothers, but not after your parents couldn’t stop cooing at how adorable you and the Crown Prince were. He handled it with grace; kissing your cheek and thanking them for raising such a wonderful daughter. But the moment your parents became occupied with welcoming other guests, you were now left to entertain the other women in the ball.

Until the music began playing.

Until your song reverberated all across the room.

“This is the song you and the Crown Prince danced to the night you met,” your mother whispered beside you, giggling in your ear. “I requested it specifically for this night. Enjoy the dance with your husband. He’s already waiting.”

True to her word, you could feel Rintaro’s heated gaze on you from across the room. He’d stopped speaking with his brothers – the twins smirking beside him, Akaashi smiling at you softly, Tobio waving enthusiastically while nursing a glass of wine, and Kita firmly hovering from the walls with a concerned frown. Not that you paid attention to them. Your gaze was held by your husband and him only, bewitched as he started walking forward. The crowed parted for him like a true Prince until nothing stood in his way. Everyone smiled, giggling behind their gloves at the apparent ‘romance in the air.’ Beside you, your mother pushed you encouragingly, and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, waiting to see if you would take the Crown Prince’s outstretched hands.

“My love,” he whispered above your gloved hands, and your heart skipped a beat. He didn’t call you Princess, or Your Highness. You knew it was for the sake of keeping appearances, but by the Gods, you loved him. You were so hopelessly in love with your husband that you placed your heart in his hands once more, silently pleading with him not to break it as he led you in the middle of the dance floor. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, your hand resting on his shoulder as naturally as his arms came to your waist. The exact same movements from the night you first met, with the same song, but with your love for him stronger tonight than it did when you first laid your eyes on him.

This time, you danced as man and wife, and you recalled his words from the other day.

How there were moments it seemed so simple – where there were no titles, just you and him, having this dance like it was the most natural, inexplicable thing in this world.

The chord struck. The crowd parted. He took the first step in the dance, and you took a step back. Not once did you tear your gaze away from him, happily drowning in the depths of his hazel eyes you could look at forever. And isn’t that what you’d always wanted? To spend a lifetime with him, to grow old together. It would have been so easy if it weren’t for –

“Don’t think about anything else,” your husband shook his head lightly, “Just enjoy this moment. Tonight, there is only you and I.”

“Okay,” you found yourself nodding, and his grip on your waist tightened for a second. “Just you and I.”

Rintaro’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “Just you and I.”

You and him in those moments – you felt immortal. Like nothing could stand in your way. Or perhaps you could die tonight, and you would die happy. Because you were in your husband’s arms, and he was looking at you and only you, murmuring how you were becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day. You were melting in his arms, like goo. Like pudding. And he was strong enough to catch you, to brush his nose against yours at each dip, or letting his lips linger on your forehead each time you came back to him with each spin.

But happy moments never lasted long enough, and soon the rotations were beginning. More couples have joined the dance floor. Through one spin, you caught sight of Tooru and Maiko. Neither of them looked happy, but Tooru visibly brightened when he caught your eye, and shamelessly winked. On the other side of the room danced Iris and Kiyoomi, with the latter looking so nauseous you worried dinner would be spilled on your mother’s floor. And then too soon, Rintaro’s hands were leaving yours as he moved to the nearest dance partner, and you were caught by a pair of strong, muscled arms.

“My turn,” Tooru teased, a grin now on his handsome face as he nudged his head in Rintaro’s direction. He was now dancing with your mother, and you could tell, even from this distance, the smile he wore was genuine. “Should I beat him up?”

You chuckled, throwing your head back. Despite his jokes and jabs, Prince Tooru was a surprisingly great dancer – less stiff than Rintaro, and more confident in his receiving when you spun and dipped. But dancing with him did not feel the same. There was no passion, no yearning, no longing – just the lighthearted air of good humor and his calming nature.

“I don’t think beating the Crown Prince up would be a very wise decision.”

“Indeed, but I was never the Prince known for making wise decisions. That would be more Shinsuke’s forte,” he snorted, and the song reached a part for another rotation. However, Tooru refused to let you go and intentionally spun you away from what was supposed to be your next dance partner. Out of shock, you slapped his chest, and his broad chest rumbled with laughter.

“Your Highness! That was unbelievably rude!”

“As I have said,” you both laughed when he spun you again, “I am not the Prince known to be socially adept.”

You bent over in giggles, your head resting on his chest as you danced more throughout the night. Your feet were getting tired, but your mother was right – this was a night to enjoy. You danced to your heart’s content, exchanging jokes with the handsome Fifth Prince until you craned your neck to the side, only to be stopped by Prince Tooru’s large hand. This time, he no longer smiled as he gazed upon the dancing partners behind you, and your skin turned cold.

You had a feeling you knew exactly why.

“Don’t look. You won’t like what you’ll see.”

Nodding, you pursed your lips and forced a smile at him. “It’s okay, Princess,” he comforted, “Just look at me. You need not concern yourself with others.”

So you danced, and danced, until you could hear your father pleading with the Fifth Prince to give his daughter back because he didn’t get a chance to have a dance with you yet. Reluctantly, Tooru handed you over to your father, but not without a faux frown.

“That was a lovely dance, Your Highness. I wish we could’ve danced more.”

“I think we danced enough.”

Tooru’s smile was guarded; secretive. “I’m afraid it was not enough.”

You danced with your father next. And it was lovely, seeing him up close with all his smile lines and wrinkles. You missed him so, dearly, and he felt the same way. It hurt having to lie to him when he asked how you were settling in the Palace, but you didn’t want to concern him with your personal matters, and for some reason, it didn’t sit well with you if your father disliked Rintaro. So you swallowed your discomfort down and told him everything was great – silently wishing he wouldn’t pry further. He didn’t. And when the song slowed, your father kissed you on the cheek before letting you meet with your next dancing partner.

Stood in front of you was a great wall of what could only be described as majestic. Dressed in white with gold ornaments, Prince Kiyoomi’s curls framed his handsome face beautifully. You had been so accustomed seeing him in more comfortable clothing, and in the privacy of his own home, that seeing him out here in society, it reminded you that he, too, was a Prince.

The Second Prince – the would have been next King should Ushijima and Rintaro falter.

“My Prince.”

“Princess,” he bowed, taking your hand in his as you made your way back to the dance floor. The music played again, this time louder, and the Prince leaned down until his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. You repressed a gasp, unable to help yourself from digging your nails into his palm when you were greeted by how good he smelled – like mint, new leather, and pine. It also dawned on you how tall and firm the Prince was – perhaps taller and more muscular than Rintaro.

“Y–Yes, Your Highness?”

“Remind me to thank your mother for extending her invites to the forgotten Prince. Imagine my shock when I saw her invitation letter this morning.”

You chuckled nervously, thankful that he had now slightly tilted his head back. “I hardly doubt you are a forgotten prince.”

He snorted, effortlessly spinning you with one hand. “It’s not like I do my duties to begin with. I wouldn’t be surprised if I truly was forgotten,” distracted by his scent, you unknowingly stepped on the hem of your dress and slipped backwards. A scream nearly tore out your throat when the Prince’s large hands cupped the small of your back, your chest pressed to his and his curls brushing against your cheeks as he held you close. “Careful.”

“Th–thank you.”

You were a mess after that. You were never the best dancer, but something about being in the older Prince’s presence made you extra nervous. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He simply danced with grace, and hid his grimace well each time you stepped on his toes. He had also convinced you to stop apologizing every time you did, and by the time the dance was over, you were more than ready to disappear.

“Thank you for the dance, my Prince,” you bowed, words hurried, “I shall see you–”

“Kiyoomi!” a woman appeared out of nowhere, her thick, dark curls pinned up beautifully with some loose strands swaying in time with her hips. She had the same moles as Kiyoomi, and you watched, entranced, as the older woman wrapped her arm casually around the prince. The two shared a silent conversation with their eyes before Kiyoomi glanced at you, and the woman followed his line of sight. “Oh! Your Highness. Greetings. I don’t believe I have introduced myself before – I’m Kanami; Kiyoomi’s mother.”

You smiled at her, politely taking her hand as she extracted herself from her son’s arms and taken to draping herself all over you. Discomfort must be written all over your face, because the Second Prince sent an apologetic smile your way.

“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Kanami. Are you enjoying the night so far? The travel all the way from Itachiyama must have been exhausting.”

“Oh, it was, but it’s all worth it now that we’ve met again!” she squealed, and you paled.

“We have met before?”

Just as she nodded and went about to retelling this so–called meeting, Iris popped up behind Kiyoomi, her smile stiff as she regarded Kanami. Instantly, your mood soured. She hadn’t spoken to you at all tonight, which you were thankful, but something about the thought of her dancing with your husband, and probably being suggestive while at it had your blood boiling.

“Mother! Such a shock seeing you here. I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

Kanami barely glanced her way, her dark, curious eyes still on your face.

“Hello, Iris, and it’s Miss Sakusa, dear,” she corrected, her enthusiastic smile momentarily fading into a scowl before it returned. “Say, Your Highness, since you’re still on your honeymoon period – and I’ve heard your dear husband is too busy these days – would you want to come visit Itachiyama with me? I would be honored to be your host. It will also be a great opportunity to learn more about your Princess duties and politics!” leaning closer, she whispered behind her gloves, although her words were loud enough to be heard by Prince Tooru and Iris. “Although if I will be honest, politics does not interest me in the least bit.”

Your mouth fell open and closed, unsure of what to say, until you settled on chuckling and patting her hand wrapped around your arm. “I… Thank you for invitation, Kanami. I am most tempted to see your beautiful country, but Princess Iris should be the one visiting her territory, should she not?”

Kanami scrunched her nose.“The Princess never grew up in Itachiyama. She would be just as clueless as you. Besides, I have always wanted to invite you over ever since you had Kiyoomi as your last dance on your eighteenth birthday!”

“He… was?”

“He was! Don’t you remember, dear?” she turned to Kiyoomi, who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him already. But judging by his reaction, it seemed true – Kiyoomi was your last dance on your debut ball. “Well, in that case, I was always fond of you. I may be crossing the line here, but it was always a famous royal saying that whoever was your last dance on your debutante ball was your destined lover.”

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou angst #suna x yn #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou x reader #rintaro suna x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader fluff #kiyoomi sakusa x you #suna x you #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna rintarō x you #series: dusk till dawn

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trippinsorrows · 3 days

Text

with me + part eight

authors note: wow, you guys just keep on amazing me. all of the kind comments really do make my day, you have no idea. the beginning of this one is heavy, but i'm gradually working towards exposing more of reader and joe's backstories!!!

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst (parental neglect, abandonment) language, suggestive themes

words: 6k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“It’s been almost a year, babe.” His tone is the perfect combination of understanding yet frustrated, like he’s trying his best to be patient but his needs are getting the best of him. “You still not ready?”

You wanted someone to talk to for the drive, even if it was only an hour, but at this moment, you’re regretting choosing your boyfriend.

“I just….I want to be really sure, okay?”

This has been the latest conversation between the two of you, more a point of contention. You care about Amir, you love him, but there’s something about letting him take your virginity you’re still a bit unsure about. Maybe it’s the fact that you just turned 16 three months ago and still feel like you’re a bit on the young side to take that next step. Or maybe it’s the fact that you guys have been rocky, almost since the beginning, having your fair share of arguments, even makeups and breakups.

But, you also know that even with the ups and downs, a year deep for a high school relationship is almost unheard of. That has to mean something.

“I love you, and you love me, right?”

You check the rearview mirror and switch lanes. “Of course.”

“So let’s seal the deal.”

A glance at the navigation makes you aware that you’re roughly ten minutes away from your destination. Instantly, your stomach begins to twist and knot. And like many with anxiety, it comes out as anger.

“Look, can you please just stop pressuring me?” You snap. “I feel like that’s all you ever want to talk about.”

“Whoa, whoa, where’s all this attitude coming from?” He, understandably, becomes defensive. A small part of you feels bad, taking your nerves out on him, even if it’s not entirely undeserved. It has become an annoying, frequent hot topic. “Am I wrong for wanting to be close to my girlfriend?”

“Bullshit. You just want to get your dick wet.”

“If that was the case, I wouldn’t be asking you,” he retorts, arrogantly. “I can get pussy anywhere.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, obviously, because you angrily fire back, “fine, then go do that and leave me and my pussy alone!”

He sucks his teeth on the other side. “I’ll talk to you when you not in one of your bitch moods. Must be on your period or something.”

“Fuck you, Amir.”

The phone disconnects.

He hung up.

Frustrated, for a lot of reasons, you squeeze the steering wheel and curse, loudly. This isn’t what you needed. You’re regretting not calling Mariah instead. You’re starting to regret this decision altogether but work to remind yourself why you’re doing it, why you want to do it. Amir and his shit be damned. He’ll always be there, and you’ll figure the shit out, like you always do.

Right now though, you need to focus on yourself and your plan.

So, you spend the rest of your time driving by feeding positive mantras into yourself in an attempt to bleed out the negativity.

It’s especially needed when you finally arrive at your destination, parking your car as far back in the parking lot as you can. You blow out a big, deep breath, keeping your hands on the steering wheel as it really sets in that you’re doing this, finally doing something you’ve wanted since you got your license but have been too scared to follow through on.

It’s going to be a daunting task no matter what, but it’s what you want, and you’ve come too far to back out now.

Shaky hands reach to pull down the sun visor so you can use the mirror to assess your makeup and hair. You’d saved up your paychecks to afford this 14k gold necklace the local jeweler had gotten in stock and kindly agreed to hold until you could afford it. You just wanted to look your best.

You needed to look your best.

Blowing out another breath, you reach to spray another layer of your trial size perfume. It was some expensive ass designer fragrance that smelled sinfully sweet, but the trial one was all you could afford.

Climbing out of the car with your best bag, you make sure to lock the door and start heading toward the entrance, offering a few small smiles to the cops you pass by.

Stepping into the precent, you march right up to the front desk with your head held high.

“Hi,” you breathe, pasting on that rehearsed smile. “I—umm, is Captain Wilson available?”

“Uhhhh.” She stands up and looks back, most likely where his office is. “I believe so, can I ask what this is in regards to?”

Crap. You hadn’t thought about what to say, how to explain how you knew him. Quickly, you settle on, “old family friend.”

She assesses you, probably wondering why their police captain is family friends with a high schooler.

Thankfully, she nods and moves from behind the desk to escort you. “Follow me.”

You’re briefly relieved that the first part is done, far from the hardest but necessary for you to actually get to the hard part.

She knocks on the open door. “Captain?”

He looks up, and your stomach drops.

Years.

It’s been years since you’ve seen him, been this close in proximity. He’s older, obviously, but still very similar to how you remembered him all those years ago. He looks at you for a second, clearly confused and then at the woman.

“She said she’s a family friend.”

Nervous that this will mess up your plan, you interrupt, “I—I need to speak with you, please.”

The woman turns to you. “I thought you said—”

He lifts his hand, standing up. “It’s fine, Yang.” He motions to the door. “Leave us.”

You can feel her distasteful expression on you, but she follows his command, closing the door behind you.

“Well, how can I help you, young lady?”

It's such a loaded question, but you came prepared, ready to jump right to the point. Don't want to waste any time.

"I, well, I'm—" Chuckling, you reach into your bag and pull out the old picture of your mom you kept in your locker. Opening and showing it to him, you watch his entire facial expression shift from friendly to shocked. "I'm your—"

“What are you doing here?” There’s a sudden change in his tone, even in his body posture, less friendly, more hostile. Clearly, he recognizes you.

“I—” The answer is simple yet difficult to get out, but you manage. “I wanted to meet my father.”

He suddenly asks, accusingly. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

“What?” Frowning, you explain, “no, no, she—she doesn’t even know I’m here. No one does.”

“Good,” he mutters. “Listen—”

“I’m 16 now,” you interject, suddenly remembering the list of things you wanted to share with him, wanted him to know about you. “And I’m—I’m captain of my school’s cheerleading squad. Took my team to state last year. I’ve had a couple of scouts from colleges reach out already.”

“Listen—”

“And I just got my SAT scores back. I got a 1400. A 32 on my ACT. That puts me in the top 10% of the nation for both of them.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this?”

“I thought—” This is going the complete opposite of how you planned, how you hoped. You expected him to be confused and surprised, but you didn’t expect this level of disinterest and aggravation. Like you’re annoying him. Like you’re bothering him. “I thought if—if you saw me, if you met me and see I’m not a bad kid that—that maybe you’d want a relationship with me.”

“A relationship?” He scoffs, actually fucking scoffs. “Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.”

Of all the things to say—cruel, hurtful, mean—you’re not sure just what to label this. Because it’s almost inconceivable to you that he could say such a thing while looking directly at you, as if you’re not his blood. As if you’re not his daughter.

“I—” Any hope or confidence you had is all but squashed underneath the weight of his cruelty. “I’m your daughter.”

“No, you are a mistake that I paid your mother to take care of.” He turns away, one hand on his hip, the other running his hand over his face. “Biggest waste of money I ever spent.”

Devastated. It’s the closest word you can use to describe what you’re feeling right now, all over, in every crevice of your body. You never knew a person could feel so much pain at one time.

That a heart could feel so heavy.

“How—”

“Honey—”

Turning your head, you see a woman dressed in fine clothes, adorned in real, 14k or more jewelry, and a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes when she sees the Captain isn’t alone. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

You’re unsure how to answer, especially when you notice the big rock on her finger. It doesn’t take much to realize this must be his wife. The same woman he cheated on with your mother and unintentionally created you.

“Not at all,” he answers with a chuckle. You watch with a twisted stomach as she walks over to him, kissing his cheek. He smiles at her with such adoration, such happiness, a complete contrast with the disgust and disdain he sent your way. “I was just telling this young lady there’s nothing we can do for her.”

Young lady. That’s all you are to him, and it was stupid of you to trick yourself into believing otherwise. If he could go sixteen years without once asking or inquiring about you, he could go another sixteen. Another 100. You weren’t a part of his world, didn’t exist there, and you never would.

“Dad, Elijah won’t get out of the car. I swear, you should have kept me an only—” Another person enters the room and also stops mid-sentence. “---child.” An identical set of brown eyes land on you, eyes that he has, that you have. The similarities don’t stop there. Nose, lips, even bone structure to some extent, age. “Oh, my bad. Dad, who’s—”

You never give her the chance to finish or yourself the chance to hear the rest of her question. Rushing past her as well as the other cops in the precinct who surprisingly don’t try to stop you, you don’t allow your feet to rest until you’re in the safety of your car.

And that’s when it finally comes out.

The guttural, vulnerable scream that you’ve been holding in. You beat at the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the horn. You beat at that thing until your wrist aches and fist grows tired. Nearly hyperventilating, the sob erupts from your throat, almost your entire body shaking from the intensity. You’ve never felt so awful in your life, so empty, so unwanted and unloved.

It’s the kind of pain that’s so visceral you can only understand if you’ve felt it, and no one deserves to feel this.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You feel it, and more, for bringing yourself down here and making a fool of yourself.

A family.

He has a whole family. He already has children, has a daughter who’s close in age. A daughter he loves and whose life he wants to be involved in.

And it’s not you.

It’s never been you, and it’ll never be you.

Finally, you understand why your mom always shot down or redirected any attempt you made to ask about your dad. It was for this reason. This is what she was trying to protect you from, and you idiotically ran right into the line of fire.

Immensely grateful you had the wherewithal to park as far back as you could, you sit there for who knows how long, screaming, crying, heartbroken, avoiding what’s sure to be the longest drive home of your life.

There’s such an intolerable level of discomfort at this, this pain, this hurt. You don’t want to feel it, don’t want to sit in it. You can’t. You’re not sure if you can continue to function in this state.

You need a distraction.

And you have the perfect one. Whatever development has occurred in the prefrontal cortex is nonexistent and inactive as you dig in your purse for your phone.

With shaky fingers, you send him a simple text, knowing he’ll know exactly what you mean.

Tonight. Let’s do it tonight.

________

Three days after her emergency surgery, Calista was officially discharged from the hospital, allowing her to be home with you just in time for Thanksgiving. Not that that ended up being anything to write home about. You opted to stay home with her, aiding in her recovery as your mom came over to drop off some food and assist in nursing your sweet little girl back to health.

It was much appreciated, especially as Joe had to leave the day before she was released, much to his and Callie’s chagrin. She loved the company of you, even your mom, but she especially loved being around and with Joe.

Not that he was any different. You could see how much it killed him to have to leave her when she was still admitted in a hospital, so you had to continue to remind him that the hardest part was over. Ironic considering how grounded he kept you in that terrifying experience.

Joe’s promise of returning for Christmas was the only thing that kept Callie slightly less disappointed. She loves Christmas, and him being there for her favorite holiday will definitely mean a lot to her. You know she just hates having to wait so long to see him again. It’s safe to say she’s pretty attached to him, which warms your heart and makes you even more eager for her to finally realize that Joe is not just Joe.

He’s her dad.

And speaking of daddy, your dynamic with Joe has been both different yet the same. There’s always been this chemistry between you two, but it seems him finally admitting he wants to be with you and your finally acknowledging that it's something you’re willing to consider has given him privilege to up the ante.

He’s always been forward with you, but it’s been subtle, if at all present, since his return.

That's no longer the case.

He makes his comments and innuendos, always appropriate and respectful enough to not warrant pushback. But, it’s still there.

And you like it, way more than you should for someone who doesn’t even know how she feels about any of this to begin with.

“I have an idea.”

Th comment comes from the very person who you summoned to help with said ambivalence chimes with that mischievous smile that almost got you both kicked out of school at least two times.

Alexis Palmer stands on the opposite side of the kitchen, a bottle of vodka in one hand and another unidentified alcoholic beverage in the other. To say you summoned her may be a bit of an exaggeration. You emailed her, yes, but you didn’t except her to actually fly across the world to come visit you. Apparently, she was in Norway when she received your email.

“You couldn’t not expect me to come. You sent out the bestie bat signal!”

The first time you met Alexis, you hated her. She was your assigned roommate who you had the displeasure of meeting during move in week. A large part of your disdain for her was because she represented everything you’d always found utterly annoying: rich, entitled, privileged.

You’d quickly find out that was only partially true. Yes, Alexis came from money, but that was essentially all she came from. You’ll never forget the time you two were actually having a decent conversation and she casually mentioned that neither of her parents had ever told her happy birthday before. Ever.

Even your mom, though not having much, made sure to make the most of all of your special days.

That was the first day you started to see our roommate in a different light, and now, over ten years later, you consider her a best friend. If Alexis didn’t spend her life randomly traveling to various parts of the world, living comfortably off her trust fund money, you’d absolutely be much closer.

But until, or if, she gets tired of always being on the go, you settle for email updates and countless snapchat messages because WIFI is a wonderfully universal thing when compared to international texting and call fees.

Alexis's partially drunk ass skips out of the kitchen, clearly going to retrieve something as you take a moment to check your phone. It took a moderate level of convincing for you to agree to Callie spending a day or two with your mom, not that you didn’t believe she wouldn’t be in the best care. It was just some lingering anxiety from your baby being hospitalized, that mother’s fear of something happening in your absence and you not being there to comfort her.

But, your mom brought up a valid point, that you’d spend almost nonstop time with Callie since her discharge, and that was fine. You loved spending time with you little girl, but you also needed some time for yourself. Some adult interaction, and Alexis' surprise visit created the perfect opportunity.

So, that brings you to your current scenario, having an in-house girl night with your college roommate, drinking wine (harder liquor for her) and figuring out just what the fuck you’re doing with your non-existent love life.

When Alexis turns with one of your poster boards, you protest, “Lex, those are for my students.”

She gives you the most disgusted look. “Girl, fuck them kids. If it’s not my sweet Cal Gal, I don’t care.”

Knowing good and well this is a losing battle, you let it go and watch as she lays the poster board on the kitchen island and pulls out a sharpie.

“What are you—”

She lifts a finger, silencing you as she continues to write. Shaking your head, you take another sip of your wine.

Alexis is done in a matter of a few minutes and finally prompts you to look. “Okay, all done.”

It’s in reading what she’s created that you nearly drop your wine glass. “Lex, what is this?”

She rolls her eyes, pointing with the sharpie to the title. “Obviously, it’s the ‘figure out who I should be with’ chart. Created by yours truly!”

You blink a couple times. “Alexis, why is Kai’s name up here? He was a high school hookup.”

“Yes, but still a hookup nonetheless, so he makes the cut.” Lord as much as you missed Alexis, you’d almost forgotten how draining her eccentric ways can be. “Now, as you can see, each option has a pros and cons column. I say we start with the pros, and I’ll even help you out.”

“Should I be scared?”

She pauses. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head, you wait for her to quickly jot down whatever she objectively believes is considered a pro. But, when she turns the poster around, you actually laugh. “Oh my god.”

She’s written only in Joe’s pro column, but it’s more what she has written that has you humored.

“Obviously, at number one, we have 'big dick' because that's the most important thing in life. Never commit to a micro-penis.”

Ignoring the latter part of her statement, you ask, “big dick? Really?”

“Is it a lie?” She challenges. You open your mouth and immediately close it, taking another sip of wine. “I rest my case.” Yeah, you definitely can’t fight that one. “Wait, is he the one you tried anal with that one time?”

You nearly spit out your wine, for a couple of reasons. You'd never really considered yourself a feminist, but you were definitely someone who believed in women being free sexual beings. You never subscribed to that modesty bullshit. Sex was fun to you, and you liked it. You definitely considered yourself more on the freaky side. Outside of the really weird shit and threesomes, you were down to try whatever. Especially with Joe. Well, except for that. “Absolutely not. He’s too big. That shit already hurts, hence why it was one and done.”

Confused, she asks. “Who was it then?”

“Amir,” you answer, casually. Alexis, being Alexis, was pretty much the same as you when it came to embracing sexuality, hence speaking so openly about your sex lives.

She turns up her nose. “Yuck. Okay, back to Big Dick Joe.” After over 10+ years of friendship, you’ve learned, to some extent, certain things Alexis says just have to be chalked up to being a part of who she is. Like this entire activity that you’re for some reason entertaining. “Now get back to naming!”

You shrug, thinking about it, even if there’s not much to think about. “I mean, we have a child together already.”

“Oh damn, forgot about that,” she mutters and quickly adds Callie to the list of pros. “Sorry, Cal.”

This isn’t necessarily a difficult task. You’re pretty sure you could talk for 30 minutes straight about all of the reasons you like Joe. “He’s kind, smart, easy to talk to, an amazing dad to Callie.”

She downs the last of her concoction before shouting out, “oooh, don’t forget rich!”

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you shrug, genuinely uninterested. “You know I don’t care about that.”

“You will when it’s time for Callie to go to college,” she ‘sings’, adding it to the board. “Fine as fuck,” Alexis talks aloud while writing the same thing. “Like very fine. As in you should have asked if his wife could fight fine because the way I never would have asked that man to leave—”

“Alexis.”

“Sorry.” She’s really not. “Why don’t we switch gears? How about we do the pros for Amir? Or even Kai?” You open your mouth to respond when she cuts you off. “Couldn’t think of any? Me neither. Back to Joe, it is.”

You run your hand against the side of your face, elbow on the section of the island that’s not occupied by the poster board. “Seriously, Alexis. There’s nothing there for Kai. At all. Hell, Amir neither.”

It’s like a light goes off, like all of her efforts have finally proved fruitful. The entirety of her eccentricity minimizes to something calm and considerate. “Exactly.” Laying down the poster, she comes and sits in the bar seat next to you. “You don’t like Amir. You definitely don’t like Kai. But, you do like Joe. Maybe more, though I’m not sure you’re ready to actually admit that out loud.” Much like a lot of what she says, though usually cloaked underneath her quirkiness, she’s correct. “So, what’s the real issue, roomie? It was his wife before, which I totally understood. You’re a moral person and shit. But now? He’s divorced, Y/N. You two have a child you’re trying to raise together. What’s holding you back?”

It’s a very, very valid question that you have no idea how to answer. You’ve tried, to some extent, to explore what your hesitations are. It hasn’t been high on the priority list due to your being focused on nursing Callie back to health, but as she’s on the mend to a full recovery, if not already at the eve of one, you know you’re gonna have to figure this shit out. Preferably sooner than later.

Joe will respect your need for time and space, but you also know he can be a persistent bastard, especially when it’s something or someone he wants.

It’s how ya’ll even got together in the first place.

“I’m gonna say something, and I don’t want you to bite my head off. Just hear me out. Let me put this expensive ass psych degree to use.” That makes you chuckle, but you remain quiet, allowing her to continue. “I think….I think whatever the situation is with your dad might be at play here.” Instantly, you're stiff, any hint of a smile or humor gone. “I don’t know exactly what happened outside of the fact that he’s not in your life, but something tells me there’s something there that you need to face.” And if she wasn’t already hitting you where it hurts, she adds on, “and I think it had something to do with why you didn’t tell Joe about Callie from the very beginning.”

Alexis has always had this uncanny ability to make you wonder if there’s something possibly mentally wrong with her and in the same breath wonder why the hell she didn’t decide to pursue a higher degree in psychology because of her sage wisdom.

This is one of those moments.

You know there’s some element of truth to what she’s saying, some layers behind events you’d pushed so far back in your head, you tried to convince yourself they didn’t still impact you.

But opening that box…..it’s hard for you to justify doing so. To understand why you need to revisit such uncomfortable, painful memories. You’re gonna be 32 years old next year. You’re too damn old to still be dealing with daddy issues.

Reaching for the bottle of wine, you pour some into your glass, noticeably more than the first one. “Maybe.”

Alexis also knows you well enough to know that a dismissal was bound to be your approach to such a heavy topic. “Is that the sign to change subjects, even though that’s literally why you asked me to come?"

“Technically, you invited yourself.”

“Bullshit,” she snorts. “You send that wild ass email and expect me to not book it back here to make sure my favorite twerk partner isn’t Gucci?” She suddenly asks, “wait, do people still say that?”

“Probably not. We’re old and outdated now.”

“Speak for yourself, I had a 24 year old Frenchman eat me out last month, and it was C'est Magnifique,” she sighs, clearly reminiscing as you turn up your nose.

“Too young for me, girl.” Younger men have never done anything for you, even Amri, who was a grade above you, felt too close in age.

“That’s right,” she nods, and you just know there’s something on the tip of her tongue. “You like em’ older. Samoan, tatted, with massive arms and big dicks.”

“Alexis.” You have to laugh, leaning into her side and laying your head on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, girl.” You needed this, the time and space to be silly, to have difficult yet important conversations, to both think and not think. Alexis has always been that really great space for you, Mariah for even longer, but given your last interactions with her, you realize she’s not exactly the best candidate at the moment.

And as if reading your mind, she asks, “how’s ole girl doing?”

Ole girl aka Mariah.

The relationship between Mariah and Alexis……well, there is none. Put simply, they hate each other. More hate on Alexis' part, Mariah has just always kinda ignored Alexis and her role in your life, which is significantly easier considering Alexis is always on the move. The reason for the dislike and incompatibility between the two of them will always be a mystery.

“It’s just something about that girl.”

That’s what she would always say, and it once reached the point where you and Alexis stopped speaking for a couple of weeks, because you were a lot of things, loyal at the top of that list.

Outside of the whole situation with Joe….you still don’t know what exactly happened there.

Nonetheless, it just became agreed upon that talking with one woman about the other would be kept to a minimum, preferably none.

You know Alexis is just trying to be nice by asking. She doesn’t really care.

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “She’s been….I think she’s just going through something.”

She rolls her eyes, clearly unsurprised. “I’m sure she is.”

You sigh. “Alexis.”

“I know you don’t like it when I talk about her cause that’s your other ‘best friend,’ but I’m telling you, Y/N, that girl is not your friend. She’s jealous of you. She been jealous of you,” she blurts out, as if keeping it in any longer would be painful. “But, imma be quiet.”

And she does which you’re grateful for, even if her words are, for the first time, starting to trigger some unfamiliar thoughts. Alexis, Kai, your own experiences. You’ve always leaned on the side of where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and Mariah’s forest is ablaze.

You just have to figure out how to approach all of this.

Among the other 50 fucking things you have to figure out.

_______

You can’t remember the last time you propped up your phone to call Joe for any reason other than Callie wanting to see or speak to him.

And yet, here you are, in your bathroom, preparing for your nightly routine, doing just that.

He answers on the third ring, eyes lighting up with surprise when he sees it’s you and not Callie. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Your tone is much too cheery for your taste, so you attempt to roll it back. “Is, uhh, is this a bad time?”

“Never a bad time for you,” he replies, smoothly. Looking into the screen, you realize he’s sitting up in bed, one arm behind his head. “What’s up? I thought you were having a girls night with Alexis.”

“We were. Well, we did, but she’s white girl wasted, passed out in my bed right now,” you answer, peeking through your ajar bathroom door to make sure she didn’t wander off somewhere. She was always that mobile drunk friend who had to be carefully monitored or else she’d end up on a local new station. “You talk to Callie?”

He nods as you grab your face wash and dispense some into your hand to lather. “Yeah, earlier. She seems to be having a good time with your mom.”

“She usually does, cause like you, my mom never tells her no.” You’ve always allowed that space for your mom to have her own relationship with Callie, one that you have no interference with. Similar to how it was for you with your grandma. But now with Joe being in the picture too, you foresee having to be that parent that actually tells their kid no.

Cause Lord knows Joe ain’t shaping up to be the one.

“She doesn’t do anything for us to have to tell her no.”

You pause in the midst of scrubbing your face. “God, I can’t wait for you to finally experience one of her tantrums. Next time you come, I’m gonna keep her up so you can see how she gets when she’s tired.” Joe has been blessed to really only experience happy Callie, even, unfortunately, sad Callie, but he’s yet to see your little girl when she’s angry.

“Don't do that to her.” He immediately grows defensive, and you giggle. “She’s a good kid.”

“She is,” you agree, rinsing your face and adding, “but all kids have moments, Joe. I would know, I work with them.”

“Well, you—”

“He don’t wanna be saved, don’t save him!”

You’re in the midst of drying your face when Alexis’s drunk, random ass comes stumbling by the door. “Alexis, what the hell are you doing up?”

Your words clearly trigger something with her wasted ass, cause in a matter of seconds, she’s crying. “My name is Alexis, but I’m not from Texas,” she begins to cry profusely at the word ‘Texas’, and it takes everything in you not to fall out laughing. You haven’t seen her this wasted since your junior year of college.

Hand on her back moving in circles, you soothe, “it’s okay, sweetie. You’re way better than her anyway.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, all soft and innocent, the complete opposite of the porn star she’s crying over not being.

“Of course.” You place your arms around her and mouth to Joe you’ll be right back. “Now, let's get you back to bed.”

“Are we gonna fuck?”

“No, Lex, you’re gonna sleep, and I’m going to finish talking to Joe.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment is hilarious as she yells out, much louder than necessary. “Bye, Joe!”

“Girl, you are gonna get me evicted,” you scold with a small laugh, guiding her into your bed and under the blankets. “Now, you sleep this off, and I’ll roast you in the morning over your antics. Deal?”

Alexis is so drunk, she couldn’t consent to breathing right now, but she does manage to give you a crooked thumbs up. “Deal.”

Stepping back into the bathroom, you give Joe a look and shake your head as he asks, “Damn. How much did ya’ll drink?”

“You mean how much did she drink?” You correct him. He knows good and well that’s not your thing. Never was. You didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. You could shake your ass on any table just fine, good and sober. “A lot. I just had two glasses of wine.” Suddenly remember something, you start speaking again, eager for his perspective on an idea that crossed your mind the other day.

“I think we should—”

“Go out with me.”

You both speak at the same time, but his statement obviously gives you pause. You stare at him, momentarily confused and ask, “what?”

He repeats himself, just as confident the first time around. “Go on a date with me.”

For a second, you think he’s joking, think he’s playing with you for some reason, but one look at his expression, and you know he’s being for real. You’re not sure how to respond, asking again, “like an actual date? A real date?”

“No, like a fake date.” He rolls his eyes, and you resist flipping him off. “Yes, an actual date.”

Still confused, you ask in a quieter voice, “why?”

His answer is surprisingly simple and unsurprisingly genuine. “Because I’ve never actually taken you out, and I want to. You deserve that much.”

This has been such a wild ass day. Hell, ever since Joe reentered your life, things have been wild. For the majority, if not entirety, of your relationship, you spent most of your time with this man holed up in your apartment and hotel rooms. Now he’s asking to take you out on a proper date.

What a 180.

It’s like he can see the wheels turning in your head and reassures, still with all the boldness. “We can take this as slow as you want, but you should know I’m heading in one direction and one direction only.”

Fuck. There’s nothing unclear about that, but it’s not surprising. He’s made it clear what he wants from you. He’s just waiting on you to tell him what you want from him.

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, "just a date?"

“Just a date,” he agrees. You should know him well enough though to know that’s not it. Sure enough, he smugly adds, “but if you end up riding my dick, then that’s just fate, baby.”

And there it goes, that charisma and charm that always kept you coming back for more.

Your smile is hard to conceal, so you settle for biting your lip, looking away. This man has no filter sometimes…not that you’re complaining. At all.

Feeling bold, probably from the wine traveling through your system, you play into his teasing. “Maybe I just want some dick.”

“That’s fine too.” He shrugs. “You know all you gotta do is ask, and I’ll get you right. Every single time.” A beat. “How you think Callie got here?”

That’s the thing….he’s not wrong, not wrong at all. You can’t think of a single sexual encounter with this man that didn’t either bring tears to your eyes from how good he was eating you up or had you walking with an almost limp the next day from how good he beat your shit up. Often both.

It’s always a good time with the head of the table.

Finally, you settle on an answer that feels most appropriate. “I’ll only agree if you agree to behave.”

He looks confused. Understandable. “What does it mean to behave?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you answer confidently, “it means keeping your hands and body parts to yourself.”

If you agree to this, it has to be well regulated and feelings or hormones can’t get in the way of things. If you and Joe are to progress into something more, you have to take it slow, even if just for Callie.

At least, that’s the hope.

Nodding, he asks, mischief in his light eyes. “What if you’re the one who can’t behave?”

You snort, using the oil to grease your scalp. “Unlikely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll see about that.” He has that look in his eyes, the same look that almost always ended up with you bent over whatever the most sturdy object in the room was. It’s a dangerous expression.

And you suddenly find your thighs clenching together.

Not a good sign.

“Well,” you clear your throat, leaning over the counter, praying his perceptive ass didn’t notice that. “As much as I would love to continue to chat with you, I have to call our daughter and talk to her before she goes to bed.” It’s not an entire lie; you do need to call her. Just not at this moment. He doesn't need to know that though.

“You’re flustered, aren’t you?”

This man….

Two can play that game.

Pushing your arms together to press your breast together, you’re pleased seeing his gaze darken. “Does it look like I’m flustered, baby?” His jaw clenching is all the satisfaction you need. Mission accomplished. “Goodnight, Joe.”

Refusing to give him a chance to come back with something, you end the call, only realizing what just happened once you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You’re going out on a date with Joe.

What the fuck?

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #black writers #arisnotebook

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oneluckydumbass · 2 days

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You couldn't hold back the tears anymore. The stress of the last hours, the uncertainty, the panic that was clearly visible on the others’ faces were more than enough to push you over the edge. As you sat on the floor with your back against the wall, you rested your forehead on your pulled up knees and struggled to stop crying. You should pull yourself together, you shouldn't show such weakness.

But then you felt a gloved hand on your bare shoulder, reminding you that you weren't alone in this. Ghost was there when those canisters released an unknown substance in the room, which is why the two of you were now quarantined together.

“They'll figure it out,” he said in his deep voice, although you could tell his tone was laced with hopelessness.

You couldn't blame him, you were also feeling hopeless. How could you not? They didn't know what that was, and the symptoms would surely get worse with time. The headache and the nausea was already on the threshold of being unbearable, you couldn't even begin to imagine what else was about to come.

Apparently there was something wrong with the blood sample you both gave. You weren't a doctor, you had no idea what the issue was, but they sounded serious. You didn't want to die. Your job was risky, sure, but dying from a bullet still seemed like the better option.

Before you knew it, Simon sat next to you then put an arm around your shoulder so he could force you to rest with your head on his shoulder. Through the mask, he pressed a soft kiss on your head, causing you to look at him with wide eyes.

“What? There's a chance we'll die here, I'm not gonna spend it as if we were just simple teammates,” he informed you.

The thought of him being so openly affectionate warmed your heart. Simon Riley, the man who always made sure to keep his softer side behind closed doors when he was alone with you, was now ready to let the entire team know you were together as a couple. Happy and in love, although you didn't think you would go into details about how you were already talking about starting a little family of your own.

The only sound came from the buzzing neon lights on the ceiling, filling the heavy silence that was making you more and more depressed as the minutes passed. A doctor came in to check your vitals, noted that Simon had fever, then left without saying anything about what they knew so far.

“I love you, Simon,” you quietly noted as you reached out to take his hand that was resting on his thigh.

With a short laugh he pulled up the mask a little and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, savoring the moment, turning it into a core memory. Because this was an important moment for the both of you, a slow and emotional goodbye in case you didn't make it.

“If we get out of here,” he began cautiously as you lay down with your head resting on his legs, “would you marry me? And I mean it, I don't want a long engagement or a big wedding, I just want to make it official as soon as possible.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us.”

You pulled off the glove from his hand and placed a soft kiss on it. His big, calloused hand gave you the comfort you needed now, long fingers lacing with yours in an attempt to calm you down. It would have been a nice moment under different circumstances.

Suddenly Soap walked in, wearing a hazmat suit, but even that wasn't enough to hide the wide grin on his face. “Okay, so we left cameras here to know if you're okay, which is how we heard everything. We agreed that you're idiots because one, we knew about the two of you all along, and two, there's no way you can run away like that to get married.”

Shaking his head, Simon leaned back against the wall as he looked up at the sergeant. “What's the point if we die here anyway?” he asked with a sigh.

To your surprise, Soap took off the helmet with a laugh. “I forgot to mention; the doc gave you the green light. You won't die. It's… I don't know, I was too busy celebrating that you'll live to listen to what he said. Come on, Lt., time to go home.”

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #mw2 #modern warfare #mw3

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animeyanderelover · 1 day

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How would tobirama,madara,shisui,kakashi,tsunade,and obito react to accidentally hurting the darling?Thank you ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, paranoia, overprotective behavior

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan

Accidentally hurting their s/o

Madara Uchiha

🌑Madara is going to appear rather indifferent at first but his cold exterior is not a representation of what is currently happening in his mind. He's ashamed of himself and his lack of self-control which makes this mistake all the more aggravating for him. If he would have been still a child, this might have been excused but he is a grown man who is the head of his clan. As intimidating and occasionally tormenting as the Uchiha can be, he would never harm his beloved unless they have displeased or angered him so the lack of control over whatever has ultimately led to your pain is going to leave a sour taste on his tongue. His pride is a mountain hard to overcome though so initially he just tells you rather coldly that your injury isn't that bad, leaving you only moments later since he needs time for himself. He has medics catering to your pain though even if your wound is nothing serious, contracting his previous words as he still cares. Words have never been his strong point and partially he believes them to serve nothing anyways but he expresses his apology rather through physical gifts and gestures.

Tobirama Senju

🌊Tobirama normally manages to keep up a harsh facade even under difficult circumstances yet few things are heavier than realising that he let his own emotions besting him and hurting you physically. Frustration and hot shame curl themselves around his body and for the first time he has no snarky comback or ruthless comment, only speechless with how low this obsession has brought him. He insists on catering to your pain himself even if there is no real need for it, a sliver of desperation visible in his eyes as he asks of you to let him take a look. After he has ensured your well-being, he silently storms out of the house to clear his own mind and to reflect on himself. His pride is rather big yet he is humble enough that this is his own fault and he has lost grasp of his own emotions. He returns back to you after a few hours and actually apologises to you, a sight so rare that it almost spooks you out initially. The guilt lingers for the next few days, the shame that he actually hurt his own spouse because he couldn't control himself a shame too big to simply shake off and forget about. It shall serve as a reminder to him to learn how to tame his obsession better.

Tsunade Senju

🐌A woman who possesses the strength to shatter mountains has a heart that is perhaps even more fragile than porcelain. Tsunade has already lost the two people who meant the world to her and that trauma feeds her overprotective paranoia when it comes to you. She will take it pretty badly, that is after the initial shock wears down that has numbed her for a good few moments after it has happened. There are tears in her eyes as she looks at you and sees the pain on your face. Pain that she has inflicted on you. Tsunade feels sick to her very core even if there is no blood involved. She is a medic. She is supposed to heal people and help them with the pain yet she is the one who has caused yours. To alleviate the heavy anguish she feels after she has managed to pull through enough to heal your own pain with her abilities, she resorts to sake. She just drinks and drinks and drinks until she falls asleep but even in her drunken state that moment haunts her and with her emotions more vulnerable than ever, she starts crying even in her sleep. Her guilt only adds to her overbearing obsession though as it will never let her forget that she is the one who harmed you.

Kakashi Hatake

📖If you have ever wondered what the raw obsession hidden beneath that lackluster attitude of his looks like, you get a peak of it when Kakashi hurts you. The moment he fully processes what has just happened, it is already too late and as he looks at your shocked face and the blood that escapes the mild injury, memories flash before his eyes and trigger something visceral out of him. He breaks out in cold sweat and feels the dreadful vice-grip of fear tackling his heart as his chest is heaving with an unknown weight. He feels frozen as if any slight movement from his body would shatter him as his eyes are glued to the injury and it is only because of your interference that he finally snaps out of his paralysed anxiety. For a few moments he just stares at you with wet eyes before he finally gains the ability to move and do something again. There is a slight tremor in his hands as he cleans and bandages your injury, watching the spot for a while as if fearing that blood will stain the material at any moment before he finally lets a burdened sigh out that lifts the weight on his chest at least partially. For the rest of the day he is dedicated to hugging you all of the time, although his touches are light.

Obito Uchiha

🔥Obito handles it without a doubt the worst. The whole reason why he has taken it so far with his obsession was precisely because he wanted to protect you from any mental and physical pain this world would undoubtedly inflict upon you. Yet now the very world he has grown to despise so much has decided to torment him by letting him be the one who is the cause of your pain, as fleeting as it may be. Obito panicks most likely more than you do as even you reassure him that the injury isn't as bad as he may think. The only thing spinning around in his mind is the fact that he is the one who hurt you as he feels like the world he has been trying to change for years has now even stained him. His anger sparks a swirling inferno inside of him yet he has no one to vent out against as the culprit is he himself this time. He might turn for a good while deranged enough to offer that he will injure himself much worse as a warped way of repenting for what he has done for you unless you stop him. Otherwise he finds himself clinging to you much more as your presence seems to be the only thing containing his obsession from exploding which would lead him to do something really horrendous.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂Whether you treat it as anything big or not, Shisui will see it as a severe slipup from his side. The Uchiha has always considered his obsession as something he would have to control strictly as he had always possessed the awareness of just how quickly his feelings could spiral into bottomless darkness. For those black feelings to not only make him lose his prized control for a moment but also to accidentally harm you is a deep-rooted disappointment solely pointed against himself that he will never forgive himself for. He keeps his facial expression neutral as he does what he can do to soothe your pain before he leaves, barely able to hold eye contact with you. That doesn't mean that he neglects keeping an eye on you as he just stalks you for the rest of the day, his gaze sharper as he tries to detect how much this incident has affected you. Shisui will apologise to you the next day though and take all the blame himself, silently bemoaning that he allowed his feelings to escalate that much. There is some distance he purposefully creates as he deems it to be necessary for him to work more on himself to never let something like this happen again, although he never stops keeping tabs on you.

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere madara #yandere madara uchiha #yandere tobirama #yandere tobirama senju #yandere tsunade #yandere tsunade senju #yandere kakashi #yandere kakashi hatake #yandere obito #yandere obito uchiha #yandere shisui #yandere shisui uchiha #yandere x reader #naruto shippuden x reader

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jgracie · 23 hours

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THE MONSTER’S GONE, HE’S ON THE RUN AND YOUR DADDY’S HERE

masterlist | rules

in which jason is a hero in more ways than one

pairings jason grace x fem!reader

warnings reader is afab/can get pregnant

on the radio . . . beautiful boy (darling boy) (john lennon)

an my blog has become baby fever central so naturally i had to deliver 🫡, shoutout to anya ( @puffoz ) for helping me name the eldest grace daughter <3

The night after you told Jason you were pregnant with your first child, you’d woken up to the sound of sniffles coming from a certain someone sleeping right next to you. At first, you were confused - Jason had been ecstatic a few hours ago when you broke the news to him, why was he crying now? Then it hit you.

He was scared.

Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, champion of Hera, ex-praetor of Camp Jupiter, Pontifex Maximus and so many other titles you never cared for, was scared. Tenderly, you’d coaxed him out of the ball shape he was currently in (arms wrapped around his knees, head sitting in between his legs) and asked what was wrong, even though you already had an inkling of an idea as to what the matter was.

When he didn’t answer, you didn’t ask again. Knowing Jason like the palm of your hand meant staying silent and waiting for him to be ready to tell you, as expressing and talking about his emotions has been a struggle he only recently began to deal with.

With your hand gently rubbing his back, Jason replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “do you think I’ll be a bad dad?” Only after the question left his lips did Jason make eye contact with you, his eyes glistening with the tears they once held.

Anyone who grew up the way Jason did would naturally have their doubts about their parental abilities: how was he supposed to take care of a baby when he didn’t even know what it was like to be taken care of as a baby? However, you knew the truth.

“No,” you said. It was a simple answer, full of certainty and confidence, “no, Jason, I don’t think you’ll be a bad father. In fact, I know you’ll be a good one. You aren’t your upbringing - you’re kind, caring and hold so much love in your heart for everyone and everything around you despite the circumstances the Fates put you through. Trust me when I say you’ll be the best dad.”

You were, of course, right. Despite all the hardships that come with pregnancy, yours was a breeze thanks to Jason. Throughout the entirety of the nine months you spent carrying your child, he was nothing but supportive. He’d always buy you whatever food you were craving at whatever time (no matter how strange it was), he’d give you massages, he’d comfort you when you were feeling down and so much more.

The next time Jason cried was in the hospital when your baby had arrived. Natalia June Grace was born at 9:47AM and was everything you wished for and more. As Jason stared into her eyes, the eyes she’d inherited from him, he was filled to the brim with conviction: he was going to be the best dad he could possibly be for his precious Talia.

Despite this, Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t have his hard times. He’d be lying if he said he never woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty as he reached for his glasses and reminded himself that the nightmares aren’t real, they don’t define him, he is not Zeus, he is not Jupiter, he is Jason.

Being Jason meant being an excellent father. In Natalia's eyes, Jason hung the moon and the stars - no one could compare to her father. They had a bond like no other and were inseparable from the minute they met. Everywhere Talia went, Jason followed. Dance recital? He had front row tickets and lots of storage on his phone to film every second of it. Impromptu tea party with her barbies? Jason was there, clad in a tutu as he poured invisible tea into their cups. To you, the fact that Natalia viewed him as her hero was no surprise. Jason, however, tended to need some reminding.

“Mommy!” You heard your daughter yell as soon as she and Jason made their way inside your cozy apartment. While your husband locked the door, your daughter ran to the kitchen and gave you a bone crushing hug. Immediately, you let go of the whisk you were holding and hugged back, unable to believe it was now almost six years since she had been born. Time flies when you’re having fun!

Running your fingers through her hair, you said, “Talia, how was school today? I really missed you!” She replied with a quick ‘good’ before going to sit on the dining table, princess themed bag clutched tightly in her little hands as she yapped to you about everything that had happened at school that day. You smiled, admiring the way your daughter managed to breathe life into the most mundane things.

Just as she was beginning to tell you about her current crush, Mikey, and how he shared his KitKat with her during lunch, Jason appeared, bouquet of flowers in hand as he took your own and pressed a kiss onto the back of it.

“Hi honey, I missed you loads today. Got you these ‘cause I noticed the others started wilting,” your smile widened at this gesture: only your husband would be paying that much attention to the flowers scattered around the house. You gave him a peck on the lips before taking the bouquet from him and going to place it in a vase. While you were doing so, you could hear Jason and Natalia having a conversation.

“Do you want me to put your bag in your room, baby?” He asked.

“No thank you daddy, I wanna show you and mommy something first,” she replied. Then, turning around, she yelled, “mommy, come! I wanna show you and daddy what I did at school today!”

You obliged, and you and Jason watched as she rummaged in her school bag before pulling out a single piece of paper and handing it to you. On it, in big bold letters, was the title, ‘My Hero’.

“Read it so daddy can know too!” She squealed, nearly jumping out of her seat in excitement. You stared at the picture of a tall, blond man and a little girl in pigtails she’d drawn to accompany the paragraph she’d written on this topic and felt your heart swell with warmth.

Glancing at Jason for a second, you read, “my hero is my daddy. He is my hero because he always plays with me and gets rid of the monsters under the bed when I go to sleep. I love my daddy very much.”

After you’d finished reading, Natalia looked up at Jason expectantly, a big smile plastered on her face as she waited to hear his reaction. However, her smile dropped when she saw tears roll down his cheeks.

Now pouting, she turned to you for answers, “why is daddy sad?”

You smiled, delicately cupping her face in your palm, “daddy’s not sad, babes, he’s actually really happy. Sometimes, when people are super happy, they cry. Your worksheet means a lot to him, he’s very touched,” at your words, she brightened up.

Natalia then took the paper from you and gave it to Jason, “you can hang it on your wall, daddy, since you like it so much!” She proceeded to give him a peck on the cheek and ran off to her room, not fully understanding exactly how much her simple worksheet meant to Jason.

That was the third time Jason cried: when he realised he wasn’t his upbringing, or Zeus, or Jupiter, or any of the other monsters that lived under his own bed. He was Jason - a great, loving father who put his family above all and was a hero in more ways than one.

#jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #jason grace x fem reader #pjo #pjo x reader #jason grace fanfic #jason grace drabble #percy jackson x reader #dad jason grace #dad jason grace x reader #cynwrites

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knavesflames · 3 days

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Hi! Remember this?

I decided to finally make a part two. Unfortunately, no, there isn’t a happy ending. I tried and tried but couldn’t find anything that would let them be happy. The quality of this is also not as good as the first one, I fear. Alas, it is here. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1147

Contents: bro just sadness

utc!

Arlecchino doesn’t come home for hours. The night ticks on and for the first hour, you just sit there in tears, your outfit not at all matching, though that seems to be the least of your problems. By the second hour, your eyes and throat burn, and you feel like it’s almost impossible to stop crying, and you wonder if you ever will. You drag yourself out of the bed, the bed you’ve made love on so many times, the bed she has laid you on as she coaxed our every single orgasm you’ve ever had. The tangled bedsheets and what’s remaining of her imprint from her body is a cruel, painful reminder. A reminder that you are not the one she’s been in love with this entire time, that you were just a replacement.

You wander the halls of your home, a gigantic, lavish home. Much larger than it needs to be, really, but Arlecchino always loved to show off her wealth. You don’t look towards the walls, you know that you’ll only see many, many photos of you and Arlecchino. Ones you that you hung there, and you remember the grin on your face when they were in place. You remember how your smile faded slightly when Arlecchino replied with a simple “that’s nice, dear.” You assumed she was only tired. Every single thing you remember but ignored comes crashing onto you, and all you can do is stare at the floor like some pathetic dog being scolded for doing something they shouldn’t have. You feel pathetic, or worthless, or angry. You can’t really tell which when they all blend together. You pad around the hallways aimlessly, a hollow, miserable look in your eyes.

You find yourself in the bathroom, and one look at yourself breaks the dam and your eyes fill with tears again. You can only see her, yet you look nothing like her. Therein lies the problem, you realise. Your hair is not red, nor do you have her white headband. You stare at yourself, muttering hateful words until yourself is not yourself. Your reflection is just a blur and you can’t tell what you look like. Your fist clenches, and you understand you have to leave the bathroom before the mirror shatters over the floor. Sombrely heading towards the living room, you’re met with pure rage at the sight of the lumidouce bells. A scoff is heard from you as you notice the picture of you three right next to them. Yet again, it went unnoticed, or perhaps, ignored. In a fit of impulsivity, the photo frame crashes to the floor with a guttural scream of “I hate you!” And of course, the vase topples to the floor too. You give no fucks as to the fact it’s four in the morning, or that the neighbours will probably complain. Let them complain, you think.

Arlecchino finally comes through the door at 9am. Your face is so swollen and puffy she wonders if you’re even the same person. You hear rustling and look towards her. There, in her hands, lies a bouquet of lakelight lilies, and yet it stings more than ever before, being the second choice. But doesn’t it fit so well? Perhaps too well. You quickly look away to avoid the sixth batch of tears.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

A bitter laugh leaves your throat before you can even stop yourself, your gaze refusing to even glance in her direction, your voice practically a sneer.

“What, did they run out of my favourite?”

“Stop that. Please. You know I love you.”

How are you so angry, so hurt, yet your heart still beats for her? Her lips come to your forehead in a kiss, and there’s a whimper before you burst into quiet sobs again.

“You admitted you don’t. What am I to you? A friend, a lover, the way I thought we were? Or some sort of sick rebound?”

Arlecchino has a tendency to stay silent when someone is correct and she does not want to admit it. Maybe because she won’t can’t admit it to herself, maybe because she can’t see you cry anymore.

“You are a cruel woman, Peruere. You use me all these years, you pretend I am someone I am not, you ruin me, and yet I find myself choosing to wait for you to want me like a dog with a bird at the door. A stray dog chasing after any sort of attention you will give me, don’t you realise, you stupid woman? I whine for you and your affection and you choose to muzzle me and leave me at the side of the road to favour someone who died so long ago. Is that what I am to you? A mutt, waiting and ready for you to kick when you’re down?”

Your outburst is unexpected, the usually stoic and unfearing woman flinching at the sheer desperation in your words. Her lips begin to form your name, but you snarl, cutting her off.

“Call me for who you think I am. Strays and mutts cycle through names anyway, so why does it matter? Say it.”

When she doesn’t respond, your anger explodes, and you push the lilies out of her hand, trampling on them and shoving her over and over again as you demand that she calls you the name you know she’s been secretly calling you. If anyone were to push and shove her the way you’re doing, they’d be ash, a new spirit to haunt her in her dreams. Yet, she withstands it with a blank face, her eyes swirling with regret and sadness.

“Shall I bark for you, Peruere? Get on my knees and beg for you to pay attention to me? Would that make you feel better? Or shall I dye my hair red and buy a white headband, and wear that damned necklace I know you keep?”

Eventually her eyes close, and she mutters a word so quiet you almost can’t hear it over the sound of your rushing heart and your ragged breathing. Your eyes burn again, but you only wish you could burn her in her own flames until she herself becomes a spirit.

“Clervie.”

That seems to do it for you, barking out a harsh laugh that’s anything but happy. You move towards the door, sliding whatever shoes you can find on.

“Oh, my poor, mad, cursed knave. You live up to who people think you are, after all. When you’re dying in the war that will occur when your precious god gets what she wants, I hope you scream for me. I hope I’m there to watch.”

With your final words, you slam the door so hard it almost comes off of its hinges, leaving a stunned, hurt Arlecchino Peruere to clean up the mess of what she had caused, both physically and mentally, though she wonders if she ever could.

#knavesflames #Ayo sorry I am not happy with this #arlecchino #arlecchino angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino genshin #arlechinno genshin #arlechinno x reader #arle #genshin fanfic

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hostilecandle · 2 days

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Okay so I'm still sick as a dog so here's my own personal 141 headcannons and how they'd treat you while you're ill (could be romantic or platonic. Doesnt really matter here):

Ghost: Normally Ghost is a "tough love" kinda guy. Always pushing you past your comfort zone and getting you comfortable with feeling uncomfortable. When you're sick however, he's a bit softer. He's very down to Earth, do what you need to to feel better the fastest. So he'll set make you take your cold medication on a timely schedule, keep you in bed/laying down as much as possible, and constantly remind you to be drinking liquids. He's not a go out of his way to make things easier without directly being asked for his help, but he does genuinely want you to get better quickly.

Price: Price seems like the kinda guy that at first tells you to "suck it up". Not in a mean way but more in a don't let the sniffles get the best of you way. He's used to powering through when he doesn't feel well and sometimes forgets most people don't quite function like that. Once he realizes that you're sick sick, he makes sure you have everything you need nearby (meds, compresses, tissues, etc etc). He's still a very busy man but he'll message you every few hours to ask how you're feeling, what your temp is, and to take some more meds if it's been long enough. He's not the type to fawn over yo, but he shows he cares in his practicality. (He'd absolutely bring you dinner in bed after he gets out and lays next to you on top.of the blankets, just being a steady presence you can fall asleep against)

Soap: Soap panicks. He's never really had to take care of anyone who's really sick before so he thinks back to how his mom used to take care of him when he was ill as a kid. It's a little juvenile at first but he puts all his effort into it. He'd constantly ask if you need anything and be watching the clock like a hawk for your next doses. He'd wrap you in blankets (after your fever has broken!!) and bring you small snacks and flit about restlessly until you tell him all you want is to cuddle Nad then he'll settle down next to you, always ready to pop up to get you anything you might need.

Gaz: Gaz is by far the most normal and level headed of them. He just uses common sense and asks you what would best suit your needs. He'll run to the pharmacy for your meds and pick up some snacks. He'll remind you to stay hydrated and will ask what you'd like. The rest of the time, he'll just sit next to you and let you pick what you want to watch. Sometimes he'll just play on his phone until you need something and then he's up and getting it with no complaint. Just a solid steady presence you can rely on.

#someone pls help me i feel like im dying #having no immune system sucks ass #save me call of duty men.. save me #call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #141 x reader

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anathemaspeaks · 4 hours

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wildflower

character(s): gojo satoru synopsis: sometimes, not even gojo's infinity can shield him. especially when it comes to you. word count: 0.6k warning(s): none a/n: can you tell i'm obsessed with billie's new album?

gojo satoru existed in a world painted shades of blue.

but to him, you were like a sunflower dancing in the breeze, spreading sunshine wherever you go. you brought in color to his world of navy. your laughter felt like being cascaded in heavenly light, slicing right through his heart and claiming it as your own.

gojo satoru was a man of words.

he would always, always say what was on his mind - and you were no exception. he always made sure to shower you with every ounce of his love, and he had so much to give. but you never needed them, all you had to do was look into his cerulean eyes, and you knew - he didn't have to remind you.

you always know, don't you?

so of course you knew your colors weren't enough to dispel the shadows in his soul. how could they ever be, when someone before you had already claimed that canvas? how could they be, when he felt like his soul died along with the one who claimed it?

the day geto suguru died was the day gojo satoru had met his true demise.

you remember exactly how it played out, the usual playful glint in his eyes reduced to raw, agonizing grief as you held him as he wept, a pain so deep you felt it claw at your own insides. a loss so profound you felt your heart physically shatter.

you remember the deafening, heavy silence of the room you were in, punctuated only by the ragged gasps for air escaping satoru's lips as he crumpled against you, gripping onto your shirt, trembling. you were the only one who truly cared enough about him to help him - who cared enough to view him as human, not an object to use and throw.

a human who just lost his soulmate.

you understood him. he didn't just lose his best friend, he lost the other half of his soul. you didn't need words to know how he felt - the searing rage, the crushing guilt. you just held him in that way for hours, maybe even days.

so as you look into the depths of satoru's sapphire eyes, you see love in them - love for you. but oh, you know he could never love you the way he loved his true soulmate. but years have passed, and he loves you now.

you should put it all behind you, shouldn't you?

but he sees geto in the back of his mind, when it's late and he's looking at you sleeping next to him. he sees geto in the way you look at him, in the crinkle of your eyes when you smile, in the way you tilt your head when you speak to him.

and you knew you shouldn't, but you see it anyways. the way he lingers a beat too long in your embrace, desperately searching for a warmth that isn't yours.

a warmth built on a golden flame of a love that was never yours to have - a love built on ashes. it felt like burning alive, knowing you would never be the true one for him - just the one he ended up with.

did he cross a line, loving you in the shadow of another?

you heard it in his whispered promises. promises laced with a sorrow that spoke of a love story forever unfinished. you felt it in his kisses, tinged with a bittersweet longing you doubt was meant for you. he smothered you with love, but he didn't have to do that to remind you he loved you.

you know he does.

but you were his beautiful wildflower, blooming in the ruins of a garden meant for roses.

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pinksugarscrub · 2 days

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O Sweet Juliet

Tom! Peter Parker x fem! reader

Art by @froggheadd Scenario by heihei.edits on tiktok (Thank you again! 🩷)

Warnings: idiots in love

Words: 946

“Pete?”

Your voice so soft it's barely above a whisper. Peter immediately perks up and drops his pencil. Like he's been waiting to hear your voice. His eyes search yours as he smiles.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this?”

Scooting your stool closer you ignore the loud squeak it makes across the lab's tile. Peter meanwhile slides his study guide away to the edge of the desk to make room for your textbook, English.

The pages contrast the formulas and theories Peter has been studying for over the past hour.

Normally the two of you would use a timer to keep from overloading your brains. But with finals coming up and an important mission soon after, you had to cram as much information as you could. Ned would also have joined but declined under the excuse his Lola needed him.

He really was your wingman when it came to Peter. You did however, owe him a cartilage of web fluid to mess around with for missing today's study session.

You trace your finger along stanzas before finally reaching line fifty-two. Reciting it before referring back to the essay prompt for your last paper.

“I understand Shakespeare was using pathos but how exactly does that connect to this?”

Peter leaned over you and despite the close proximity he felt so far away. His chin almost resting on your shoulder as he scanned the text. Romeo and Juliet, a “classic”. What? You can't help it if MJ degrades the play every chance she gets.

“Well…” He licked his lips before pulling away. Flipping through the pages as he continued. “The story is about love being blind, right?”

You nod as you look at him quizzically but still with enough patience that you don't interrupt.

“Young love specifically.” Peter finally stops on the prologue. Sticky notes littered in the margins much like the rest of your textbook. Definitions and context mostly.

“Shakespeare sets up this narrative from the beginning.”

The rest of his words fall on deaf ears as you admire him. Peter hasn't noticed that when concentrated, he taps his foot incessantly. Biting his nails as he articulates his next thought. His lashes fluttering remind you of how jealous you are over them.

“So…” you clear your throat as you look back to the textbook. What little words you did catch clicking together like cogs. “By setting up how completely infatuated they are-”

“-their deaths become the payoff,” he completes. Smiling even brighter as he notices that look of understanding flashing in your eyes. One he's seen all too often when you work on Stark tech.

He thinks you're just as bad as his mentor when it comes to your inability to take breaks. The restlessness you get from not being able to solve a miscalculation that leads to midnight coffee runs to the seven-eleven around the corner. Not that he's complaining. If anything, he hopes you'll get the craving for something sweet so he can whisk you away. Have you all to himself without the prying eyes of the other avengers.

Peter's quite aware Tony is hovering through the surveillance cameras. He wouldn't even be surprised if the rest of the team was watching them like their own personal home movie. Frankly he's tired of getting teased, especially by Thor.

“Ok…Ok so-” You shift closer and Peter feels his heart lurch in his chest. It's like you affect him so much his own body can't take being near you.

Would you mind if he peppered kisses along your cheeks when it gets too cold? Hold your hands as he stares at you like you're the most precious thing in his life.

He sometimes wonders if you feel the same way but with how easy you seem to make these interactions he thinks not. Maybe you know enough that these teasing touches are a way to torture him.

“-the scene where they first meet. That's the main foundation for how the reader sees them as a couple.”

Peter nods as he tries not to lean in and kiss you. His eyes dancing between your lips and the pencil you keep chewing on.

“Being star crossed lovers heightens the effect and makes us root for them,” you mumble,“and again is why their deaths are so effective at evoking pathos.”

“Right,” he chuckles.

You lean back but not to far. Stretching your arms over your head as you look down at the mess of notes and candy wrappers you made on Tony's desk. If anything it's to hide how hot your cheeks feel.

“Cool, thanks Pete.” You sneak a glance at him with a quick smile before quickly doting down the major points of your conversation. Ignoring how your heart races once he finally looks away.

“Of course,” he hums. Mind lost on the homework he was doing previously. All these numbers mean squat when you're sitting next to him. His grades would absolutely suffer if he had to share more than one period with you.

Peter must have reread ‘what is the missing angle?’ a dozen times between looking over at you while you admire his reflection through the lab doors.

And Bruce…well Bruce just smiles against his coffee mug as he sees your hand reach out for Peter's under the desk. He hopes you like the anniversary gift he helped Peter pick out.

Somewhere Thor is handing over his stash of pop tarts while Natasha grins over her newfound prize. She gives it until prom season when Peter will have no choice but to ask you out on a date while Tony says it'll be less than a week because that's when the mission is. Adrenaline does something to you y'know?

#tom holland #peter peter #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #marvel mcu #mcu spiderman #marvel x reader #marvel #fluff #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #tom!peter parker

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sissylittlefeather · 3 days

Text

Your Love's Been a Long Time Coming: Chapter 6

A/N: I'm on a roll with this one and I have the series planned to the end, so don't be surprised if I get the rest of these out relatively quickly. I'm excited to take you on the roller coaster that is the end of this one. But I think you'll love how it ends! Just hang in there!

Need to catch up? Masterlist here.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, implied sex, alcohol use, angst

Word count: ~2.7k

Reminder: this is FICTION. Please do not come at me if your favorite people don't act the way you think they would/should. It's called fanFICTION for a reason. Thanks 😬

She fades into the background easily, watching the feud that happens between Ann Margaret and Priscilla, her love for him never diminishing, but they never finish the conversation that they started.

******

Vivian spends the next year in abject misery. She moves to California in an attempt to get away from anything that reminds her of Elvis and try to jumpstart her acting career. That doesn't cure her lovesickness though. She misses Elvis desperately, kicking herself for wasting all that time telling him no. But then she realizes that even if they were together, he probably would've left her for Ann Margaret. The few times she does see him, it's obvious that he's smitten. This is the most in love she's ever seen him and she desperately wants to be happy for him. But she just can't. She runs through several guys before realizing that she's tired of the emptiness. She takes a vow of celibacy and tries to focus on her career and her hobbies. Writing poetry helps a little, but most of it is about Elvis so she ends up crumpling it and throwing it in a trash can or a fire. Just when she runs out of money and is about to go back to her stepfather in Germany, she stumbles upon modeling and finds herself more successful at that than acting. She throws herself into it, trying to ignore her pain. All in all, there doesn't seem to be a reason to go on, but she keeps trudging along, hoping something will change eventually.

******

Elvis spends the next year in a lovestruck bubble of happiness. Ann Margaret challenges him and enlivens him and brings out the best in him. She's everything he never knew he wanted. He knows he still has Priscilla at Graceland, and at night, after Ann has fallen asleep, he feels the guilt of leaving her behind. The promise to marry her still hangs over his head.

But in the really late hours on nights that he struggles to sleep at all, he thinks about Vivian. Where is she? What is she doing? Does she ever think about him? He knows how unfair it is to even have that thought, but it's there nonetheless. A couple of times his mind even drifts to the conversation they started and didn't finish. How might things be different if they had finished it? Would he have said no to Ann if he knew he had Viv? That's a question he can't answer.

Overall, he's happy. He's having his cake and eating it too.

And then Ann Margaret does an interview where she tells the reporter that she and Elvis have plans to get married. He knows this isn't possible, no matter how much he loves her. He has an agreement with Priscilla's family to marry her. And beyond that, he's not even sure that Ann would be the best choice for his wife. At the end of the day, she's too much like Vivian, too independent and headstrong. Too focused on her own career. That doesn't mean he wants to end things with Ann Margaret necessarily, but Priscilla doesn't give him an option. She wants the contract honored, and soon.

So Elvis ends the affair with Ann Margaret shortly after his conversation with Priscilla. He knows he's done the right thing, but that doesn't mean he isn't hurt. He sinks into a deep depression, refusing to leave his house or see anyone, including Priscilla. After a week, his Memphis mafia guys start to get really concerned. They're not sure what to do to bring him out of this funk.

Finally, one of them comes up with the idea of calling Vivian. They know he hasn't seen her in months, but she's managed his low moods before with grace and strong but subtle encouragement that eventually brought him back. She's their last hope, a desperate grasping at a final straw. They call her, hoping she'll agree to come.

******

Vivian find herself on the porch of Graceland with a grocery bag in one arm, knocking loudly with her other hand. She's not quite sure what she's doing here, why she agreed to come, but here she is. Turns out her heart can't tell him no, no matter what he's put her through.

She knocks again. She's been standing out here for almost fifteen minutes and the bag is starting to get heavy. The bottles clink together as she shifts.

"Elvis! It's me!" She breaks down and hollers through the window, hoping he will hear her. Finally, she hears movement inside the dark house. After a few more minutes the door opens just a crack.

"What are you doing here, Viv?"

"The guys called me. So I'm here. With presents." She jiggles the bag in her arms and the bottles clink again.

"I don't drink, Viv."

"Yeah? What have you got to lose?" She hears him sigh deeply and then he opens the door. He's disheveled in a way she can barely comprehend. His hair is everywhere and he clearly hasn't shaved recently. He has on a robe with no shirt underneath and pajama pants.

"Oh, Elvis."

"Don't fucking say anything." She walks through the door and sets the bag down, turning to face him. Then, she cups his cheek with her hand gently.

"Does it hurt this badly?" He breaks down and grabs her tightly, weeping on her shoulder. He whispers into her hair.

"I made such a mess, Viv." She wraps him in her arms and squeezes him tightly.

"I know, honey. But it's gonna be okay." He backs off of her and wipes his nose with his sleeve like a child.

"What are you here for?" She smiles gently.

"Well, first I'm here to clean you up and help you feel like yourself. And then we're gonna drink. Because you need a little fun." He nods and takes the hand she offers him. She leads him up the stairs to the bathroom where she starts the shower. She turns and heads towards the door, but he grabs her elbow softly.

"Please stay."

"You want me to stay in here?"

"Please." She nods and sits on the lid of the toilet, turning away as he undresses and steps into the shower. He showers and then she hears the water turn off.

"Viv, honey, can you hand me a clean towel?"

"Of course!" She grabs a luxurious black towel and hands it to him. When he steps out of the shower, he has it wrapped around his waist, his hair fluffy and wet, water droplets glistening on his shoulders. Her mouth drops a little at how sexy he looks in this vulnerable state. It takes everything in her power not to rip the towel off and take him into the bedroom and...

******

"Viv?"

"Yes! What?"

"You're staring at me."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry." He smiles a little, enjoying the impact he's having on her. "You want me to blow dry your hair?"

"Yes." A relieved smile crosses his face and she seats him in the chair. As she dries it, he gives her instructions on how to do it, sounding more like himself. Next, she grabs the razor and shave soap.

"Whoa, hang on. Do you know what you're doing?" He asks, nervous.

"My stepdad broke his hand once when I was in high school. I can do this." He nods.

"Okay. I trust you." He leans his head back and she goes to work lathering up his face. She drags the razor gently over his skin, removing the hair. She's careful and meticulous and he revels in the feeling of being cared for so attentively.

Maybe she would be a good wife.

Once she finishes shaving him, he puts on a pair of fresh pajamas. Then, he tosses a pair at her.

"Get comfortable. Please."

"These are going to look ridiculous on me."

"Good." He smiles and she goes in the bathroom to change. He's thoroughly enjoying her company. He didn't realize how much he had missed her, but now she's here and his affection for her washes over him like a tidal wave. She comes out of the bathroom and sure enough, she looks silly in his giant pajamas. But something about seeing her in them makes him want to rip them off of her.

"Elvis."

"Yeah?"

"You're staring at me." He laughs for the first time in a week and gestures for her to follow him. On the way down to the tv room, he grabs the grocery bag from the foyer. It's true that he doesn't drink. But tonight? Tonight feels like a good night to break his rule.

Once they're settled on the couch in the tv room with a movie set up on the projector, he pulls the bottles out of the bag. She's got a bottle of vodka, a bottle of soda water, and a bottle of peach schnapps.

"Which one of these is for me?" He asks curiously. She laughs.

"I know you're a little bitch about alcohol, so I got you something that tastes good. The vodka is for me." He nods, smiling, and she goes to the bar, grabbing a couple of glasses. She makes them both drinks and they relax to watch the movie.

Two drinks later, Elvis is already pretty tipsy, laughing openly with his arm wrapped around her. Vivian does a couple of shots to try to catch up with him.

"Hey! I want one of those."

"No, Elvis, you really don't, baby." He snickers.

"You called me baby."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, I like it, honey. More pet names. Call me more pet names." She giggles, the shots finally starting to kick in.

"Baby. Honey. Sweetie. Lover boy." He laughs at the last one.

"You can't call me lover boy without being my lover, babydoll."

"Babydoll?!"

"You don't like it?" She makes another drink for each of them and Elvis throws his back quickly.

"Elvis! Slow down! I can't keep up."

"Come on, doll face, now who's being a little bitch?"

"Well, I definitely don't like little bitch." Elvis erupts in his big-joy laugh, leaning over to rest his head on her knee while he does. She finishes her drink and makes another for each of them.

"Which one do you like best, sweetheart?" He asks, swirling his drink in his glass.

"I'm not sure, babe. Which one do you like best?" She answers, taking a sip. He takes another long drink and then turns to look at her, his eyelids heavy.

"I like this, darlin'."

"The alcohol?"

"No- well, yes- but I like being here with you." All of a sudden he gets really serious. The memory of the conversation that didn't happen comes screaming back to him. He drains his glass and then sets it on the coffee table.

"What?" She looks at him inquisitively, her eyes glazed over with drunkenness.

"You 'member that conversation we were s'posed to have. 'Fore I left?" She finishes her drink and nods.

"Yeah?"

"I was just thinkin' 'bout it, that's all." His southern accent comes out so much stronger when he's been drinking and it makes Viv giggle.

"What?" He asks, a wide smile on his face.

"You just sound like a good ole country boy right now." She mimics his accent and he laughs loudly again.

"I am a good ole country boy." She's lying back against the corner of the couch, so he crawls up between her legs and she puts her hands on his cheeks.

"I know. I like it." She kisses the end of his nose. Her deep-ocean eyes look into his intensely. "I love it."

She leans in slowly, pressing her lips to his. He pulls away first, pressing his forehead into hers as he hovers above her.

"Viv." He whispers. Then he backs away, his eyes flicking between hers and then down to her pretty mouth. He leans in slowly, lips parted, capturing hers in a sensuous kiss. His tongue grazes hers so gently, as if asking for permission.

Then he dives in fully, never looking back.

******

When Elvis finally starts to wake up, he crinkles his nose and whimpers. The headache is already beginning behind his eyes and he's so thirsty he feels like he might die if he doesn't get some water soon. He feels movement on his chest and opens his eyes to a head full of dark hair. That's when he remembers: Vivian. His mind races as he tries to think through what might've happened last night. He kissed her, but that's the only thing his foggy brain can grab onto. His heart skips a beat as a thought crosses his mind and he lifts the covers a little to try to assess the situation.

They're both naked. He swallows deeply and looks up at the ceiling. Oh shit...

He feels her shift a little on his chest, her breasts pressing up against the side of his body. She groans and stretches and he knows he has to say something.

"Umm... Viv?"

"Yeah?" She groans again, obviously feeling the effects of her drinks last night.

"Are you wearing... anything?" Her eyes pop open and she sits up suddenly. When she realizes that this means he can see her chest, she lays back down quickly and starts to slink away from him under the covers.

"Oh, God. Oh no." She whines. He grabs her and pulls her back onto his chest.

"No. Don't leave."

"Elvis, I... we-"

"I know. But I don't want you to leave. Not yet." She relaxes a little against him.

"Do you remember anything?" He tries to force his mind to focus on last night. All he sees are flashes, him running his hand up her leg, the sounds she made when she climaxed, one moment of looking into her eyes while she was on top of him, his hand on her cheek.

"Just flashes. You?"

"No, just flashes for me too."

"I remember it being really good, though." She whispers her response.

"Me too..."

They lay together in silence for a while, Elvis's mind going crazy wondering what she's thinking. He goes back to the conversation that never happened. Does she love him? Could this actually work?

"Vivian, you know, we could finish our conversation now." She sits up and looks into his face, hers painted with a look of anguish.

"No, we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the same reason you can't be with Ann Margaret is the same reason you can't be with me."

"Priscilla."

"Yes." He puts his hand on his forehead.

"Goddamnit. Man, I really screwed myself, didn't I?" She sighs deeply.

"Elvis, you told me once that she makes sense to you. Is that still true?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then there's your answer. I don't make sense to anyone. You should marry her." His heart breaks for Viv. He wants to tell her that it doesn't matter, that she does make sense to him, that even if she didn't he would love her. But he doesn't. He knows what the right thing to do is.

So he loosens his grip on her and she gets out of the bed. She finds her clothes from where she left them to change into his pajamas last night. He lays in the bed as she dresses, trying to keep himself from crying. Losing Ann Margaret was bad, but this is pure torture.

When she's fully put back together, she stands in the doorway just looking at him and he notices that she's crying and has been the whole time.

"Vivian..." He says it softly. Then, he gets out of bed and grabs a robe from a chair, wrapping it around himself. He walks to where she's standing and she collapses into his chest, sobbing. He holds her in his arms and kisses the top of her head. "I'm sorry."

She nods into him and then pulls back, wiping her face. He tries to catch her eyes but she won't look up at him. Without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, down the stairs, and through the front door, leaving him standing in the doorway. When he hears the front door latch, he falls to his knees and sobs.

Vivian is gone. He proposes to Priscilla in December of 1966.

******

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @jhoneybees @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc #Elvis x Vivian #Elvis Presley x Vivian choquette #your loves been a long time coming #ylbaltc

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xxhexwolfxx · 18 hours

Note

Can I request dating headcanons for Sean, Javier, Hoesa, John, Arthur, and Charles with gn s/o?

𝓓𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓖 𝓗𝓒𝓢

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy! :)

DISCLAIMER: None of these are really connected.

WARNINGS: Some of these have angst!

CHARACTERS: Sean, Javier, Hoesa, John, Arthur, and Charles

~~~~~~~~~~

Sean

If he sees that you're upset, then he'll start to make jokes to make you laugh. He hates seeing you sad.

Once he starts to date you, he'll cut back on his drinking. He wants to remember every moment with you.

If you don't like to talk then don't worry! This man does enough talking for both of y'all. Although it does end up in a fight with whoever he's talking to sometimes.

When he has nightmares of the time of his capture, he'll immediately seek you out. He finds himself comforted by the fact you're there with him.

Javier

He'll help you learn the guitar, so he has the excuse to hold your hand to help adjust your fingers along the frets.

On nights when it's difficult to sleep, he'll softly sing to you with you in his arms.

In the mornings he'll let you put up his hair. He likes the simplicity yet lovingness of the act.

If he messes up when speaking English, he'll look to you for help. You always have to reassure him that everyone makes mistakes and that it's okay.

Hosea

He is an old-fashioned lover. He would want to take it slow so you both can learn more about each other.

When you guys are doing nothing, then he likes to read you, his book. Then he likes to talk about what happens in it.

When its nighttime and you guys are about to sleep, he likes to tell you stories of his youth to help you sleep.

On some days when it's bad, he finds himself thinking that you deserve better than an "old man" like him.

John

(Epilogue) When he's building a home for you guys, he likes to do the dirty work, so you don't worry about getting dirty.

On days when you guys don't have anything to do, he likes to take you and Jack out for family time.

Sometimes he feels super useless from the constant insults from Arthur. You'll need to reassure him that he is not useless and that he does a lot for the camp.

When he gets out of prison, he wouldn't let you go for hours. He's spent so long away from you that it makes him feel better just holding you.

Arthur

When he's busy working or resting without his hat on. He'll put it on you, so he won't lose it. It warms his heart to see you wearing it.

He knows how much you love his voice, so he'll make it slightly deeper to tease you.

If you don't know how to ride a horse, then he'll teach you. He'll even make it a little date for you both.

Sometimes he thinks so badly about himself that it takes a lot of convincing that he isn't ugly or unlovable.

Charles

He likes sitting with you while you guys do your own things. Like you are reading a book while he makes arrows.

Sometimes he just wants to sit in silence with you. Holding you or just sitting next to you while you guys bask in each others presence.

When he goes out to hunt, he likes to bring you back little trinkets or flowers that remind him of you.

Due to the others, sometimes he feels like an outsider to the group. The thoughts go away when you come over to him with a big smile on your face.

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aloneinthehellfire · 23 hours

Text

Chapter Eighteen: "Safe"

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst central, mentions of death, guilt, needles, mentions of a hospital

[A/N: Part Three is going to be the biggest part of the story yet, just you wait (as told by the exhausted writer who just handed in her final degree project ahhhhhsbsjsksbsklak and must now sleep for 3 years to catch up) but I am so excited to be able to write whenever I want without the looming threat of a degree! let's goooo]

"Safe"

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget-

“Steve?”

Steve runs his hands down his face, straightening back up from where he had been hunched over the table, eyes bleeding onto the map from the intensity of his stare. He takes a glance to his right, the young boy he called a friend stood anxiously in the doorway.

“We’re, uh…” Dustin shifts on his feet, sneakers barely crossing the barrier of the door frame. “We’re all worried about you. You’ve been up here for hours.”

Steve blinks, turning to the window to be met with his reflection against the pitch black sky. The darkness outside was no match for the circles under his eyes. When was the last time he slept?

“And you look like shit.” Dustin comments, a hint of a smirk twitching his lips when Steve looks back at him, attempting a smile. He hadn’t managed one of those for a while now.

“Thanks, buddy.” He drawled off sarcastically with enough conviction to earn himself a toothy grin. “I just got distracted, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dustin seemed wary but satisfied with that answer, giving him a nod before he disappears down the staircase. When he heard the last echo of descending footsteps fade, Steve returned to the map and placed his head in his hands, frowning.

Not one gate had opened since he left the Upside Down.

He and Hopper had been waiting for one to appear for weeks now. Five weeks. And three days. 38 days of sitting in what little patience remained, hoping and praying for once in their lives that a gate to a supernatural dimension would open in Hawkins just long enough for them to find you and bring you home. Just like you wanted.

“Don’t come back from me.”

Your voice had been haunting him for weeks, reminding him of the bitter lies that spewed from his mouth every day since.

He told Hopper and the others that you wanted them to find you, that you were very much alive. Maybe they’d be thankful he had spared them the tormenting truth, though Steve very much doubted it.

The worst part was that they believed him. They had hope. Every single one of those people currently sat downstairs positioning their next mission into the apocalyptic ruins of Hawkins will, and do, believe anything he says. Because they trust him.

All but one, however.

El had doubts. Steve saw it on her face any time she pulled the fabric away from her eyes and shook her head at the others, wiping her bloody nose with a suspicious look sent his way. She had been searching for you in ‘the void’ Dustin so ominously named.

At first, she agreed with Steve; “Maybe because the gates are closed, you can’t find a connection.”

But each day her wary eyes grew sharper, almost seeing right through him the longer it took to find you. And if anyone was going to call out his lies, it would be the girl with a superpowered mind.

What happens then? El tells their friends of his deception and he would have to watch each one of their faces drop into utter disbelief, disappointment.

Even if he does find you- no, when he finds you- would he be able to live knowing he had betrayed the people he loved?

Another 20 minutes passed him by before he begrudgingly left the solace of his own torture, entering a brand new means for internal torment. Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle normality in this head-space he’s cornered himself into. Although, with this particular group of people, nothing would ever be normal.

“Woah, hey, you can’t cast fireball!” Mike crosses his arms in objection, brows furrowed.

“Why not? You want them gone? I give you a ball of fire.” Lucas counters, leaning across the table with a pointed stare.

“We are in an enclosed space.” Dustin offers, surrendering under the glare he was shot.

“I. Cast. Fireball.” Lucas throws his hand down on the table and Mike groans.

“Fine. Fine. You cast fireball and…” He gives a dramatic pause, clicking his teeth. “Oh, wow, look at that. You all burned up because of how small the room is. You failed.”

“What?!” Lucas stresses and Dustin shakes his head.

“You burnt to a crisp.” Mike enunciates. “You died.”

“Fire and small spaces, dude.” Dustin sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Great, so we lost the campaign?” Lucas pouts at his friends. “Now what do we do?”

“How about you join the real world and pretend like you aren’t losers?” Max’s voice calls from across the room and they all turn around to face her. She smirks. “Just a suggestion.”

The boys were sat around the large wooden table in the corner of the room, the surface covered in dice and figurines. They start packing up, ignoring Max’s giggles from the other side of the room. She was sat in an armchair braiding El’s hair, who sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, staring down at an old picture book found from the forgotten bookcases scattered across the house.

Steve still wasn’t used to the sight, entering a room in his own home and it not being completely devoid of life.

Since Hopper found Steve practically in a pool of his own blood and tears in the motel 6 basement, their town had only gotten worse. Beasts from hell were terrorising what little population remained, vines were growing with no source and crushing the buildings that made Hawkins so historic in nature. The military had quarantined the area, at least that’s what Steve heard. Anyone who hadn’t managed to escape were trapped, it seemed, and Steve was just thankful he wasn’t a lost soul out on his own.

He still remembers the ride to the ‘safe house’. Steve beside Hopper in his nostalgic jeep, sat bruised and bloody with a forlorn attitude. He watched the father’s grip tighten on the wheel every so often, resisting his urge for tears. When it was finally revealed where the others had been living over the three weeks you were stuck in the Upside Down, Steve had his doubts.

The Harrington household was the best option for them to set up base of operations in Hawkins. It was big, it was empty, and it was just far enough out from the centre of town to be safer from the monsters still crawling around on the surface. Someone had fixed the garage door, the windows had been covered completely in either wood or fabric. But no matter how much they changed, Steve would never be able to forget it was his childhood home. One he assumed he would reside in until the day he died, even against all his efforts.

That possibility was looking more and more likely.

The usual parlour of the house was now ‘communications’. Dustin and Mike had set up a radio system, not unlike their equipment from the AV Club, and had a running list of all the stations still playing something other than nauseating static. Every now and then a brief interruption of a person’s call for help would come blaring through and Hopper would take a team to go rescue them. Unfortunately, no new residents ever found safety in the Harrington home.

The lounge Steve would spend most his evenings sinking into the couch was now filled with D&D boards, comic books, and many blankets. It was a space for the kids to hang out, and it was probably the only room Steve found himself smiling in. If he could find the energy to smile, that is. Even if they couldn’t remove the kids from the dangers of the forbidden world, they could at least try to let them be kids. Play fights, campaigns, board games. Steve sometimes would peer into the room and wish he was 13 again. Part of him knew his younger self would have no chance dealing with the apocalypse, much unlike the younger friends who had more tenacity than he ever could.

Upstairs had four bedrooms, but none of them were designated to any particular person or group. The kids generally preferred sleeping in the lounge unless instructed otherwise. And with everything happening on the other side of the boarded windows, there was never any time to sleep longer than 4 hours at most. Everyone had different sleeping times and shifts, meaning if a bed was free, it was yours.

Steve, however, had been using one of the bedrooms to study the maps Hopper had brought. It was just another guest room before he had dragged in a desk and shifted the bed over to the corner. His own room was too big for one person, he realised. And with how selfish he had been lately, he didn’t want to feel guilty for anything else. The adults usually slept in there, and Steve made no attempt to question their sleeping arrangements. It wasn’t any of his business.

And lastly, there was his father’s study. Hopper had been using it for the exact same reasons Steve had redecorated the guest room; to find you. He spent most of his time cooped up in there, only ever leaving to announce a new plan or to walk out on a new mission. It makes Steve’s stomach lurch anytime he thinks about how miserable the father must be.

A father who was doing everything in his power to get you back, taking the operation seriously. All the while Steve was simply barrelling head first into gut feelings, almost ruining everything.

The first week Steve was back was the busiest. He and Hopper had made detailed plans, taking care and consideration into their next actions. The beginning was fine, Steve almost felt at ease knowing he was doing something. But he grew tired of the wait.

After that week, he started to lose his mind. He found himself running all over town looking for another way back to the place he had so longed to escape, praying for another gate, and trying every signal point in Hawkins for even just a glimmer of communication to reach you. Hopper almost had to physically restrain him when things got messy, telling him to pull himself back into reality before something bad happened. He should have listened.

“See? I told you he’d be here.” Dustin grins as he spots Steve stood in the doorway, an array of eyes shifting to him.

“You missed a wild campaign.” Lucas states and Mike throws a look, shaking his head in silent disappointment.

“Oh, yeah. I was on the edge of my seat.” Max mocks, “Thought I was gonna have to come rescue Lucas from invisible fireballs.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lucas asks bluntly, and Steve clears his throat before anything can escalate further.

“Where’s Will?” He suddenly realises the loss of a head count, frowning at the spare chair pulled up to the table.

“He… he hasn’t come out of that room.” Mike’s face falls, shifting on his feet. “He hasn’t really spoken much. Not since...”

A moment of silence plagued the room. Nobody really spoke about what happened a few days ago, a mission gone horribly wrong. The task was simple: get to Weathertop and use the ‘Cerebro’ Dustin built to break through the static of the Upside Down. Yet, it was far from simple in the end. It left a thick lump in Steve’s throat to even think about it. They had all become somewhat experts on ignoring the reality, Steve especially.

He couldn’t imagine how Will must be feeling.

“I, uh… I’ll go speak to him.” Steve says, surprising himself. “Just in case he needs anything.”

Dustin squinted his eyes ever-so-slightly, gazing right through Steve’s attempt at misdirection, knowing his older friend was nervous about socialising after the week they had. Yet, he didn’t comment on the matter. He just shrugged and mumbled something about bringing Will food later, fiddling with the small wizard statue on the table.

Satisfied with the silence, Steve takes his leave.

Not before clocking El’s eyes as he headed back out the room. It sent a chill down his spine to see her face like that, a red stain on the cuff of her jumper explaining all he needed to know. She was watching him. Studying him. He wondered if she was sharing her disbelief to the others, or if she was waiting for the right moment.

No, Steve thinks, leaving the room and turning to face the stairs, stop being so paranoid.

He was fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper when he made it to the top of the staircase, staring down the corridor to where Will was currently residing, holding his breath. He wasn’t sure what he should say, if he could say anything at all. The lump in his throat was building into a boulder, a telling sign that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

A quiet speech of his name being called from behind him made him retreat from the original plan. He would be grateful for the interruption if door number two wasn’t another fear he needed to face.

As he approaches the study, he can just make out the figure through the three inch gap of an open door, pushing it further ajar.

“Did you want to speak to me?” Steve peers his head through, praying he had misheard.

“Yeah, come in.”

The man was leant back in his chair with a weary expression, running a hand down his face. If anyone was looking worse than Steve, it was Hopper. The father had barely eaten or slept for weeks, his every hour dedicated to locating his daughter and bringing her home. It made Steve’s stomach twist whenever he thinks about how his words were torturing him. Hopper only knew what Steve had told him; you were healthy and alive, waiting for a saviour. Two of those were lies, and the other unknown, but Steve had said them anyway in a moment of agony and recklessness, and now… now it had gone too far to take it back. The longer it took them to find what Steve had promised, the more damage it had procured to Hopper’s health, mentally and physically.

Staring at the thinning chief of police, Steve waits in bated breath for some kind of lecture. He had been expecting this for days now.

“Have you spoken to Will?” He questions and Steve is surprised, blinking through his answers.

“Uh… no. No, I- I haven’t yet. I was just on my way to-”

“It’s not your fault, Steve.”

A hitch in his throat was louder than anticipated in this quiet room, causing him to cough it away like it had simply been a mis-breathe of air. Hopper sent him a knowing look, leaning forward as Steve finally takes a seat.

“None of us could have seen the shapeshifters coming.” Hopper sighs, running a hand down his face. “It looks like more and more are appearing.”

Steve scrunches his face, trying to remove the bloody image from his mind. “Have you spoken to the military? Are they actually doing anything?”

“Well,” Hopper leans back again, clicking his jaw, “I’ve got word that they’re slowly minimising the quarantine. Which, unfortunately, could mean two very different things. They’re either killing these monsters, or they’re driving them directly into the town centre.”

“So, just as useless as ever, then.” Steve grumbles, met with a tired nod.

“I know how you feel, kid.” He says, glancing back down at the map with a mournful expression. “I… I want to find her just as bad as you do. She-”

His voice catches and Steve looks up to see him quickly wipe a tear away, sniffing with the intent of driving it away.

“She needs me. Us. And… and it’s killing me to know she’s waiting in that god awful place while I try and hunt down gates that don’t exist.”

Another jolt of guilt to his gut, and Steve grips the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry. For not… for not bringing her back. She- she was right there. I-I could have-”

“You did everything you could, Steve. Don’t ever think that you didn’t.” Hopper’s gaze is unwavering, ensuring Steve heard him loud and clear.

Steve knew better than to argue. Instead, he meekly nods and pulls in his lips, looking anywhere but at the familial reminder of what he lost.

“I just hope she’s okay.”

Beep…

...beep…

…...beep…

The repetitive imitation of a heartbeat was the moment that drove you to consciousness, irritated by the relentless noise against your growing migraine.

Beep… beep…

Two more tick by by the time you feel a twitch in your fingers, your whole body feeling sore and numb all at the same time. You’re trying to drag your eyes open, blinded by a piercing blur of light to your pupils.

Everything was white. The walls, the beam of a lightbulb, the sheets covering your body. It took 5 more heartbeats to realise you were laying in a bed.

You suck in a struggled gasp of air, becoming all too aware of the needle sat below the skin of your wrist.

Why were you here? How did you get in this bed? What happened?

You don’t remember anything at all.

“Help.” You say. Or, rather, you try. Your voice was so hoarse, the word didn’t even sound from your lips.

You try and move your body, but it starts to become clear that it wasn’t ready to be moved. How long had you been asleep?

Some memory starts to form back into your mind, one of a boy. Standing in front of a boy. And he was behind a wall. Why were you stood there? How was he behind a wall? The gap was closing, and some shadows were behind you. What were they? What happened-

“Steve.” You gasp, blinking back to reality. This time, the word echoed perfectly into the dull white room.

You didn’t recall learning the name, nor could you make sense of the blurry face that came with it, wisps of brunette hair. But you can remember standing in front of him, you can remember the feeling of guilt and heartache overcoming you. The rest was a mere mirage.

A tear rolls down your cheek, unbeknownst to you. Whatever the memory was, your body reacted to it like it was better to be forgotten.

The monitor beside you starts to beep quicker, a noticeable thump in your chest matching its rhythm. Was this… were you in a hospital?

As you try and shift your body one more time, you spot the object in the corner of the ceiling abruptly move to face your direction. With your eyesight returned to normal against the bright lights, you can just see a security camera pointed at you, a red light blinking ever so small.

A sudden click of a door merely a few feet from your bed catches your attention, a wave of panic flooding your body. This didn’t feel like a hospital.

This wasn’t a hospital.

And yet, the person who walked into the room was wearing a white coat, looking clean and kind as they came to your side, smiling.

“Where… where am I?” You struggle to speak, swallowing nothing. “Who are… you?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to be afraid.” A male voice soothed, pulling up a chair and reaching to a bedside table you hadn’t even noticed, picking up a plastic cup. “You’re safe here.”

He brings the cup to your lips and you can only take a sip of the water before its taken away from you and set back at your side. Your throat started to soothe, and you took care to practice the detail of this man’s face. You didn’t recognise him. He was an older man with white hair and a few cosy wrinkles, looking sympathetically at you with a stare that instantly pacified.

As your lips move to form a question, he beats you to the punch, introducing a name you’re sure you’ll never forget.

“My name is Dr Martin Brenner.” He smiles, tilting his head. “We have so much to talk about.”

Beep…

...beep…

......beep…

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore .

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #gates of hell #goh #apocalypse au #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction

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perseabeth · 2 days

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Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,” he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

#wthb fic #wthb Apollo #wthb percy #wthb Milo #perpollo #Bahia writing

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writing-whump · 2 days

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Hi Sol! I was really interested to see Isaiah's reaction to learning about the car accident and I wondered if he is suppressing some of his emotions about it? Any chance for a little fic seeing him feeling more upset than he's showing Arnie, and maybe getting sick over it? Could he go to Seline for comfort? Thank you as always for your wonderful writing!

Oh, he is definitely suppressing his emotions very much. This is a great idea, thank you, Lis!

Have some stress sick Isaiah with Seline as caretaker.

Stress sick

Isaiah came home to an empty apartment.

After the chaos and excitement on the full streets and then the whole mission of getting Arnie home giving him focus, the silence was deafening.

He braced himself with his back against the table, suddenly strangely out of sorts at what to do.

There was no one to greet. There was no one to rescue.

There was no one to keep appearances for.

He blinked a few times. His chest felt numb as it did when he experienced something upsetting and had to keep functioning, letting the mask of calmness and the ice cover him enough to do it.

It had been like that for years, since his Executioner training with father. He still found it useful.

But the reality of what Arnie told him...of them both in a car accident....of Hector so tired of healing to the point he was sleeping it off for days already...Arnie getting migraines since he was 13...basically since Isaiah left...could it be related, could that been his doing? And why didn't they call him right away when they had a crash? Why wasn't he there?

Could he really just have lost them...in an unnoticed, mundane moment of a car crash? Gone from one moment to the next through something he couldn't prevent, that he didn't know of, wasn't even there?

Unexpected death.

There was a hole in his stomach at the thought, at the reminder.

The way their mother died. The apartment smelled of her life, her nightgown draped on the bed, the teacup she drank from just a few hours ago in the living room. The handbag she forgot on the table. Just...gone.

Isaiah felt his knees wobbling, leaning more into the table to keep himself upright. His stomach clenched together like a fist, like it wanted to shrivel up inside him.

Just as he felt the nausea crawling up the back of his throat, the door opened.

"Isaiah! You home?" Seline whirled inside, shrugging off her shoes and coat in her hurry to get to him. "You won't believe what happened today!"

She found him in the kitchen, a bright smile on her face. It didn't fit the reality in Isaiah's mind at all.

"You know the abstract for the article that I made you read? It got accepted! I was chosen as one of the speakers at the conference!" Her eyes were sparkling with joy and pride, going from stormy blue to sea blue of a sunny morning.

"I'm going to present my research in Czech Republic!" She crashed into him, hugging him around the neck. He bend down to let her, wrapping his arms around her in return.

Seline pressed a kiss against his lips, leaning away. "Can you believe it? I was there last year at the conference and now I'm actually contributing to it."

Her arms went down his back and pushed herself against him, squeezing his stomach in the process. It gurgled at the pressure, tightening.

Isaiah's shoulders hitched as his cheeks blew out with air, but he managed to stiffle it. His stomach cramped and he did his best to not double over, but the flood of emotion and pain were still out there. This caught him off guard.

Seline looked up at him, smile still dazzling and ignorant in her delight, kissing him. Deeply.

A rush of bubbles went up his throat and he couldn't react quickly enough, his lips pried open by hers. The burp rushed right out between their mouths.

He jumped away from her in panic, pressing his hand against his mouth. Too late. "God, excuse me- I'm-" He burped again, his stomach sloshing angrily with the heavy lunch he had before everything went to hell.

Seline watched him in confusion, pressing her hand against her lips. Her cheeks turned pink as she stared at him. Her eyes went wide.

Isaiah was mortified beyond his worst nightmares. He just burped into her mouth as she was kissing him.

"I'm so sorry, Seline, I-" Isaiah turned his back to her, not being able to stand her gaze. He gripped one of the chairs hard for support. He felt woozy from the horror and his stomach was cramping hard, sending out another string of muffled burps.

"It's okay," she said, sounding dazed. "I'm sorry, I didn't- what's wrong? Do you feel sick?"

"I- I just-" He doubled over the chair, squeezing his eyes shut. The nausea was climbing up his throat and his stomach felt bloated, pressing against his button up and pants and suit and he just did the most unthinkable thing and the accident happened and he-

Another loud wet burp snuck its way out of his throat, announcing a pressing need for the bathroom.

He stumbled towards it, feeling drunk. Sweat sprang up on his skin, his clothes gluing themselves to him immediately.

He knelt down in front of the toilet, opening his mouth. His stomach felt so full, pushing up gas. All the food he ate was sloshing and churning angrily in his belly as it clenched.

The next burp echoed through the whole bathroom as it hit the tiles.

Then he felt cold careful hands on his nape. "Baby. You are feeling sick, aren't you. Poor thing."

Isaiah belched loudly into the toilet. "Go away, please. I don't want you-"

"Shhhh. I'm not going anywhere. You can't expect me to leave you alone like this."

For some reason that had his eyes burning. "I'm sorry, I'm so gross, I-"

"You can't help it. It's alright, nothing happened. I should have noticed sooner. I can be so stupid sometimes."

"No, you are not," he spat into the bowl, panting for breath. "I'm really happy for you, that's amaz-" He shut his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled through him, groaning quietly inside his mouth.

Seline tugged at the collar of his suit jacket. "Let's get you out of these clothes."

Isaiah didn't feel like he could lift his head up. His stomach was churning up a storm and he felt like he could throw up any second. So he let her pull his suit off, one arm at a time.

She even left to put it on rack so it wouldn't get wrinkled, which had appreciative warm spreading over him. He should have thought of that too, that was a suit he really liked.

Seline returned quickly, kneeling down at his side and went to work on unbuttoning his shirt. Her next move was to unzip his pants.

Isaiah felt himself reddening at that. His stomach ballooned out immediately and he sighed in relief as the pressure eased off.

Seline kissed his temple, her hand scratching his sweaty back over the open shirt. "What brought this on? Did you eat something bad?"

He swallowed back the flood of saliva, leaning his forehead against the rim of the toilet. That had her folding up a towel, gently lifting his head up so she could put it under his face to cushion it.

"Just-" he burped loudly, wincing at the sound, "just stress. I'm being so lame, I'm sorry-"

"Don't you apologize for having feelings," she said sternly. "You went out with Arnie today, right? Did it not go well?"

"It was- it was fine, we had fun," he spit up some residual drool, tensing under her hand as another cramp hit him. "Arnie...Arnie told me- they were in a car accident. Three-three days ago." It felt even worse saying it out loud.

Her hand rubbed steady circles on his back. He followed the sensation internally, trying to get the words out. "They had- they almost died. Hector had been recovering from healing- and Arnie could have- can you imagine if he was the one-?" Isaiah wrapped his hands around his stomach as it twisted. It felt like being stabbed with a bunch of knives right in the middle.

Seline brushed his sweaty black hair behind his ear.

"And-and I couldn't- I didn't- when would I have found out? Why didn't they call me- what if-" He gagged at the words, once and twice, stomach slamming against his ribs.

Seline pressed her face against his shoulderblades on the left and he felt a bit reassured by the contact, but the words still ushered up a string of burps. Each was a little wetter at the end and his stomach was still twisting from the knives, the nausea unbearably high. He felt like he was drowning as he burped up some more bile.

"Shhhhh. But they are alright. It's over. You don't have to be afraid of what could have happened, because it already didn't."

He wanted to nod, he wanted to accept that, find any comfort in it, but he burped up a mouthful of acid and bile instead, shuddering.

"I could have lost them," he whined, his head buried in the bowl. He couldn't imagine himself being more gross and for once he didn't care. The panic, the sense of loss and fear constricted his chest.

Her hand on his back stilled, changing directions. It wasn't just a rub. Now it was gentle patting against his upper back. "Let it out, baby. You will feel better."

As if that was the permission he needed to hear, he burped, his whole body heaving as it brought up a small amount of liquid. It started the process alright, his stomach clenching and uncleching as he projectile vomited his whole lunch into the bowl.

He heaved and heaved, thick chunky waves of food and liquid. Seline rubbed his back the whole time, her touch something to focus on as he lost control of his body. His back arched with the strength of the heaves.

He burped up a few more liquid mouthfuls before slumping down against the folded towel in exhaustion. He whined quietly as his stomach still cramped. "I don feel good."

Seline lifted herself on her knees to reach the sink, letting the water run. Then she bend down over him, her hands wet with cold water, putting them against his cheek. "Shhh. I know baby, I know. I'm so sorry. You will feel better in a minute."

As if to prove her wrong, he gagged emptily, turning his head back towards the toilet in time to burp up another wave of liquid.

He heaved and heaved, retasting all the dessert and soup all over, reaching all the way to his breakfast.

He felt her palms against his back as she leaned into him, murmuring little nothings in his ear. "You are doing so well. Almost over. Everything is okay."

After what felt like eternity of heaving, spitting and gagging, he finally felt like he could unwrap his hands from his middle, the knives melting into a puddle of sharp bubbling rocks in his gut.

He folded his hands on the toilet, blowing up some more burps to the side, away from her.

Seline kissed the side of his face still, like he wasn't the most disgusting display of man she had ever seen. Then she planted a kiss into his hair at the back fo his head. "All better now. Think we could get back to the room? We should get you out of these, darling."

Isaiah let her push him away from the toilet, feeling spend and empty and thankfully not as nauseous anymore. His stomach still hurt, in the relaxed way after puking when it felt like it was punched and his throat was burning and tasted like burned potatoes. "Ugh."

She wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling him up and he followed the movement. They stumbled out of the bathroom a little unsteadily, but her clear sense of direction helped him navigate.

They were both panting as they finally flopped down on his bed. She stripped him off his open shirt and pants, looking through his neatly organised cupboard. "Do you have anything lose fitting and comfy at all?"

He let himself fall to the side on the bed, grateful for how cold and soft the cushions were. "No," he said with a quiet snort.

Seline shook her head in exasperation. "At least I know what kind of gift you need now." She put the covers over him, then crawled into the bed beside him to press herself against his back.

"How are you feeling?"

Feeling her warmth and scent behind him, he closed his eyes. "Messed up. Tired. Very embarrassed tomorrow."

She kissed the back of his neck at that. "Scratch that off the to-do-list. It's okay. It's just me."

Her hand rested on top of his shoulder before running gently down to his elbow and back up. He sighed, melting under her fingers.

He could almost sleep, before another thought had his stomach dropping painfully. "Arnie is having migraines," he said quietly.

Seline propped herself up on her elbow to get a view of his face. "Since then?"

"Since he was 13. Or 12." He took a shuddering breath. "Probably since I left."

They were silent for a long minute.

"You can't blame yourself for that. It didn't have to be you. He lost his mother, he is human in a very competive wolf pack, he-"

"He had enough going on without me leaving them both on top," he said with a quiet sob. How was he supposed to live with that? That he caused the kid so much pain?

"I thought I was helping. I thought getting rid of father would put them both-" he took another quick breath, stomach gurgling loudly. Another small burp got out. He felt like he could start throwing up all over again.

"Shhhhh," her hand was in his hair again, pressing herself even closer to him from behind. "It wasn't your fault. You did the best you could about an awful situation that had no right answers. And you know why there wasn't any right solution?"

He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, gagging emptily against it. "No?"

"Because it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your responsibility. You were all children, it wasn't the job of either of you to save the other. There was nothing more or better or right that you could have done. All three of you had it hard." She wrapped her hands around his chest. "Impossibly hard."

He sagged back against the bed, curling into himself. He reached for her hands, pushing them against his racing heart, as if she could keep him together. His fingers intertwined with hers.

"Hold me like this?" he whispered.

Her grip on his hands tightened. "Always."

#sickfic #emeto #vomiting #stress sick #hurt/comfort #whump #whump writing #werewolf wip #Isaiah #angst

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