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cloudy-em · 9 months

Note

Hi there! I got a request for Lip, if you don't mind 🥺

Reader is friends with either Fiona or Ian (she's the same age as Lip though), and one evening, she's dragged to the house for dinner (she's also very shy, very), so they meet and he just can't help but flirt constantly to make her blush and stutter.

And maybe later on, he hears her talking to Fiona/Ian about it, saying something like not keeping her hopes up because she can't believe he could actually like her ("no one likes the shy girl" kinda thing, I had that said to me and I need some comfort for it😂).

He basically wants to prove to her that he actually likes her. Maybe he already noticed her st school or something.

Have a good day, hun 🤘

of course!! glad to provide some comfort <3 i was the same way all from like elementary to high school so i get it! have a great day, too, thanks for the request <3

ages are pretty inconsistent in the show, but i think in season 3 he's like 18? i don't write characters when they're minors, so the reader and lip are both 18 years old and they're seniors in this! so this is set in like season 3ish i guess.

xxxxxxxxx

Ian and Y/N walked through the front door of the Gallagher household. Y/N took her shoes off, following Ian to his room where they dropped off their backpacks. Even though they aren't in the same grade, they're still great friends. It started when Ian found Y/N at school one day, trying to hold herself together after being made fun of for her quiet response to a teacher's question that she had to repeat multiple times. It turned out, Ian and Y/N actually had a lot in common, and the rest was history.

Y/N wasn't over at Ian's house often. The loud and chaotic nature of his family was endearing, but she didn't quite feel comfortable enough with the other Gallaghers yet to let her walls down. Not that she was ever as loud or chaotic as the family; she was just on the quieter, shyer side, and the Gallaghers respected that.

Ian had invited Y/N over for dinner, making sure Fiona was aware. Ian and Y/N both helped her with dinner, Y/N smiling quietly to herself as Ian and Fiona laughed and joked together. They set the table, and Fiona yelled up to the rest of the family to come eat.

Frank was god knows where doing god knows what, and Kev and V were busy at the alibi, so it was just Y/N and the Gallagher kids for the night. Debbie and Carl came barreling down the stairs leaving an empty seat between them because the two had recently been arguing. Lip walked down the stairs, Liam in his arms, and helped Liam get into a high chair. He sat between Carl and Debbie, clearly sick of their argument, and sighed. Y/N was stationed between Ian and Fiona, the two she was most comfortable with. Food was distributed and everyone tried to make dinner conversation.

Y/N looked at Debbie politely as she talked about a student counsel project she was working on, trying to plan out how perfect and showstopping it would be. She smiled hearing the girl's plan; it sounded great and she had no doubt Debbie could do it. Glancing towards Lip, she noticed him watching her instead of his younger sister. There's a pause, and Lip grabs her attention.

"You look really pretty today, Y/N," he says genuinely. In response, she blushes and looks towards her lap, mumbling a thank you. Lip opens his mouth, ready to say something else, when Carl pipes up.

"Yeah! You look just like the Barbie I put on the grill earlier!" He exclaims before backtracking. "Well, you look like her before I put her on the grill. And I wouldn't grill you, you're too nice." Y/N smiled and tried not to laugh at the young boy's antics as Fiona lectured him about cruel and unusual punishment. Lip kept staring at Y/N, completely mesmerized by her shy and gentle nature. He was wracking his brain on what to say next; he didn't want to try stupid or sexual pickup lines on her. He wanted to take his time with her. He'd noticed her in his literature class in school, they both sat at the back, but on opposite sides of the room. Ian was about to kick Lip under the table for his weird behavior, knowing Y/N would be uncomfortable, but Fiona beat him to it.

"Lip, it's rude to stare, especially at our guest."

Hearing his name brought him back, and he cleared his throat. "Um, Y/N? You have Mr Harbor for Physics II, right?" he asked, curious.

"Yes, 4th period," she replied quietly. Lip smiled hearing her voice, wanting to hear it more often.

"Oh great! I have him for 6th. Do you wanna come over sometime and study together? We can work through some problems if you want, maybe do some physical experiments-" he's cut off by Carl.

"Gross, Lip, you don't propose sex in front of the family!" he yells. Lip's eyes widen.

"Oh, jesus! No no I wasn't- Y/N that's not what I meant, I- I meant just calculating projectiles with a slingshot or something, not- not THAT!" he tries to explain desperately. He really did just mean doing problems and experiments together. They're both very intelligent people, and Lip thought it was a good proposition for a subtle excuse to get to know her.

"I-it's okay, Lip, n-no worries!" Y/N felt her face and neck flush. she knew he didn't mean sex, but the idea of it made her blush. Of course she'd heard plenty of rumors around school about how good Lip Gallagher was in bed.

The meal was done pretty quickly. The family all got up, Y/N waiting until most of them left to bring her plate to the sink.

"I'll take care of the dishes, Y/N," Lip said, gently placing his hand on the small of her back. She jumped slightly, moving out of the way and nodding, heading upstairs to finish her homework. Ian follows shortly after.

Lip walked up the stairs to grab a cigarette from his desk, but paused as he caught his name.

"-and it's nice to hope for just a second that maybe, just maybe, he likes me, that he cares for me, but he doesn't, Ian! There's no way someone like Lip would ever like someone like me! He's confident and attractive and smart and girls love him! I'm just me. I'm shy and quiet and it takes me forever to warm up to people and nobody likes the shy girl," she sighed sadly. "You don't think he's trying to prank me or something, do you?" she asked Ian. Lip walked away, not realizing she felt this way.

He had to do something. He went back down the stairs, no longer set on his cigarette, rather a way to prove himself to her. He thought hard for a while, realizing it was probably just best to talk her alone. He sighed, thinking of what to say without fucking up.

Lip heard Ian yell goodbye to Y/N, and her footsteps walking towards the front door. He ran towards the front door, trying to be casual.

"Hey, I'll walk you home. Make sure you get home safe," he said, sounding more like he was making a statement rather than offering.

"Oh, um, okay. Let's go then," Y/N replied.

The walk to her house was quiet. Lip didn't know what to say. 'Hey, I've been watching you at school for the past 3 months and I haven't hooked up with anybody since I noticed you because you're all I can think about even though we've barely ever talked'? He knew he needed to say that, he just needed to find a less...aggressive way of saying it.

He walked Y/N to her door, making sure she got it unlocked. He reached out and touched her arm just as she turned to enter her house. She turned to look at him with big eyes.

"Look, Y/N. I, uh, I've noticed you at school a lot over the past couple of months, and I know you're my brother's friend, but I'd really like to get to know you better. I think you're really, really smart and you're pretty, too, and Ian talks about you all the time. You just sound like a great person and I think I have a small crush on you. I know you probably don't feel the same, but if you'd give me a chance, I think we'll get along great and we can get to know each other. Please?" He poured his heart out.

Y/N hesitated, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. "I- okay, Lip. We can get to know each other. I'm just nervous and really shy around people I don't know so I'm sorry-" he cuts her off.

"That's why we'll know each other, 'kay?" he said, gently stroking her upper arm with his thumb.

"Besides, I like shy girls."

xxxxxxx

lip x shy!reader is one of my favs thank you so much for this request! let me know if you want more of this kind of content please!

#fanfic #writing #shameless #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #fem!reader #female reader #flirting #fluff #ian gallagher #fiona gallagher #carl gallagher #debbie gallagher #liam gallagher #shy #shy!reader

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seok-jinnies · 3 years

Text

so close to perfect | jjk

jeon jungkook x reader

angst with a happy ending, idol!au, established relationship ; wc : 1480 words

rating: pg13

warnings: swearing, mentions of insecurities, jungkook is a bit of a dick here i'm sorry lol

note: this fic was inspired by this song! it's been collecting dust in my drafts for so long and then i realized that i haven't posted anything in months so....... hope you guys enjoy!

jeongguk has always been your constant, and even with what seems to be the whole world against the two of you, you can't bring yourself to let him go.

Sighing, you take a sip from your tea. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Jeongguk blinks. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat slowly, “you’re a fucking idiot. I know what I got into. You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

“I’m not making decisions for you, (Y/N).” He scoffs, leaning back on his chair. “I’m telling you that this isn’t working out between us. We need to break up.”

For a few moments, you say nothing. The sounds of the cafe downstairs fill the silence between the two of you and you idly wonder if he’ll gain some sense the longer that you stare at him. You raise an eyebrow.

“You literally told me that you wanted to start a family with me yesterday,” you deadpan. “People don’t change that quickly, especially not you.”

“Then you obviously don’t know me well enough!” He fires back, leaning forward as he grips the edge of your table. His jaw clenches, and in another time, maybe you would have found it attractive. Now, however, it only fuels your irritation further.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you consider actually slapping some sense into that stupid, big head of his. “Jeongguk, I’ve known you for ten years,” you remind him calmly. “I know you better than I know myself, which is why I know that you’re an awful liar and that every sentence you’ve uttered in the past ten minutes has been pulled straight out of your ass.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head. It was clear that this strategy wasn’t working out, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was time for him to switch tactics.

When his gaze grows harder, colder, you already know that the next thing that comes out of his mouth will tear your heart to shreds. Still, you tilt your chin upwards, meeting his gaze head-on.

“(Y/F/N),” he says quietly, voice so dangerously low. You brace yourself for the impact. “How do I make you understand that the past three years have been nothing but a waste of my time?”

Bull’s-fucking-eye.

He takes your frozen state as a sign to continue. “The past three years have just been one big trainwreck. You’ve done nothing but hold me back in every aspect of my life. You have been nothing but selfish and it shows even now,” he scoffs. “You refuse to listen to me when I tell you something. It’s always your way or the highway, isn’t it?”

You’re stunned into silence. So this was the path he was going to take, huh? Somewhere, underneath the wave of hurt that washes over you is a thought: textbook. This is a textbook manifestation of your worst fears, your deepest insecurities. He knows you better than you know yourself; knowing exactly which buttons to press to hurt you the most. He’s cutting into your very soul with surgeon-like precision. The wounded, angry part of you wants to take the bait, to rip him apart but you don’t have it in you to tear into him just as he had done with you.

So you say nothing, merely tilting your head to the side. Slowly, you bring your cup to your lips, sipping quietly before setting it down once more. His eyes are still dark, filled with barely repressed rage.

“You’re always fucking clinging to me too!” He spits out. “You act like you’re so high and mighty but then you act like a fucking child whenever you don’t get what you want. Grow the fuck up,” he laughs humorlessly. “Loving you is the biggest mistake of my life. I wish I never fucking met you.”

At that statement, you can’t even hold back a wince. If you weren’t watching him so closely, you would not have noticed the way his eyes widen infinitesimally, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out for you. He bites his lip and for a second he looks like the Jeongguk that you know and love. That’s all it takes for you to strengthen your resolve once more, to force your tears back, and to face this head-on as if he hadn’t hit you where it hurt the most.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You say coolly as if your heart didn’t ache at his words. “Let it all out, love; I’ve got all day.”

His facade begins to crumble. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be mad at you?”

He visibly deflates in front of you. Shaking his head, he looks at the coffee table, fingers tracing the scratches on the surface.

“Just break up with me,” he whispers pitifully. “It’s the best thing you can do.”

You hum softly. “Do you want to break up with me because of the reasons that you listed earlier? Or…”

“Or?”

“Does this have something to do with the conversation you had with your manager this morning?”

His head shoots up, eyes widening comically. “How do you know that?”

“I have my ways,” you shrug. “That, and the fact that Yoongi overheard the two of you and gave me a heads up.”

“How did he even overhear us?”

You only shrug once more. Yoongi was, well, Yoongi. He was a man of many (slightly concerning) talents.

“If you’re worried about me receiving hate,” you start, pulling his hand into your grasp, “then you have nothing to worry about. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

He scoffs quietly but there’s no real malice behind it. “People are cruel when they want to be. I’ve been on the receiving end of that, (Y/N). I never want you to know what that feels like.”

“So you were just going to take the easy way out?”

He blanches. “No, I… I just wanted to protect you…”

A sad grin creeps up your face. “And look where that got us.”

Letting go of his hand, you take another sip of your tea, almost spitting it out when you look at Jeongguk and realize he has actual tears in his eyes. “Guk?” You say worriedly, hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, eyebrows still adorably scrunched in that way it always did whenever he was close to tears.

When he opens his eyes again, you smile.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t think you’re selfish or immature or clingy. Loving you, meeting you has been the best thing to happen to my life and⁠, and I⁠—” He swallows thickly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. You’re quick to wipe it off even as you feel your own eyes well up with tears.

“I love you,” he admits. “I look at you and my heart feels so full and you make me so happy and I just, I love you so much⁠—” he sobs, dragging his seat closer to you so he could hold you close. You stiffen when he buries his face in the crook of your neck, only relaxing when you’re sure that no one else is on this floor of the cafe. Your arms wrap around his hunched form, letting him cry freely.

“I’m so sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean any of it I swear,” he blubbers, nose all red and runny. It’s almost adorable how he looks at you so earnestly with tears in his eyes. “You’re my everything, (Y/N), I mean it.”

He pulls away from you with a sudden urgency, hands cupping your face gently as he looks into your eyes deeply. “You don’t hold me back. You make me a better person every single day. I’m an idiot who should have talked to you about this first before forcing you to break up with me.”

“You are an idiot,” you agree. He snorts at how quickly you agree, but all you can think of at the moment is how easily he puts your heart at ease despite being the very person to have ripped it apart moments earlier.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re going to talk about this in detail but this isn’t a discussion we should be having in a public place.” You rise from your seat, patting his cheek gently. “Let’s go home?”

He nods happily, giving you that smile⁠—that soft smile of his that makes you forget about everything else, the one that tells you he loves you more than anything in the world. “Let’s go home.”

The two of you still had so many things to talk about, so many things to unpack from today’s events. It almost seems daunting now that you think about it as the two of you walk home with your hand in his, but as long as you had him… then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #bangtanuniversity #bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fic #jungkook fic recs #bts fic recs

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kythed · 3 years

Text

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji.

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.”

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.”

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.”

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh.

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.”

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?”

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.”

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am.

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own.

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.”

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.”

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin.

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.”

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his.

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.”

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.”

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—”

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.”

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way.

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception.

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am.

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?”

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing.

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!”

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?”

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.”

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself.

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?”

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.”

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.”

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.”

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.”

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.”

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job.

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat.

“you okay?”

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.)

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.”

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye.

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.”

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.”

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation.

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.”

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning.

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

you scoff. “corny.”

“you like it.”

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.”

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.”

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.”

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.”

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.”

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind.

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm.

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.)

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?”

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.”

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?”

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?”

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.”

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.”

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.”

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.”

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.”

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real.

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

#you guys seemed to really like the last of these so I might make it a series??#cackles #also ly if you see this the last one was supposed to be for the event #I'm sorry it's so late #also I got carried away and made it a whole thing #I hope it still counts T-T #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hqcorenet

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you-can-call-me-wanda · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Reader

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

When you first started dating Nikki Sixx, it was all for the money.

Now dating someone for money may sound cruel and awful to most, but in your case, it was a little different. Dating Nikki was literally your job.

You had been reached out to by Nikki’s management close to eight months ago and were offered the job of becoming his fake partner. Mötley Crüe had gotten into some sort of scandal once again that had the public upset and protesting their work. It really wasn’t anything that bad that the band had been up to, just their typical hotel shenanigans, but it happened right before their new album release and their label was desperate to change the opinions of any upset mothers to try and increase album sales.

So, they had reached out to you. Why? Because you were exactly what they needed to get the public back on the side of Mötley Crüe. You were a small-time actor and pretty much universally liked. Having gotten most of your fame from starring in a recent and popular children’s movie, you were recognizable to children and parents alike. You were relatively new to professional acting, so there was no sort of rumors or nasty gossip associated with your name. Not to mention, you were young and beautiful and, even better, had no criminal record. You perfect for the role of Nikki Sixx’s significant other.

You were hesitant to accept of course. Sure, you had heard rumors of celebrities with fake or hired partners before, but never had you been asked to be in on one of those schemes. It felt wrong, to be lying to so many people, but the pay was too good for you turn down. You were in between gigs at the moment, having had no job offers since your big movie role. Maybe it was wrong to have ever accepted, but you had, and there was definitely no turning back now.

To everyone’s surprise and Mötley Crüe management’s absolute glee, the tabloids and press was obsessed with your and Nikki’s relationship. After just one “date” out with Nikki, a no-expenses lunch courtesy of Elektra Records and lots of well-timed hand holding and pecks on the cheek, paparazzi photos of the two of you could be seen on virtually every teen gossip magazine’s cover. When people mentioned Mötley Crüe now, they were talking about you and Nikki, not the fact that they got banned from the Hilton or destroyed over fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of property at their last hotel stay on tour.

Like you were, Nikki had been hesitant to play along with this fake relationship. It was weird and the whole thing was uncomfortable in the beginning. You were a complete stranger to him and now he was expected to kiss you in public and take you out on dates? It was awkward to say the least. But over time, the two of you warmed up to each other and your roles. With every staged date, you two got closer and closer and got to know each other more and more. Things got easier, and you actually began to enjoy the company that Nikki provided when you saw him, and the two of you even began to hang out sometimes even when it wasn’t scheduled by corporate.

“Hey (Y/N)!”

You turned around where you stood to see Nikki and his best friend and bandmate, Tommy, running towards you.

“Hey,” you said, smiling widely at the two boys. “You guys ready for your big show?”

Today was the last night of Mötley Crüe’s tour and it was the biggest show yet. You had been invited by management since the show was to be filmed with some backstage footage as well. And since Nikki was your fake boyfriend, it only made sense for you to be there with him.

“Hell yeah!” Tommy cheered, twirling his drumsticks in his hands. “Tonight is going to be killer! You’re gonna be watching from side stage, right?”

“Of course I will,” you said. “You know how much I love seeing you guys play.”

And it was true. The best part about your newest acting role besides getting to hang out with Nikki, was watching his band perform on stage.

“That’s why you’re the best,” Tommy said, ruffling a hand through your hand and bounding off down the hall on the venue excitedly. “I’m going to go warm up!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t chicken out on me Sixx!”

You turned back to Nikki with a confused smile.

“That boy is all kinds of weird,” you laughed.

“Tell me about it,” Nikki said with an eye roll.

“What does he mean about chickening about?” you asked. “You nervous for the show or something?”

Nikki had never seemed nervous before a performance before. He was normally excited, but maybe since this was his biggest gig yet, the stage fright was getting to him. You examined him carefully. He did look a little nervous. He was tapping his fingers to an irregular rhythm against his leather-clad thigh and biting his lip just slightly.

Nikki sighed through his nose and attempted to look non-chalant. The real reason he was so nervous was because tonight was the night he had decided would be the time when finally he told you that he loved you. He had stupidly mentioned it to Tommy who in turn had told Mick and Vince and half the crew. Now, almost thirty people had wagered money on whether he would actually go through with it or not. Somehow, thankfully, you had been left blissfully in the dark to all of this.

“No,” Nikki said. “I’m not nervous. It’s nothing really. Just Tommy being dumb like always.”

“Oh, okay,” you responded. “As long as you’re okay. By the way, Mick said you wanted to talk to me earlier.”

Nikki cursed under his breath. Of course, Mick would intervene. He had bet a hefty amount of cash on Nikki being brave enough to confess his feelings to you.

“He did? Oh, well, it’s really nothing important. It can wait until later,” he said, swallowing thickly.

In reality, Nikki was genuinely terrified to tell you that he loved and ask you out. Normally, he was confident in matters like this, but with you, he felt like he was diving headfirst into the unknown. He felt a connection with you, and he was sure that his feelings for you were true, but he had no idea if you felt the same. In any other situation, he could probably figure out if someone were interested in him based on how they interacted, but with you that was near impossible. You were literally being paid to date him. How was he to discern between your acting and what you really thought? For all he knew, you could hate his guts and just be putting on a show to keep getting your monthly check.

And if he told you that he loved you, and you didn’t feel the same, he wouldn’t know what to do. Not only would he be heartbroken, but he wouldn’t be able to hide from you. You would still be invited to events and he would still have to pretend to be your boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to kiss you knowing that you didn’t and had never had any feelings for him.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “There’s plenty of time to talk now. You’re not on for another hour at least.”

“I just uh, I just- I don’t know,” Nikki stammered.

“Sixx,” you said with a laugh. “Just tell me.” You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re my fake boyfriend, remember? I love you,” you joked.

Your words pained Nikki because he knew you were only teasing.

“Do you really though?” Nikki asked quietly, finally finding the strength to make his move.

The smile slipped off your face.

“What?”

“Do you actually love me?” Nikki repeated louder, looking up at you. “Do you really love me?”

You were caught off guard to say the least. That was not what you had been expecting Nikki to ask you. Did you love him? Of course you did, but why was he asking? Had he figured out that you were secretly harboring feelings for him, the boy you were supposed to be fake dating? Had he realized that your acting was getting to be too realistic, that you couldn’t possibly be faking this well?

“Why are you asking me that?” you said, avoiding answering his question.

“Just answer me,” Nikki said. His eyes searched yours for an answer.

You could feel your heart hammering away in your chest. Did he know? You were panicking, trying to think of something to say. Should you deny any feelings you had for him? It would be unprofessional to admit that somewhere along the line, you had begun to really love him.

“(Y/N),” Nikki said, realizing you weren’t going to answer him. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore.”

You felt like he had punched you in the gut. All the air left you lungs. So, this was it. He had figured you out and was ending things. He didn’t want to see you anymore now that he knew.

“You- what?” you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore because I want to be your real boyfriend (Y/N),” Nikki said. His eyes turned downcast, too nervous to look at you. “I don’t know when it happened (Y/N), but I’ve fallen for you. You’re just- you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re smart and witty and fun. You can make me laugh and get me out of a bad mood. You know how to party, but you also can just sit and have an honest conversation with me. I love you and I want this to be real, what’s going on between us.”

You were speechless yet again. You gazed at him in awe, shocked by what he had just admitted.

Nikki took your surprised silence as rejection and his shoulders sagged visibly.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked eventually, daring to look up at you now.

“I, uh- I mean, no. I’m just surprised is all,” you managed to spit out. “You really mean all that?”

Nikki merely nodded.

“Nikki, I- oh my god. I love you too,” you said, finally finding the words you wanted to say back to him.

Nikki looked skeptically hopeful.

“You do?” he asked hesitantly. “You really mean that?”

“Nikki,” you started, breaking out into a grin. “I have loved you for months now. I thought you could never feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. I thought you would hate me if I told you.”

“I could never hate you,” Nikki said, lips curling up to match yours. “God (Y/N), I really love you. Can I- will you- would you be alright if we started dating for real now?” he asked. “No more staged dates or kisses. Just you and me actually doing this.”

You nodded excitedly.

“Yes,” you agreed quickly. “Yes, I would like nothing better Nikki.”

Nikki let out a relieved laugh and quickly threw his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” he said, as you hugged him back.

“Of course,” you said, pulling back to look at him.

“Can I kiss you now? For real this time?”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx imagine #motley crue x reader #motley crue imagine #motley crue #wanda writes

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof.

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door.

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up.

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at.

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid.

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite.

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face.

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that,"

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud.

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you.

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch.

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x F!reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x you #Frankie Catfish Morales x reader #Frankie x reader #Frankie x you #Catfish x reader #Catfish x you #Triple Frontier fanfiction #Frankie Morales Fanfiction

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Light Shall Smite Her

Pairing: Mildred Ratched x Reader

A/N: hello @serawalkerwrites, this is my humble gift to you as your SP secret gifter 😌😘 I’m so nervous to post this, I hope you’ll like it. If you don’t, in the words of Puck, “This weak and idle theme, / no more yielding but a dream, / gentles do not reprehend. / If you pardon, we will mend.” x

(please bear in mind English isn’t my first language, so my apologies for weird sentences)

Word count: ≃ 5 600

“I heard the new head nurse is very beautiful.”

Rosie waited expectantly for an answer. You hummed.

“I said,” Rosie repeated, in a louder, slightly annoyed voice, for she was excited and couldn’t bear your ignoring her right now, “I heard she’s very beautiful.”

You gave her a sideways glance by way of an acknowledgment, not bothering to stop your quick scribbling.

Rosie rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards you. “Don’t you care?”

“I’m writing,” you mumbled.

“Aren’t you interested, though?”

“Listen, Rose,” you started, setting your pen down and finally meeting your co-worker’s eyes, ”my break is over in five minutes, and I want – no, I need – to finish this, so would you be so kind as to postpone this conversation until later?”

Rosie straightened up with an irritated click of her tongue. “Fine,” she hissed. “I was just trying to be nice. Knowing you’re single, and all.” She turned, made to leave, but suddenly stopped to mock over her shoulder, “And by ‘and all’, I’m referring to the pathetic rant I had to suffer through last night about how ‘lonely’ you feel and how ‘unfair’ the universe is. I’m just trying to help.”

“Thank you, Emma Woodhouse,” you called after her as she angrily stomped out of the room.

With a sigh you resumed your writing. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh with Rosie, but you really needed to get rid of your thoughts and ideas by writing them down before your break was over. If you didn’t, the words would howl reproachfully in your head for the rest of the day, make a racket and fog your brain till you were finally able to spit them out on paper.

Just a few minutes more, you begged the clock on the wall. Your wrist was aching. Two more lines, and then you finally sat back in your chair with a huff like a warrior who has won their hardest battle.

You glanced up at the clock. Break over.

The clinic was unusually quiet today. A few patients looked up at you as you passed them on your way down the corridor. You offered them smiles, blinked at the sun when you glanced outside.

The lobby was deserted. You worked at the front desk, and were in charge of most administrative tasks – a rather boring job, but it paid well and left you enough time to write.

You were sorting out schedules when Rosie crossed the lobby, pushing an old man in a wheelchair. She shot you a moody look and mouthed something you didn’t understand. Five minutes later she was back; and, planting her elbows on the front desk, mouth tight and eyes studying your face, she started, “So, as I was saying, the new –” but before she had time to finish there was the sound of a door opening, heels, a voice speaking quickly, and then two people walked briskly into the lobby.

And one of them was a male nurse you knew called James, a boring, conceited person you couldn’t care about; and the other – but someone had drugged your coffee. There was no other explanation.

James came to a halt before your desk. With a contemptuous look to Rosie, he pushed her to the side, and ignoring her angry hiss announced proudly, “Y/N, this is Mildred Ratched, our new head nurse.”

You stared at her. The world around you vanished. It was as if someone had shone a spotlight on her, the rest of the room going dark as the audience held their breath. You were suddenly too hot, the air in your lungs was burning gas and it hurt – but Mildred’s face stayed perfectly composed.

She gave you a polite smile and extended one hand to you as if nothing terrible was happening, as if you and her were meeting for the very first time and the only thought crossing your mind, as it had two years ago, simply was, What a beautiful woman.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mildred said, red lips curling up into a smile.

You knew that smile. It was the smile that reached her eyes but was fake and cold and meant to signify, I know what I’m doing. I’ve got this. There’s nothing you can do but submit.

You shook her hand. Mildred saw the way your arm trembled when you drew it back and pressed it against your chest.

“I’m giving Miss Ratched a tour of the clinic,” James was saying, with a note of pride in his voice. “She’s been very impressed by our equipments.”

“Yes,” Mildred answered, gaze boring into you. “The place where I used to work certainly didn’t enjoy such modern facilities.”

Your brain took over. It really was the only way you could survive this moment. You swallowed and locked up your heart and let coolness and calm seep through you.

“The place where you used to work?” you asked. You congratulated yourself on how neutral your voice sounded.

Mildred’s brow pushed up slightly, for she knew exactly what you were doing. She knew you. And despite your best efforts, you felt heat creep up your cheeks, heat creep up your ears, heat everywhere it was too damn hot.

But you would be damned, you told yourself, you would be damned before you averted your gaze from hers.

“Oh, it was a small place,” Mildred answered – and was her smile turning a little cruel? “You wouldn’t know it,” she added, and just like that, with her smile lingering on her lips, she turned from you and gestured for James to lead the way.

You stared at her back as she walked off, gait as decisive as you remembered it to be, but with that nervousness to it, as if she were constantly running from something. Do you only know where you’re headed?, you had asked her once – and she had gazed at you thoughtfully as she’d blown out cigarette smoke, and hadn’t answered.

“What was that all about?”

A door slammed shut, making you jump. Only know did you realize that your fists were tightly clenched, and your lungs were burning from lack of oxygen. You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

“What was that all about?” Rosie asked.

You glanced at her. “Don’t you have something to do?” you snapped.

Mildred and you. The story was a simple one.

She had been a nurse at the local state hospital, you had been a professional writer; you had met at a coffee shop, where you would both spend your Saturday afternoons. You had talked. You had laughed.

The sparkles in her eyes when she would talk about things she loved, things that made her happy, had caught your attention. So had her smiles, and her laughs, and every little thing she had said and pointed out.

You had ached. And then one day you had been bold enough, and leaned in to kiss her. And she, with a half-disgusted, half-shocked laugh, had pressed one hand to your chest to push you away – and in a voice that was only slightly shaking, had demanded what the hell you thought you were doing.

Turned out she had been hunting. For a young, happy woman, who would “fill the needs” of her brother, just recently got out of prison. You had gawped at her as she had explained the whole scheme to you, talking for all the world as if she were having a perfectly casual, perfectly normal conversation –

And then –

The anger and the disgust and the pain and the betrayal. You had stormed out of the coffee shop with the need to scream and to destroy something. To make someone bleed. To make someone pay for what you were feeling.

And the hatred – how you hated her. And yet, there had been signs, you had seen them – how she would bite her lower lip sometimes when she listened to you talk, how she would glance up at you, eyes a little darker and a little stormier and a little shy, how when she would reach out to cup your face in her hands, to comfort, to reassure, her touch would linger and her fingers would hold as if you were made of the most precious star matter in the universe – you couldn’t have been wrong. She had wanted you. You knew it. But she had been on a mission, and nothing could distract that kind of a woman from her goal.

To know you had been used, to know you had been seen as nothing more than a piece of meat to be fed to a hungry animal, made you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself. You couldn’t get rid of the feeling. So, with a desperate need to get rid of yourself, of the way you had been seen, you moved and got a new, different job – tried not to think of the reasons why you applied to a clinic of all places. You made yourself new, in a way.

And now – now your old self slammed back into you with a vengeance. It wouldn’t have been a problem, not really, had it come alone; but it was accompanied. It stood hand in hand with hope. And hope – hope was the worst.

The rest of the day passed quickly. You focused on your work, let your brain hold the wheel and did your best to ignore the thing, the thing that was warm and insistent and that you could feel growing in your chest, from making too much noise. It was adamant it would make itself known, though, and you were well aware it would only take a spark to set the fire roaring – and sure enough, at 5:30pm, as you were gathering your things and about to leave, the warmth started to burn – for Mildred, in her nurse uniform, walked up decidedly to your desk and, lips curled up, said, “Doesn’t your shift end at six?”

You clenched your teeth as you slowly looked up at her. “You’re not the boss of me,” you retorted, low and mean.

Mildred’s mouth twitched. “I would not be so sure of that.”

“I arrive earlier in the morning so I can leave earlier in the afternoon,” you snapped, louder this time.

She hadn’t changed a bit. She still looked exactly the same. You stared at her impeccable hairdo, at her collar, trying not to pay too much attention to the pale column of her neck; up, past her lips – a shudder, at the reminder of how they had felt against yours – to meet her eyes again, and catch a glint of amusement in them.

You cleared your throat, pretended the heat that flooded your face was fueled by anger, not embarrassment.

“So how’s your brother?” you taunted.

Mildred blinked. Her smile faded. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned towards you and said, “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Why?”

“I have things to say to you.”

“Things to say to me?” You snorted. Crossed your arms against your chest. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going home. Move.”

She didn’t move. She stood resolutely planted in front of your desk, eyes boring into yours, so you picked up your bag and walked around her, bumping her shoulder to make a point.

She flinched, as she always did when you would touch her without warning. You felt her gaze burning the nape of your neck as you hurried off. It was all you could do not to run when you reached the door.

“This woman isn’t trustworthy,” you told your boss the next morning.

He barely looked up from his paperwork. “Which woman?”

“Miss Ratched.” You pretended you felt nothing, pretended it was not like music, when you uttered her name. “You made a mistake hiring her.”

“Did I?”

“She doesn’t have the credentials for the post of head nurse.”

A glance at you, annoyed and distracted.

“Her credentials are excellent.”

“They’re fake,” you insisted, shaking your head. “Everything about this woman is fake. Believe me, you cannot trust –“

“Miss Y/L/N,” he interrupted with a sigh, “if you do not have proof for these allegations then you’re only making me lose my time.”

You sat at the front desk in a bad mood. Patients glared at you when you answered their questions too shortly, and you glared right back at them until they lowered their gaze. Every time you heard footsteps, every time you heard a voice, your heart would speed up and your head buzz and you would look up, half in fear, half in (but that was hard to admit and, at first, you denied it) hope, expecting to see Mildred. You didn’t, though. The hours passed by and the nervousness in you increased, but Mildred never once crossed the lobby. She wasn’t in the break room at lunch; a nurse told you she had gone out to a restaurant with a friend.

At 5:30pm you left in an even worse mood. You told yourself it was because you hadn’t had the opportunity to be mean to Mildred, to take out on her some of your resentment and anger. There was no other possible reason, and if there was, it certainly was not that you were disappointed you hadn’t had the opportunity to at least steal a glance at her.

At home that evening you tried to write, but the words had disappeared from your brain. You sat at your desk, eyes glazed, fingers unmoving. There was something in your chest that was made of emptiness and yet weighted heavy near your heart.

As you lay in bed you tried to summon bright images in the dark, the brightest you could create, red sunsets and turquoise oceans, anything to outshine the image of Mildred. You tossed and groaned and got too hot. In the corner of your room it seemed to you something was crouching, and looking up at you, and hoping.

In the morning you opened your window and stuck your head outside. The air still carried the chill of winter and made you shiver. But your blood was boiling. It was boiling still when you got into your car, boiling when you settled at the front desk and turned on your computer.

You decided it was boiling out of anger.

And yet – did anger make one’s heart beat so very fast at the mere sound of heels on tiles?

You told yourself it did.

It wasn’t until your lunch break that you saw Mildred. As usual, you gulped down your lunch to have time to write; and you were just starting when the door opened, and without so much as an introduction Mildred walked in and stopped right in front of you.

You looked up from your work.

“What do you want?” you growled.

Mildred gave you a pacifying smile.

“Good afternoon,” she started, lacing her fingers together in front of her. “As I said the other day, I merely want to talk.”

You snorted, and pretended to focus on your writing. But just as last night, words fled from your brain. Mildred’s presence was taking all the room inside your head, filling it with her scent and her colours, her voice, the shapes of her body. Your heart was beating too fast, your pen was frozen on the piece of paper, and out of the corner of your eye the blue from Mildred’s uniform was too bright, it was too flashy, it drew all of your attention.

After a few, long seconds of tense silence, you dropped your pen on the table and almost barked, “Fine, go ahead, talk.” You met Mildred’s eyes and tried to scowl, tried to convey to her the vehemence of your anger. “Say what you have to say and then get out and don’t talk to me ever again.”

“You’re quite overreacting, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve got some nerves, wouldn’t you say?”

More silence, as you both stared at each other. Mildred’s gaze wasn’t cruel or angry, you noticed; if anything, she looked nervous.

“Since you want us so badly to speak,” you said before she had time to, “answer this question: what would have happened, if I hadn’t tried to kiss you?” You waited, but since she didn’t answer, merely kept on looking at you with one hand sliding up her other arm to hug herself, you went on, “What would have happened, uh? You would’ve dropped a sleeping pill in my drink, kidnapped me, locked me up somewhere for your brother to do to me whatever he wanted?”

Mildred let out a short, offended laugh. “Don’t be so crude.”

There was yet another pause, during which she looked at you, nervously, and you looked at her, angrily; and then, entirely of its own, your gaze flicked to her mouth, and she noticed it, and her eyes widened a little.

You looked away and cleared your throat, praying – praying! – that the heat you could feel everywhere didn’t show in your face.

“I would merely have introduced you to Edmund,” Mildred answered eventually.

You met her eyes again. “I don’t believe you,” you growled. A pause. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I needed to make sure you were the right one for him.”

“And how many women,” you went on, slowly standing up and slamming your fist on the table,” did you try out before me?”

Mildred’s eyes darted to your hand as it hit the table. She jumped slightly, fear widening her eyes, and for a moment regret washed part of your anger away. You took a step towards her with the intention to reassure, no longer to fight.

You caught yourself, though. You stopped, and folded your arms on your chest.

“Answer me,” you growled.

“You were the first,” Mildred said, voice a bit tight. She hesitated, stroked her arm with her thumb. “I had no idea you were the kind of woman who doesn’t like the company of men.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “And you think that excuses everything?”

“It must have made it more unpleasant.”

“Any woman would know how fucked up it was,” you growled. “Except you, clearly.”

Silence settled between you two. Mildred’s thumb was still stroking her arm nervously, and you found yourself staring at it, as if drawn by the repetitive movement.

“I apologize for what I did,” Mildred said after a few moments.

Your eyes flicked back to her face. “Do you really? Do you really mean it? Or is it another lie, meant to coax me?”

“I do mean it,” Mildred replied.

“Then prove it.”

Something like annoyance flicked across Mildred’s features; but then, as quickly as it had come, it faded, and the nervousness settled back.

“How?” she asked.

You took another step towards her, meaning to invade her space, just a little, just to show her you had the upper hand. An idea flashed in your brain, but you couldn’t quite see its contours through the mist of boiling anger, so when you voiced it, it was without fully knowing what the words would be.

“Let me make sure you’re the right one for me.”

You paused. You decided you rather liked these words.

Mildred’s mouth opened, closed again. She titled her head, eyes narrowing.

You took another step forward.

“Let me,” you breathed, extending one hand to brush invisible dust from her sleeve, “try you out and decide whether I want you for myself.”

Mildred held your gaze with a stubborn, challenging – amused? – kind of fierceness, and you noticed how she had started breathing through her mouth, how her cheeks were coloring, not with embarrassment, but with excitement it seemed; like a champion in the starting blocks, adrenaline racing through her veins.

Something was drumming in your ears. Certainly it was your heart, but maybe it was something else - and this time you couldn’t fool yourself into thinking it was anger. Anger never drummed, anger thundered. Desire – longing – had its own particular kind of music.

You wondered, vaguely, if Mildred could hear it too.

She blinked. The fierceness in her gaze faded. She looked away, the black in her eyes turning sad and shy, then looked up again, hopeful this time, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the mirror that was her gaze, always reflecting, always revealing.

“Alright,” she said.

Your lips twitched into a smirk.

And then, just when you thought you had won, she smiled that victorious smile of hers that reached her eyes but was always cold, except this time it was warm, and there was mischief shining under it like a child up to no good.

“You have 24 hours, not a minute more,” she said, playful, almost singing. “Make the best of them.”

And then, and then - she lifted one hand, brushed the back of her fingers down your cheek, to mock your previous touch and remind you who was in control. Her cold skin made you shiver and instantly ache for more; and you would have leaned in and crashed your mouth against hers had you not regained control of yourself at the last second.

She left you with a glance over her shoulder as if to dare you to follow her. She left you standing burning and aching, trying to process what had happened.

You collapsed on your chair, because this all meant, dear you this all meant – that you had been right? That she was interested in you?

You raised a hand to your chest as if that could help slow down your heart. You did not know what you should be feeling. There were too many emotions, and which one was supposed to be right? You needed someone, a guide, to point out and say, This. This is the proper emotion to feel.

You spent the rest of the day in a state of overwhelming nervousness. Every minute you expected Mildred to appear with a cup of coffee or a bouquet of flowers for you. Nothing happened. The afternoon went by as usual. Rosie stopped at your desk for a chat. An old man threw up in the lobby and the cleaning lady cursed.

When the clock reached 4pm, you almost got up and stormed into Mildred’s office to demand what she was doing. Why the hell wasn’t she trying to win your heart? Why wasn’t she being excessively nice, voice dripping with honey, wide eyes begging?

You couldn’t believe the nerves of this woman, and you were fuming, until you saw her crossing the lobby with a young nurse in tow, and she glanced your way, and smiled. And her eyes weren’t wide, they weren’t begging, but they were nice, and they reflected the genuine good intention of her smile.

This is when you realized. There would be no excessive attentions or sweet little lies to flatter. She was aiming for the exact opposite of what you had run away from. Honesty. Being herself.

A little while later she walked up to your desk with a bunch of reproaches because you had messed up with a few patients’ schedules. Her tone was firm, her gaze hard. Brief apologies dropped from your mouth before you had time to think them. You eyed her curiously as she walked away, and kept on gazing at her long after she had disappeared. Then you cleared your throat, and willed yourself to focus on your work again.

When you saw her again, you were making ready to leave. She had changed into a long, forest green pleated skirt and a creamy white blouse with cuffed sleeves. You eyed her up and down as she came close to you, which made a small smug smile tug at the corner of her lips. You prayed all the gods the heat in your cheeks didn’t paint itself pink, and pretended you were busy with your handbag.

“Dinner?” Mildred asked simply. “I know a place.”

The place in question was a small, cozy and fashionable restaurant with a menu of fancy dishes that made your eyes widen. Mildred asked for a table on the terrace, in the setting sun; the waiter pulled out a chair for her with a respectful bow of his head, and for you with merely a nod.

You said something about the sunset, about how glad you were the weather was getting warmer, how dearly you loved the spring; you pointed out flowers. Mildred lit up a cigarette and listened to you speak, her gaze kind and attentive, and it struck you how easily you two were falling back into your old routine. How peaceful it was, how natural it felt to just sit there with her as the sun yawned and stretched, as cigarette smoke and laughter curled lazily up towards the sky.

Mildred folded her napkin and set it neatly on her lap. You glanced at her as you pretended to muse over the menu; and when Mildred’s gaze met yours, an awkward laugh burst out of your mouth and danced in Mildred’s eyes.

“I honestly do not know…” you started.

“Try this,” she smiled, tapping a finger on the menu.

“I do not trust anything with asparaguses in it.”

“Trust me, then,” Mildred retorted with a laugh.

The laugh died prematurely as your face hardened. Mildred swallowed, glanced down at the menu, looked up again to meet your eyes.

“I’ll have it myself,” she said in a slightly subdued voice. “So you’ll know what you’re missing out.”

You hummed, and took a sip of your drink to swallow the lump in your throat.

Dinner passed in easy, casual conversation. Sometimes, after you had said some random thing, Mildred would smile a shy, fond smile at an object on the table or at something around her, like sharing a secret with herself. You didn’t notice the waiter when he came back. Mildred let you steal a forkful of her meal, and laughed victoriously when your eyes widened at the rich taste that filled your mouth.

For dessert you both ordered rose and lemon Turkish delights, and fell in a comfortable silence. You watched Mildred and she watched you. At one point she ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to lick off powdered sugar. You felt yourself blush. Mildred noticed, smiled a little smugly; when your eyes met again, hers flicked down to her glass, and her smile turned shy.

“You never answered my question,” you said.

“Which question?” Mildred smiled at her glass.

“How is your brother doing?”

There was cruelty in your words, but you thought you were entitled to some of it. The sun had set by now, the moon and the stars were not out yet: there was no witness.

Mildred’s smile faded. She looked up at you, a little reproachfully.

“He’s doing fine,” she said after a short while, in the voice she used at work with the other nurses. “Better than I thought he would. He found a job taking care of animals at the local shelter. It makes him happy.” A pause. A soft, dreamy smile to the tree on your left. “The animals help ease his mind. They give him purpose. He says he likes caring for innocent souls, that they would never hurt anybody, not because they can help themselves, but because the very idea would never even cross their minds.”

“That’s nice, but I was referring to his love life.”

She searched your eyes. “Nothing much to say about that.”

“So you didn’t find him the perfect spouse?” you asked with a mirthless laugh. “What happened? Set the bar too high?”

A gust of wind tangled in your hair, like a reproach from the universe, but you chose to ignore it. You brushed the strands of hair from your face and scowled at Mildred, awaiting – demanding – an answer.

Someone turned on the overhead lights, which threw a sudden bright, yellow glare on Mildred’s face and chased all the shadows.

“I stopped searching after you,” Mildred replied.

You snorted. There was a need to be cruel that was growing inside you and that was too loud, too outraged to be ignored. It was a military leader, and it had at its command an army led by Resentment, Pain, Anger and Revenge.

“What happened?” you mocked. “Got tired so quickly? Got so disappointed in me you thought it wouldn’t be worth your time?”

Mildred refused to take the bait. She stayed completely calm, face impassible and gaze bold, but soft. Her behavior made Anger give a low war cry and charge.

“The truth is,” Mildred said, and she leaned over the table towards you, and smiled and with her smile was swept away the impassiveness on her face to let a loving intensity shine, “just before you left I had made up my mind to keep you for myself.”

You clenched your fist. “Then why the fuck,” you hissed, “did you push me away?”

“I didn’t! All I did was inform you what my plans had been, for the sake of honesty –”

“For the sake of honesty?” you repeated. “Are you kidding me?”

“But then you ran away,” Mildred finished. Had there been the slightest note of reproach in her voice, you would’ve jumped to your feet and broken something.

“As if you cared,” you growled.

“I tried looking for you,” Mildred said.

She paused. There was a nervous twitch to her mouth that, in the absence of shadows, you saw.

“I don’t believe you,” you growled.

“But you disappeared. You moved, didn’t you? You changed your job, you disappeared so completely and I –”

“Bullshit.”

“– and I tried to find you, but there was my job, and there was Edmund, and I couldn’t give up on him when he –“

“So you gave up on me instead.”

Mildred cut herself short. Silence hung heavy as she struggled, weighed up ugly truth against beautiful lies, until she said in a breath, “Yes.”

A sense of victory washed over you, but it felt sick, unsatisfying, and you wondered whether defeat wouldn’t have been better.

For a long moment none of you spoke. Then you realized in your anger you had leaned towards her, too, and your faces were only a few inches apart.

Mildred’s eyes flicked to your lips. You stopped breathing. You were so mad, you swore if she tried to kiss you right now you would flip the table, rip off the lights, break your chair. She had no right to ask to come back in your life, not after what she had done, and you were so mad, and definitely not leaning in and your lips were not parting as if to taste the air she exhaled –

Mildred raised her hands to cup your face. Her touch was like thunder, except you were not a tree but the sky; you had not been hit and burnt, but sublimated and illuminated.

You flinched, and sat back in your chair.

“So?” you asked, folding your arms on your chest. You couldn’t quite meet Mildred’s eyes. Your face was burning.

Mildred raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“So what happens now? What’s your plan now that you’ve found me?”

Mildred smiled. “That,” she answered, “is entirely up to you.”

Was this a blatant lie? You stared at her, forcing yourself to silence the fresh burst of anger her words triggered in you. For if there was one thing you were quite sure of, it was that Mildred Ratched never relented. When she sank her fangs into a prey, she never let go. She would forever be just a few inches behind you, the shadow gliding on your walls day and night, the fingers brushing your shoulders and making you jump.

“So tell me,” Mildred asked after a short while, “do you like what you see?”

You almost said no. Just to tempt her, just because you could and being cruel was so easy and felt so good. You almost said you would disappear again and change your name so she could never find you. Because deep down you knew that if you really, really tried, you would forget her. Only be reminded of her face once in a while in the middle of a crowd or in a poem.

But did you want that?

You pursed your lips to hold back the word “no”. Mildred would have looked confident enough had it not been for the flicker of nervousness in her eyes. They were so dark, her eyes, they sometimes reminded you of a big cat, crouching in tall grass, silent, body taut, ready to jump on its prey.

She had jumped. And you had run away. But now she was jumping again, and this time, you had seen her coming. And you let her claws sink into your flesh.

You shifted on your seat with a low noise of anger at yourself, glanced up at her and blurted out moodily, “Yes.”

Victory shone in Mildred’s eyes. A smile danced across her lips. She leaned towards you, hands coming up to rest on the table with her nails digging into the wood, her gaze so intense, so wild, and when her lips parted to say something you slipped one hand around her right wrist, pushed back your chair so you could lean across the table, and kissed her.

It was a quick, angry kiss, pulling away before it really had time to start. Mildred blinked in surprise. You scowled at her, your mouth a tight, angry line. Your hand clutched her wrist to prevent her from moving.

“Yes,” you repeated.

A smile. Soft, nervous, hopeful.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked.

“No,” you growled, eyes riveted to her lips. “You’ll have to make it up to me, times and times again.”

Mildred’s lips curled up.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I can live with that.”

#spgiftexchange #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #mildred ratched x reader #mildred ratched #fics

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rekrappeter · 4 years

Text

looking at the moon, but seeing you

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself drawn to draco malfoy, an october evening welcoming something you never expected

warnings: mention of feeling numb, swearing, typos

notes: please let me know what you think of this, feedback would be amazing thank you - if there’s an inaccuracy of the wizarding world in this, please don’t let me know, I’m not interested <333

I had originally started writing this for @bricksatanakinswindow ‘s wc and had a prompt in mind, but then I went on a tangent and finished it forgetting to use the prompt oops but anyways, I hope y’all enjoy it either way <3

It was your favorite time of the year. Orange and brown leaves scattered the grass, the sound of them crunching when students trampled over them to get to class, and it was always dark before the final class ended. The ghosts seemed to be more present during mealtimes and the flickering of the crimson fires above the four tables created shadows around the dining hall. There was an eerie, yet wholesome atmosphere that Hogwarts welcomed during the month of October. But the thing you loved most about October in Hogwarts was the Annual Halloween Feast.

You were staring wide-eyed at the mounts of food that appeared in front of you, your mouth watering at the sight of the freshly trimmed turkey and the pumpkin pies that were making your stomach grumble with hunger. It took everything in your power to not reach out for your first servings, knowing that everyone was waiting for Professor Dumbledore to finish up his annual Halloween speech. The moment he gave you permission to start eating, your hands reached out for the first bowl of vegetables closest to you.

“Calm down there,” Ron chuckled, his red hair brushing across his forehead, “It won’t disappear right away.”

“You’re one to talk,” you snapped back, a playful smirk tugging on your lips as you eyed his plate already half-filled with chicken wings and mash potatoes.

Ron scoffed, his cheeks turning red, “Quidditch practice makes me hungry.” You rolled your eyes as the boy rambled on, trying to plead his case but as you looked over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, his voice was just a mere whisper amongst the eyes staring back at you. Cold, dull blue eyes were on your figure from across the room, his porcelain face rested in the palm of his hands and his pink lips were a spark contrast from his snow-white hair.

“Is Draco Malfoy staring at me?” you whispered softly to Hermione, ignoring the confused glances from the red head boy that thought he was having a conversation with you. Hermione peaked over Ron’s shoulder strategically, pretending to scratch her nose in the process. The creasing of her fluffy brows confirmed your suspicions and you both stare at Draco, it wasn’t until the taller boy beside him, Blaise, nudged his shoulder with his that Draco was pulled out of what seemed to be a daydream. His eyes widened for a second, his tongue darting from his mouth to wet his lips as he raised a brow in your direction.

‘What?’ you mouthed to him, and he shot you an annoyed, almost hateful, glare your way before tearing his gaze from you. A scoff passed your lips, it was so typical of Draco to make it seem like it was your fault that he was staring at you. “That was weird,” you murmured, shrugging your shoulders and the grumble of your stomach remembered that you had forgot to feed it all day.

When the Feast had come to an end, the magically thundering and lightening lit up the Great Hall causing students to erupt into discussions of thrill and excitement. The tables disappeared from underneath you, as the room transforming into it’s annual Halloween afterparty. Pumpkins that Hagrid grew himself were huddled in the corners, big enough to fit three full adult males in them, and orange and black streamers were dangling from the ceiling. The table that the teachers occupied was gone and replaced with a stage, instruments scattered around on top and you could spot a skeleton tuning a guitar.

A grin was unfaltering on your face, the excitement bubbling inside you. You glanced at Hermione, seeing her face in complete awe at the sight in front of her and you hated the fact that your eyes found themselves travelling across the room to the platinum blonde. Despite his foul demeanor throughout the entirety of the feast, an amused smile was rested on his lips as he watched the band of skeletons take the stage. As the music started, people began shuffling onto the makeshift dancefloor, still draped in their house robes. Your stare constantly kept finding it’s way to Draco, and no matter how much you scolded yourself, you couldn’t get him out of your mind.

This started towards the end of last year, these growing unwanted feelings that you held for the Slytherin Prince. The summer break couldn’t have come quick enough, Hogwarts was a big place but you kept finding yourself bumping into him or walking in the same empty corridors as he did. Throughout the summer, you hadn’t thought about him once - you labeled it as a stupid crush, the inevitability of falling for the ‘bad boy’ of your year. Of course, he had ladies falling all over him, but you’d never seen him with anyone other than Pansy Parkinson and even at that, you weren’t sure if they were exclusive. You tried not to dwell on it much, the thought of the two doing things together in the dungeons brought a wave of nausea each time. You thought the feelings that developed were gone, but the moment he walked onto the platform at Kings Cross, time stopped and it was just him there amongst the bustle of people bidding goodbye to their families. You scolded yourself the whole train ride, feeling yourself falling into daydreams and fantasies of what could be. But you were a Gryffindor, and he was a Slytherin. It wouldn’t work.

“You’re staring this time,” Hermione smirked, an amused glint in her eyes. She twirled you around so that your back was to Draco, and you silently thanked her. You had confided in Hermione about your little crush on Draco, hoping she’d be able to smack some sense into you and help you remember all the cruel things he’s said to you in the past but the thing was… you remembered all those things, you repeated them in your head but it still wasn’t enough to stop you from wondering where he was and letting your eyes linger after him.

The night was drawing to an end, a night filled with endless laughter and dancing. You were on your way to the common room, arm linked with Harry as he swayed with you, drunk on happiness. Passing the courtyards, somehow your eyes spied a figure making it’s way to the black lake, and if it wasn’t for the hair that gleamed under the moonlight, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But you detangled yourself from Harry, him giving you a puzzled look. “I-I think I forgot my bookbag by the lake earlier.”

“Do you want me to go down and look for it with you?” Harry asked, his hair tousled and sweat beading on his forehead from the amount of dancing he was forced to do.

“No, I’ll only be a second,” you said, stepping backwards onto the grass, “I’ll follow you up.” Harry was hesitant to leave you behind, Ron calling his name from inside the castle but he nodded reluctantly. Hogwarts was after all the safest place you could be. You scurried down towards the bed of water, your eyes adjusting to the darkness until you spotted his figure sitting underneath a tree that was naked of leaves.

“Following me, y/l/n?” you could hear the ennui in his voice, and it made you halt your steps. Maybe it was the glee from the October evening that led you to follow him, or maybe it was the dissatisfaction of not knowing how it felt to feel his lips on yours that made you come down here. Pursing your own lips, you took a step back hearing the crinkle of leaves under your foot as you twirled to march back up the hill you practically ran down. Draco sighed, “you can stay.”

You were thankful that it was dark outside, the grin on your face practically glistening at his words. You sat crossed legged in front of him, feeling the October chill kiss your cheeks as his eyes gazed at the stars above you. While his eyes were lost in the nature that surrounded you, your eyes were on his face, taking in every fraction of it up close. How the eleven year old boy with an innocent smirk you met a number of years ago had morphed into the exhausted looking seventeen year man sitting in front of you. His pale face was separated with dark circles hoovering beneath his eyes, his pink lips were chapped and the speck of blood on his bottom lip indicated that he must have been nibbling on them recently.

When the oddly comfortable silence became too much for you, your fingers digging into the grass underneath you, you breathed out a sigh gaining his attention. It was as if he forgot you were there. “Did you have fun tonight?” you asked.

Draco scoffed, his eyes rolling, “I hate Halloween.”

“How can you hate Halloween?” you questioned, your jaw dropping, “It’s practically a holiday dedicated to us!”

“It’s a holiday dedicated to pretending to be someone you’re not, how incredible,” Draco drowned sarcastically.

“Have you never wanted to be someone that wasn’t you?” Draco was stunned at your question, and he so eagerly wanted to scoff and question why would he want to be anyone else, but when he caught sight of your curious eyes, he became speechless. He stared at you like he did in the Great Hall previously, but instead of the lifeless stare that you were accustomed to at this point, his eyes were filled with sorrow and sadness. Of course he wanted to be someone else, the more he thought about it, he’d began to accept the fact that he wanted to be anyone but him. At the mere age of seventeen, he had so much responsibility resting on his shoulders, missions and tasks that he wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone about. He felt as if he was drowning.

“Draco..” you breathed out, your breath fogging underneath the moonlight. Draco barely heard your face, he only came back to reality when he felt your soft, warm hand rest on his cheek and he jumped back in fright. “Hey, it’s just me..” you whispered, wiping the stray tears that were leaking from his eyes without him realising.

Draco scrambled away from you on the grass, and you let your hand drop from his face. The spot you touched tingled as he stood up from the ground, fixing his robe that was draping off his shoulders. “W-why are you here?” he spat at you, his eyes twitching.

You remained on the grass, looking up at his worried expression. You wanted to have an explanation as to why you were suddenly drawn to him, but you didn’t even know. “I-I don’t know, Draco.”

Draco. Draco. Draco. His name that barely passed his ears lately felt like butterflies and fireworks falling from your lips. All he heard these days were Malfoy, no one addressed him as Draco anymore and he didn’t realise how much he needed to hear it, it grounded him. “Say my name again,” he mumbled, barely audible but from the raise of your brow, he knew you heard him.

You stood up from the grass, taking a hesitant step towards him and you waited for him to jump away from you but he didn’t. You closed the gap between your bodies, his breathing racing as he watched every move you made. Lifting your hand to his face again, he let himself relax underneath your touch and his eyes fluttered closed. “Draco,” you said softly, the twitching of the corner of his lips motivating your next move. His stature was slightly taller than you, making you put all your weight on your toes as your lips touched his cheek, “Draco,” you repeated, your lips moving down to his jaw, “Draco..”

You gasped as his hand suddenly gripped the wrist of your hand resting on his cheek. He opened his eyes, a confused look swirling beneath the blue but you never got the chance to see beyond the confusion before his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. You stumbled back at the impact, but he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you. Your lips moved in sync, the kiss rapid and intrusive. He pushed your body up against the large tree trunk, your head hitting the bark and your breath hitching in your throat. “D-Draco,” you stuttered against his lips, trying to push him off you to catch your breath, “What are you doing?”

“I… I just wanted to feel something,” Draco mumbled, almost feeling guilty for kissing you and his eyes casted downwards. He tried to step away from you but you clasped your fingers around his wrist and stopped him. He glanced up at you, the swollen lips a reminder of seconds before.

“How did it feel?” you asked, a smile twitching at the corner of your lips.

The overly confident and obnoxious man that you once knew was nowhere to be found, seemingly lost in the October breeze. When Draco resulted in silence as his answer, you closed the gap again and connected your lips in the second kiss of the evening. This one was more delicate and you could tell he wasn’t expecting it, it took him a moment to kiss you back. Your hands slipped into his, your fingers intertwining as you lost yourself in his touch. He broke the kiss, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, “It feels like a new life,” he finally answered, his heart hammering against his chest, “but please answer this, will you forget about it in the morning?”

“Never.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco #malfoy #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy fanfic #fanfiction #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #tom felton #draco malfoy blurb #draco malfoy headcannon #brickswritingchallenge

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es-kay-zee · 3 years

Text

Fire Alarm pt 2 | Kim Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: Soft Dom!Seungmin, female reader, choking, sir kink, unprotected sex, swearing, slight overstimulation

Word count: 3.5k

__________________________

Finding his bed empty of you was not what Seungmin was expecting when he woke up the next morning. He wasn’t sure just what time you left, but he knew that more than just his bed felt empty without you there. His heart also felt hollow.

Seungmin’s internal emptiness worsened over the next few weeks as you did everything you could to avoid him. It had become a very rare occurrence for you to see him on your way to your room, but when it did happen, you would speed up, ignoring him as you passed. He would try calling out to you, wanting to question why you were being so distant. It wasn’t like you guys were especially close before you had sex with each other, but that didn’t mean your cold actions didn’t hurt Seungmin.

Most nights he lay in bed, wondering what happened. Wondering if there was something he said, or something he did during the course of that night that made you hate him before he would finally drift off into a restless sleep. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since you slept next to him.

On the other hand, you lay in bed each night wondering why you were being such a coward. Why you didn’t have the courage to walk up to Seungmin and tell him how you feel. You already had a small crush on him before, but that night really amplified your feelings. There was something about the way he smiled at you after the mind-blowing sex, something about the way he offered for you to stay, about the way he hugged you into his body in his sleep.

A part of you wishes that you’d stayed that morning. That you hadn’t snuck out at 5am. His arms around you made it more difficult for you to leave, so why did you?

You were scared.

Every single one of your past relationships, your past crushes, had all ended badly; had ended with you getting hurt. You didn’t want that to happen with Seungmin. So, you left. And decided that you would never speak to him again in the desperate hope that this attraction towards him would vanish. Unfortunately, it hadn’t. If anything, you were just left feeling hollow. Like something was missing.

You’d only really spoken to him a handful of times and slept with him the once, so why did you feel so lost without him? Why did you feel so empty?

God, you felt pathetic. Missing a boy that you knew very little about, other than that he makes your heart skip a few beats when you make eye contact with him. But there’s no way he feels the same towards you, right?

Still, no matter how much you missed him, no matter how much you wanted to talk to him, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You refused to have your heart broken by him telling you that he didn’t feel the same things towards you.

Seungmin had been getting restless these last few days. Wanting nothing more than to talk to you. It was really getting to him, to the point where he’d even skipped a couple classes in the hopes that he’d manage to speak to you. It wasn’t like he could focus during class anyway.

He knew it wasn’t healthy, missing you this much. Especially considering he didn’t know much about you. But what he did know from the few times he had talked to you in the past, was that you absolutely adore your family, and he knew that you lit up like the sun when talking about your passion for photography. But it was like there was something about you that drew him in, that made it so hard for him to be away from you.

That’s why he made a deal with himself; the next time he saw you, he’d make you stop and listen to him. Not in a way that would stop you from getting away if you truly wanted to, but every other time he’d tried it was mostly just him calling out your name to get your attention. This time he would try harder.

So, when he saw you walking towards your room one evening a few days later, he approached you.

“Y/n, wait up,” he says, getting closer to you.

You can hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears as he nears, nerves coursing through your veins. Speeding up your already hurried steps, you try to get away from him. But it doesn’t work. He catches up and, before you can even process how close he is, one of his hands reaches out to gently grab your arm.

He pulls you to a stop, but not turning you to face him. Not yet. You take a few deep breaths, a feeble attempt to calm yourself.

“Y/n, please talk to me.” Seungmin’s voice makes you flinch, your entire body on edge. You look up from the ground, seeing your room’s door not too far ahead of you. It wouldn’t take much effort to escape Seungmin’s soft grip and quickly reach the confines of your bedroom. But there’s a part of you that stops you, the part that yearns for Seungmin, the part that wanted to stay in his arms the morning you left. The part that wants to be in his arms all the time.

You take another deep breath, readying yourself to face him before you turn around.

“Okay,” you reply, voice quiet as your eyes lock with his. You can tell that he definitely wasn’t expecting to get this far, that he was entirely prepared for you to just walk away and continue to ignore him for the rest of your lives. But he’s pleasantly surprised at your response.

“Do you wanna come to my room to chat? Or we could go to your room, if that’s more comfortable for you,” he offers, releasing your arm and instead scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah, sure. We can go to my room,” you say, starting to lead the way to your room. Seungmin follows behind you quietly, the silence between you both somewhere between neutral and uncomfortable. It was impossible to ignore the tension between the two of you, and it only worsened when finally reaching and entering you room.

There was something so intimate about letting Seungmin into your bedroom. Letting him see something so personal, as if your bedroom were a gateway for him to see into the innermost workings of your soul. The figurines of your favourite anime characters, the various novels lining your small bookshelf, your various cameras lined up along your desk, every small detail that gives Seungmin a closer glimpse at the person you are, what makes you your own person. The posters on your walls, the small decorating details everywhere, they all make him fall for you even more.

Once the door is closed, the both of you take a seat on the bed. You rest your hands in your lap, twirling them around slowly in anticipation of the coming conversation. The silences between you both continues, neither of you wanting to be the one to break it.

“So…” you begin, the deafening quiet beginning to suffocate you. “What do you wanna talk about?”

You cringe at your own question, both you and Seungmin knowing full-well what the conversation will be about.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asks, getting right to the point.

“I haven’t.” It’s a lie and you both know it, and if he wasn’t already aware of the blatant untruth, then he would have been able to guess by the small crack in your voice.

“Please don’t lie to me, y/n. I just want to know why.”

“Seungmin, I-”

“Did I do something wrong?” he cuts you off, unable to hold back his burning question, and for the first time since entering your room, you look him in the eyes. And the look on his face hurts. His eyes are watery, on the verge of releasing the backed-up tears, and his lips are pulled into a small pout. He looks like it’s taking everything in him to not cry in front of you.

Instinctively, your hands reach out to grab his, your thumbs soothingly rubbing the backs of his hands.

“Hey, no, of course you didn’t do anything wrong, Seungmin,” you say, wanting nothing less than for him to cry.

Your hands on his surprises him, but he’s more focused on you saying his name. He’s caught up on the way it rolls so naturally off your tongue, absolutely in love with the sound.

“Then please tell me why you’re avoiding me. I really like you and I don’t want to lose you just because we slept together.”

His words leave you in shock. ‘I really like you’. Did you hear that right? He likes you?

Seungmin pauses, shocked that he said that aloud. How could he let it slip that he liked you? Now he’s just made a fool of himself.

“Y-you like me?”

Your voice is no higher than a whisper, not entirely sure that you heard him correctly.

“No- Wait- That’s not-, I-” he stutters, struggling to find a way to back-track.

“So, you don’t like me?” you cut him off again, the disappointment clear in the way your shoulders slouch slightly and pull away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort.

“What? No. That’s not what I mean. I do like you; I just didn’t mean to say it. I know you don’t feel the same way…” His voice trails off near the end, growing quieter and quieter with each word spoken.

He raises his head, his eyes meeting yours, and he looks ready to cry again.

A small giggle escapes your lips at the absurdity of the situation, finding it a bit funny that you both were under the impression that feelings weren’t mutual. Seungmin, however, misreads your laughter, instead believing that you were cruel enough to laugh at him for liking you.

“You don’t have to be so mean,” he says, and his words have your laughter dying down.

“No, no, no, no, no I’m not being mean, not at all.” The last few giggles leave you ask you speak.

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because I just find it so funny that we both like each other but neither of us were saying anything. I feel ridiculous for avoiding you.”

You watch Seungmin’s reaction as your words sink in, him slowly realising you’ve just admitted that you like him back.

“Wait, you like me?” he asks, repeating your earlier question back to you, wanting clarification before continuing anything.

“I do,” you nod, and Seungmin brings one of his hands to cup your cheek.

Your skin burns under his touch, the contact has your heart racing even faster than it already was. You watch Seungmin swallow, his eyes switching back and forth between your own and your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Please do.”

And with that, his lips were pressing against yours. The kiss is sweeter than anything you’ve ever experienced, Seungmin trying his best to put all of his feelings forward, wanting you to feel how much he likes you. And you do. You can feel his emotions in the way his lips move slowly with yours, the way his hands cup your cheeks.

He pulls back after a while, leaning his forehead against yours.

“So, you’re telling me that I could have been kissing you sooner if I’d confessed that night?”

“Or if I didn’t avoid you like the plague,” you reply, giggling softly when he places a small kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Well then, I guess we have to make up for the lost time?” he whispers, eyes looking into yours. His question sounded innocent enough, but you could tell the underlying meaning. You move to straddle his lap, resting your hands on the back of his neck while his own hands move to your hips.

“I guess we do,” you reply.

You press your lips back to his in a deeper kiss than the last one, your fingers lacing through his hair and tugging slightly. He groans at the pull, his own hands beginning to roam along your sides, occasionally gripping your shirt in his fists.

The kiss deepens even further, and your hips uncontrollably begin to grind down against Seungmin’s. You both moan at the friction, and you can feel him grow hard under you. His fingers start to toy with the hem of your shirt, itching to remove the obstructing cloth.

You pulled back from him, lifting your shirt up and off by yourself before diving back into the kiss. His hands immediately resume exploring your skin, fingertips dancing along the skin of your back and sides. His touch leaves goosebumps in their wake and you almost find yourself already begging for more.

His hands find rest upon the clasp of your bra, once again wanting the clothing gone. He pauses the kiss, looking you in the eye to ask your permission.

“Can I?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your use of his desired nickname ignites something in him, and you quickly find yourself laying on your back upon your bed, bra removed and tossed to the other side of your room. His lips attach to the soft expanse of your throat, sucking dark hickies into the flesh. One of his hands massages your breast – while the other holds his weight – and his thumbs traces over your sensitive nipple, eliciting breathy moans from you. His lips move downwards, briefly tugging on your other bud before continuing lower. His kisses trail down your stomach until he reaches the top of your jeans. He pauses, looking at you for permission and he unbuttons them once he receives the affirmation, tugging the clothing down and off of you.

He groans at the sight in front of him; you, laying naked bar your underwear. His fingers immediately begin to run up and down your covered pussy, and you moan at the contact. Fuck, you’d missed this. You’d only experienced him once, but that didn’t mean you weren’t craving his touch the entire time you’d been avoiding him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Seungmin says, feeling your slick through your soaked underwear.

“O-only for you,” you reply as he removes your underwear as well, Seungmin now having an unobstructed view of your dripping folds.

You flinch slightly when his breath hits your core, and he has little hesitation in running his tongue up your entrance. Your hands shoot down, quickly tangling themselves in his soft hair as a way to ground yourself. At the sound of your quiet whines, Seungmin begins to truly dive in, sucking and nibbling at your clit.

Your hips buck upwards, trying to gain even more friction, but Seungmin is having none of that. One of his arms lays across your waist, pinning your hips down against the bed.

"Stay still." You immediately stop trying to move your hips, instead staying still while Seungmin continues to pleasure you.

He brings his free hand to your core, fingers prodding at your entrance before sliding a couple in and your back arches at the intrusion.

His fingers thrust in and out, biceps flexing with each move. Digits curling every now and then, pressing against the spot that has your knot tightening. His lips continue their assault against your clit, teeth gently grazing against the bud.

"S-Seungmin, I'm g-gonna-" you warn, but he's already well aware of how close you are, so he sucks extra harshly at your bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Your entire body shakes as you cum, legs twitching on either side of Seungmin's head and a loud moan tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers continue moving inside you, riding out your high, only pulling away once you come down.

He moves back up your body, colliding his lips with yours once again and letting you taste yourself. Seungmin moves away from you again, removing his clothes and settling back into his position above you.

He takes his cock in his hand, rubbing the head up and down your slit. You whine, your impatience getting the better of you as you buck your hips up in an attempt to get him to enter you.

"Stop moving," he orders, hands moving to your hips, his grip tight enough to bruise.

Your submissiveness shows itself when you do as he says, stilling your movements immediately.

Please, sir," you beg, wanting little more than to have him deep inside you already.

Seungmin looks down at you, his eyes taking in your fucked out expression. He slowly begins pushing into you, and your breath hitches at the stretch. It's only when he's fully bottomed out that you try to calm your breathing again.

“Holy shit, I f-forgot how tight you are,” he says breathily, attempting to catch his own breath.

He remains still inside you, struggling to maintain his composure. But when you clench your walls around him in an attempt to get him to move, all sense of self-control is thrown out the window. His thrusts are swift and forceful, already bringing you towards the precipice of pleasure. Your panting is loud, throat dry at the constant flow of air. The knot in your stomach is coiling tight once more, but there’s still something missing.

“Please,” you say, barely able to speak through the dryness of your throat.

“Please what?” Seungmin asks, not entirely sure what you’re asking for.

“Please choke me.”

“Oh? Did my precious baby like getting choked last time?” He’s just teasing you now, but he still brings one of his hand to your throat, fingers wrapping around gently, applying only a little pressure. “Like this?”

You shake your head ‘no’ as much as you can, desperate for more.

“Harder.”

His grip on your throat tightens, much harsher than before. And it’s perfect; the way you can still breathe, but only just enough. Seungmin’s pace doesn’t slow, and you revel in the hushed moans that he can’t hold back, happy to know you’re the one making him feel so good. His free hand moves to your chest again, pinching one of your perked nipples, twisting and rolling the bud between his fingers. His skilled touch was giving you a new-found appreciation for his hands.

The knot tightens impossible tighter, threatening to snap at any moment, and Seungmin can tell. The was you’re clenching around him uncontrollably, the way your legs shake, and the whimpers that leave your delicate lips.

“Can I- C-can- please,” you babble, struggling to get your words out, but luckily, Seungmin could tell what you’re trying to ask. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

“Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

His words are all you need to unravel, your back arching as you cum all over his cock. His hand leaves your chest, instead clamping over your mouth to silence your loud moans, him not sure if you wanted those in the neighbouring bedrooms to hear you. He doesn’t slow his thrusts, riding out your high and chasing his own pleasure. You whine as the overstimulation begins to set in once you’ve recovered from your second orgasm. The whines turn to whimpers as it slowly becomes too much, and he pulls his hand away from your throat.

“Almost there, y/n. You’re doing so well for me, yeah? So, so well,” he says, his hips beginning to stutter as he nears his own end. And it only takes a couple more thrusts for Seungmin to finish, painting your walls white. He slowly pulls out, checking you over to make sure you’re okay. He loves how you look right now, chest still heaving, throat and collarbones littered with dark hickies, cheeks flushed. You look beautiful. Seungmin can’t help the way his heart swells at the sight, absolutely adoring how you look.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his chest and running his finger slowly through your hair. Even though he only got to do it once before, he truly missed holding you.

“So,” he begins, a smile on his face. “Does this mean you’ll go on an actual date with me?”

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with a joy that can’t be contained. “Of course it does.”

Seungmin can’t hide it as his smile grows impossibly wide, feeling so happy at the confirmation that he finally gets to go out with you. He hugs you tight as he peppers your face with kisses.

“How about, tomorrow night? We can put together a picnic and go cloud watching or something. We could chat for a while, get to know each other better. Fall in love.”

“That sounds perfect,” you giggle at his last statement, enjoying how happy he is.

You’re not sure if you and Seungmin are gonna end up in love, but who know. You could. For the moment, at least, you like each other. And whether or not this ends up with you both in love doesn’t matter. That’s for future thought. Right now, all that matters is that you finally have each other.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #skz seungmin smut #stray kids seungmin smut

148 notes · View notes

hongism · 3 years

Text

the little things - j.yunho

↣ pairing: yunho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.3k ↣ summary: it’s been quite some time since these intrusive thoughts came around, but whenever they do, there’s always one person in particular who comes to brush them away. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, seasonal depression, and general Sad Feelings

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops drums against the window, filling it with strewn and random patterns of the water that falls from the sky, and you watch the movements with a blank mind. It’s a cold and resigned feeling that blossoms in your gut as you sit by the windowsill, elbow propped up on the wood and chin resting atop your clenched fist. You could sit here for hours just examining each little dragging drop on the glass, maybe even seeing which drop can reach the bottom of the window fastest, but instead, you pull back with a quiet sigh falling from your lips.

Winter.

You aren’t sure how to explain it but the season is simultaneously your favorite and least favorite wrapped into one lovely little bundle. The air outside isn’t quite cold enough to let snow fall and stick to the ground quite yet — hence the rain — but the season brings you as much joy as it does pain and emptiness. You enjoy the snow and seeing what kinds of animals hustle and bustle in their winter coats outside your cottage, and you love seeing the way the sun bounces off the icy lakes and rivers nearby or how the evergreen trees catch hold of little snowflakes. But those are just temporary things that don’t last in the long run because you cannot shake the dismal feeling that begins to enter your gut around autumn.

Living alone in your little cottage has its perks, of course, although they always seem few and far between when it comes time for this seasonal plague to grip your mind. Work is always most busy in the winter as well, which only adds to your despondent mood when you cannot spend more than an hour in the presence of your lovers. So really, it’s one bad thing after another, a myriad of bad to worse that leaves you in tears at the end of the day more often than not.

You should probably be working now, at least filling next week’s orders or double-checking the ones you finished bottling earlier today. There is hardly any energy in you right now though, so the best you can do is blink a few times and stare out the window again.

It’s in times like these when you truly consider Seonghwa’s never-ending offer. The season wouldn’t be nearly so difficult if you lived with the rest of them in the coven’s home. Yet it is near impossible for you to entertain the thought while in this state. Your mind prefers to be less than kind and give you endless scenarios that have you biting back tears and crying yourself to sleep.

Maybe they don’t really want you. They have each other. Why would they need you on top of that? Seonghwa just pities you because you act so pathetic. You would just be a burden if you lived with them. You aren’t a witch like they are, you don’t have any magical abilities in you, what could you provide? They can do all the things you do in half the time surely. You are, quite literally, useless in their eyes.

Sometimes the thoughts become more cruel and harsh than that, all following the same theme of not being needed or wanted. And as much as you want to rely on them for comfort and support, you lose the internal battles more often so you resign yourself to sitting in a bed of your own tears and heartbreak. Fall asleep eventually, wake up, work until you cannot stand anymore, then repeat the process.

This week alone has seemed to pack more of a punch than any of the previous years of this seasonal plague, but that could be because you haven’t been through a winter alone like this since before your relationship with the coven started. Last year, Wooyoung and Jongho took to living in your cottage throughout the whole season just to keep you company. Perhaps the reason they are not here this year is because you’ve become too much, too burdensome, too emotionally draining to be around. Logic tells you that is not the case. That melancholy black dog residing in your mind does not.

Someone will surely be by to visit soon given how quiet you’ve been these last few days. You’re shocked that no one has come by sooner, but the second you begin to think about it, the black dog returns to barking loudly where he sits in your thoughts. The noise in your head is so loud and overwhelming that you actually have to push away from the window, shaking your head fervently and jerking out of your chair in a desperate attempt to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

The voice intrudes on your ugly thoughts, and it fills you with panic before anything else. You whip around in your little window seat, eyes immediately looking towards the door to your bedroom which is now cracked open. You can’t see anyone behind the door or in the room, and merely hearing your name did not give you enough clues as to who could possibly be in your home at this time.

“Baby, are you in here?” The noise resounds again, and this time you recognize it better.

Yunho. Why is Yunho here? A shadowy figure pushes past the doorframe, and your lover slips through the opening with his shoulder. You try to hide your signs of panic, furiously blinking away the tears that begin to spring to your eyes. Why is he here? Did someone send him? Maybe they sent him to tell you that the relationship is over. He is best at handling emotionally charged conversations since he’s a fae and can influence thoughts and emotions. Maybe Hongjoong and Seonghwa decided that he would be best for delivering the news or—

“Hi, love, I didn’t know if you were home because you didn’t answer the door.” Yunho pushes a soft smile onto his lips, and as he fully steps into view, you catch sight of the two mugs in his hands. You can’t see the contents in them, but there are small wisps of steam curling up from both as Yunho comes closer to where you’re sitting. “I saw the kettle boiling away though so I figured you wouldn’t up and leave with it still running.”

Yunho doesn’t stop moving until he reaches the window seat, and he extends one of the mugs towards you. The inside of a mix of green of brown, no doubt some type of tea that he’s brewed for you. You take it with a slight nod and restrained smile.

“I know Hongjoong said you didn’t want to be bothered without notice but…” Yunho trails off, cheeks glowing a bit red. “I was worried about you since this time of year is always hard for you.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your tone is too clipped and noncommittal to be normal. Yunho surely knows that it is more than a simple white lie. “Did one of them send you?” He most likely knows who you’re talking about, but he shows more confusion than anything else.

“Why would one of them send me?” He asks as he eases down in front of you on the window seat. You blink back with a bit of dazed wonder to your stare, half-expecting Yunho to explain further, but he just sits and waits patiently for you to speak again.

“To – to make the conversation easier?”

“What conversation?” Yunho leans across the space between your bodies, and his free hand spreads forward to tangle with yours. You let him interlock your fingers. It’s a small comfort that sends shockwaves through your body. It hasn’t even been that long since you last saw one of the witches, but you’re still somehow so desperately touch-starved that just the slight touch has tears springing to your eyes. “Oh, my baby, sweet angel, what’s wrong?”

Yunho pushes forward until he’s all but in your lap at this point, hand tugging the mug free from your hands, and he sets it down beside his own on the windowsill before returning his full attention to you. He tugs you into his embrace, arms folding around your body until he can loop his hands about your waist.

“Why did you think I came, baby?” He asks once you’re fully secured in his lap.

“I just — when I saw you — I-I don’t know. M-My mind said that it had to be – that you were here to end things or something. I don’t know, I’m just rambling, I don’t know what I’m saying or what I was thinking. I’m s-sorry, I—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Y/n,” Yunho interjects, drawing a hand up from your waist to brush over your scalp. “Don’t ever apologize for something you can’t control. Those thoughts are not your fault. Did you want to have them?”

“N-No, of course not, why would I ever want that?” You mumble against Yunho’s shoulder. He hums into your hair, lips pressing a soft kiss to the same spot, then he lifts his chin a bit to rest it atop your head.

“Then it isn’t something you need to apologize for, baby. Not now, not ever.” You cling tighter to Yunho’s body out of sheer instinct, and he picks up on your grip in less than a second. “Our minds… regardless of how strong and resilient we are, they can be cruel. They can lie to us, tell us awful and heartbreaking things, lead us to believe the impossible with ease. Sometimes it is easier to cave in and listen to those demons rather than reason, but that doesn’t mean you are weak. The strongest person in the universe can be broken by his own mind because that is all part of human nature.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff out as a few tears begin to soak through Yunho’s tunic. “You aren’t human.” Yunho laughs a bit at your quip, not at all offended by it. Perhaps it’s a bit childish for you to pull that card, but Wooyoung pulls it out every time the pair have a disagreement without fail, so what’s the harm in you using it just this once?

“Perhaps not, but I still understand emotions and thoughts better than any human could. And having lived for so long, I think—”

“You don’t need to pull the age card,” you whine.

“If you’re going to act like Wooyoung, then I’ll treat you just like him too.”

Admittedly, your mind is still elsewhere and you aren’t fully engaged in the conversation now, head propped on Yunho’s shoulder in such a way so that you can stare out the window and watch the rainfall again. He doesn’t comment on your silence and merely eases the both of you back until he’s leaning against the wall with you neatly draped over his larger form.

“Do you love me?” You ask after some time passes. It catches Yunho a bit off-guard, and his breath hitches sharply, hand pausing in its rhythmic drags over the small of your back.

“Always and forever, baby,” he says once he recovers a bit. He pauses, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out what to say next. “We all love you. We would never lead you on or toy with your feelings. You are more than enough, but never too much. While it’s easy to lose yourself in these feelings of loneliness, we would never blame you for feeling them.”

“Isn’t it hard on you too though?” You ask, balling your fist around the material of his shirt.

“It’s hard for all of us, darling. Seeing you in pain and hurting is never easy. There are some things we cannot fix though. We can ease the pain for a time, but certain things never go away. Sure, we can make them easier to manage and handle, we can provide methods that will help support you and help you not feel so alone, we can do everything in our power to help you. We cannot pretend to be able to fix you. You have the strength to overcome it; we support you when times are tough and help you up when you fall. Because we love you, care about you, cherish you, and want the best for you. That… that doesn’t make it easy, but it is never easy to work through these sorts of things.”

“How can you be so patient with me?”

“Why would I ever want to rush something that takes time? I don’t need to put a time limit on you, and we certainly don’t have a time limit on our relationship. Thus we are willing to wait as long as it takes even if it just means making winters easier to handle and manage.” Yunho’s hands trace patterns over your skin, slipping under the hem of your shirt to have more contact with you. The sudden chill of his fingers sends goosebumps over you. He cracks a small smile as you shiver in his grasp and tucks you closer to his body without saying anything for several minutes.

It’s comfortable and needed right now, easing the dull and aching pain in your chest, but as Yunho said, it doesn’t completely take it away. Makes it manageable and easier to breathe. It’s enough, more than you could have asked for, and what you were wanting so desperately. It was just too hard to admit it and voice it to them.

“I did talk with Hongjoong before coming,” Yunho says after letting the silence drag into something warm and comfortable. You hum in acknowledgment, too content in his arms to move in the slightest. “Asked him if we could prepare the guest room.”

“Is someone coming into town?” You mumble through the sudden wave of drowsiness washing over your bones.

“No, I — we... we were hoping that you could come live with us, at least through the end of winter.”

That causes you to perk up, and you sit up, hands firmly planted on Yunho’s chest so you can better look him in the eye.

“What?”

“I know last year Wooyoung and Jongho came to live in with you, but we were thinking that perhaps it would be easier on you if you just came to live with us. It doesn’t have to be permanent if you don’t want it to be. Don’t – it isn’t meant to pressure you or anything like that. Merely an offer. Something we can do to help you. I figured having a room to yourself would give you an opportunity to have a space on your own for when you need it. The goal isn’t to eliminate all your alone time, as that is just as important as spending time with others, but a fresher perspective might help. Or even just having the option to sleep beside someone every night could help with the loneliness.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and the gentle smile pulling at Yunho’s lips only makes you want to sob from how touched you are. Yunho sees the sudden twist in your expression. His hands dart up to cradle your face, eyes falling into soft crescents as a more bashful smile overtakes his features.

“Are those happy tears or sad ones?”

“I d-don’t know how to respond,” you whisper through a small sob, and Yunho tugs you down to his chest again. He rocks your form back and forth as best he can with the awkward angle, but it provides the right amount of comfort for you to settle against him once more.

“Think about you, baby. You don’t need to answer right away. Seonghwa won’t mind extra time to clean, of course.”

“Or I could just sleep with you until it’s cleaned to his liking.” You smother the words in his clothes to keep him from hearing them, but that is to no avail because he huffs out a loud laugh at your comment nonetheless.

“Or I could stay with you here until you’re ready to make a decision.”

You twist in his grasp to look him in the eye again, searching his dark gaze for… something you aren’t wholly aware of. The light from outside — a dull and grey-toned white light — reflects off his eyes and shows off those pretty purple flecks in them. The allure of his features hits in that moment, the dastardly effect of staring too long at a fae, but Yunho blinks his eyes shut before you fall into a daze.

“Don’t let me influence your decision. It’s up to you as always. I am content to do whatever is more comfortable to you, so you—”

You cut him short with a swift peck pressed to the tip of his nose, and Yunho scrunches up his face at the suddenness of the action. His eyes flutter open once more but this time you don’t stare directly into them.

“You’re the devil,” he grumbles, but the smile on his lips betrays how flustered he really is.

“Don’t laugh too hard, I’m comfortable here.”

“Is that a smile I see?”

“I love you,” you murmur, ignoring the question for the time being. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind all too much. “Thank you. Both for being here and for helping me think clearer.”

“Always, darling. I may not be human like you, but I do love you and want the best for you. And I know the other would do the same whenever you need it.” You respond with another quick kiss to the tip of his nose, but this time Yunho catches you when you pull back and he plants a kiss on your lips before you can duck completely away. “As comfortable as this is, I am quickly losing feeling in my ass, so maybe we could resituate or go to the bed?”

“I don’t know, you make for a rather nice cushion.”

“I wonder if this is how Yeosang felt when I accidentally sat on him,” Yunho whines, slumping further back against the wall. You slap his chest with a bit of force as he complains.

“He was in his cat form and you put the full weight of your ass on him!‌ That’s completely different!”

“He survived, didn’t he?”

“Then you’ll survive having a numb ass for a little while.”

“I hate when you’re right. It’s too sexy and makes me think of inappropriate things.”

“So you’re still a man, after all, fae or not.” You land another quick jab to the side of Yunho’s head as he laughs. He doesn’t complain any longer though, even as you force him to lie completely flat on the window sill with your body still draped over his like a blanket.

“Wooyoung is downstairs, by the way.” Yunho distracts you from the sudden revelation by pressing a line of kisses down the side of your face.

“What?”

“He’s cooking dinner for us, I believe. And drawing a bath for you. We wanted to treat you.” He layers the words with more kisses, pausing over your lips to say one more thing. “Shit, wait, I think I was supposed to be in charge of the bath actually.”

“Yunho!”

“I’ll make Wooyoung do it after dinner so I can cuddle you some more.”

...

a/n: this one feels rather weak compared to the others but i was trying not to be too heavy handed with all the emotions and such in it so that’s why it might feel a little ~awkward~

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thetaleoflevi · 3 years

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Role Reversal

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Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Content Type: SFW, Angst, Fluff

Content Warnings: Mentions of death, emotional breakdown, explicit language

Description: Levi and Reader’s roles are reversed. Reader is the Captain and humanity’s strongest soldier with the apathetic attitude, and Levi is the ordinary (not so ordinary) soldier with a less cynical view on life.

Word Count: 5.8k+

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It was another late night of you sitting in your dimly lit office, filling out countless reports of the bodies that weren’t recovered after the last expedition. A sigh of sorrow escaped your lips, followed by you rubbing the bridge of your nose. So many good people were gone in the blink of an eye and you had to be the one to fill out the pages that informed their loved ones that the Scout Regiment was unable to bring them back home. Death was a subject that haunted your dreams ever since you joined the Scouts. It’s much worse now that you’ve been given the trust and responsibility that comes with the title of ‘Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.’

You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard a voice coming from your bedroom. “Come to bed, Captain Y/N. You work too hard.” Through the open door, you can see Levi sitting on your bed, head against the headboard and legs crossed. He was smirking, knowing you hated being addressed by your title when it was just you and him.

You let it slide, knowing that if it weren’t for him you’d be a fully developed insomniac. He’s very persistent when it comes to taking care of you. “Come lay with me.” He called once again. “I can’t, Levi. I have to finish this up or else i’ll have to do it tomorrow. We have that meeting with Erwin and all the officers tomorrow, so this would only take up more of my time.” You picked up your pen again and began writing the name of another deceased soldier. “I miss you.” You can hear the longing in his voice. “I know.” You mumbled, not looking up. Your brows furrowed as you wrote ‘Deceased’, under the soldier’s name.

“Then if you’re not coming to me, i’m coming to you.” You hear the rustling of Levi throwing your blanket off of his lap. His footsteps are quiet, but with your dog-like hearing you’re able to know where he is. In a few seconds he’s standing behind you, his chin taking its place on your head.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” He questioned, feeling happier now that he’s next to you. “Missing body reports.” That was all you could say about it—all you wanted to say about it. “Almost my entire squad was demolished.” You whispered to yourself as you moved on to the third deceased member of your squad. It was a young girl. She hadn’t been a Scout for more than two years, yet she came to know and love everyone as if they were the family she was born into. She had just turned seventeen, making her the second youngest member to have been on your squad.

“I’m sorry, love. I know I can’t make this hurt you’re feeling go away.” He stood up straight and tucked strands of hair that fell in your face behind your ear. “Do you want to sit on my lap while you work?” He knew exactly what to do to make you feel better, and you never declined his offer. “Yes, please.” You pushed back and rose from the wooden chair. You moved a little to your right to allow him to sit down.

With the way you were so compliant when it came to him, no one who hadn’t met you before would guess that you were the Captain and humanity’s strongest soldier. You looked like a teddy bear sitting on his lap, meanwhile his features are fierce and he was able to shut people up without intending to. In reality, he’s very approachable and kind.

His chest was to your back, his arms around your torso, his chin on your shoulder. He gave you the strength to continue writing with less of a shake in your hand. “I want you to sleep tonight, Y/N. Not on the couch, not in here—but next to me on your bed.” You could feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder. You finished writing the sentence you had started and responded to his request. “I’m not gonna promise you that. You’re welcome to sleep on the bed if you want, though.”

Your heart dropped when you heard him sigh quietly. It felt like he was disappointed in you, when really he just wanted to hold you close for a few hours. It helped him forget the monstrous reality you both lived in.

You felt him adjust for the last time on your shoulder, tilting his head to the side. You didn’t pay attention to him as he did so, focusing on the last deceased member of your squad. The youngest, at the young age of fifteen, was gone. How cruel does the world have to be to end the life of someone who was born into mayhem? Who never saw or experienced peace?

You didn’t notice Levi had fallen asleep until you felt soft breathing on your neck. Wisps of hair had fallen messily on his face and his arms loosened around your torso. It was a beautiful, calming sight. He looked so innocent and at ease. You reached down to where his hands rested on your stomach and squeezed his palm softly. For the duration of the time you spent working, your hand ghosted around his. He stirred awake every once in a while which resulted in you whispering for him to go back to sleep. Each time he would re-tighten his arms around you, nudging you like a puppy until he was comfortable again.

It was three in the morning when you finally got through the pile of work. It wouldn’t have taken so long if you had saved the reminiscing for later when you felt the guilt begin to eat you alive.

As you tapped the stack of papers against the desk to get them together neatly, you felt the urge to apologize to Levi for putting him down earlier. He didn’t have to stay with you. He has his own room to sleep in, yet he decided to grace you with his company.

You realized you have a few hours left until you have to get ready for the day. Why not try to sleep?

Levi was sleeping soundly, soft snores coming from him. You smiled a little at the form of his pouty lips. “Levi, baby.” You whispered, reaching your left hand to push his bangs away from his eyes. His eyes fluttered open, silver-turned-blue irises glowing in the orange light of the candle. He gave you the softest smile you had ever seen and kissed your shoulder before straightening his posture.

“Let’s go to the room.” You murmured to him. “Are you done?” He asked in a raspy sleep-filled voice. “Yes. Let’s go to sleep.” You stood up from his lap. He groaned as he moved his legs, trying to get rid of the numbness. You extended your hand to him and helped him stand.

He held onto your hand as you crossed the doorway between your office and bedroom. You split ways as he went to one side of the bed and you other. While he laid down instantly, you sat with your head against the headboard and one knee up.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to sleep.” He mumbled with his eyes closed. “How would you know? You can’t even see me.” You raised an eyebrow. “I can’t feel you close enough to me, plus…” He patted around until he felt your leg bent at the knee. “…your leg shouldn’t be bent like this.” He grabbed your shin and slowly unbent your leg to match the other one.

“Take my form as an example of how you should be laying.” He opened his eyes, waiting for you to recline. You slowly lowered yourself, propping yourself on your elbows as your back neared the mattress. Levi brought your arm down so that you were flat against the bed, head meeting a pillow. You turned to Levi who was now closer. “I can’t promise you that i’ll be sleeping, but i’ll lay here with you.”

He rubbed his thumb slowly against your cheek. “That’s enough for me, beautiful. I’m just happy you’re here with me.” He slugged closer to you, his face nuzzling into your chest.

It was incredible how this man was able to make you feel things that no one else could. His heart slowed as he drifted to sleep, but yours was pounding. You hoped the sound or the feeling wouldn’t bother him. It was his fault, yet you felt guilty.

The bags under his eyes were visible in the light that peered through your windows. You brushed them as gently as possible, as if you could magically get rid of them. It’s been a rough life. Sleep is a luxury that you don’t think you deserve. If you could give your unused hours of sleep to him, you would.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, running your fingers through his locks of hair. You skimmed the short hairs of his undercut with your knuckles, you could tell he recently cut his hair. He always looked so handsome, sometimes you wondered if you were pretty enough for him. Insecurity was something that often creeped its way into your brain, but you aren’t the type to fish for compliments or make your lack of confidence obvious. If you were to be that way, you wouldn’t make it as a Captain. Having Levi reminds you of how fortunate you are to be alive. He is, and will always be enough for you.

—

Those hours you had went by too quickly. In what felt like a few minutes, it was six in the morning and the sun was beginning to rise. You had to start getting ready for the meeting that started at seven thirty. Your eyes felt heavy, which wasn’t a foreign feeling, but apart from that you felt alright. You slowly released yourself from Levi’s hold so that you could get your clothes for after your shower.

“Come back.” Levi whined, extending his arms in your direction. “We have to get ready for our meeting. I’m gonna shower, i’ll be out soon.” He pouted defeatedly and got out of bed.

You relaxed as the lukewarm water washed down your body. Was it the time to have your mental breakdown? Sadly, no. Not while Levi was outside.

You heard the door open and heard Levi say something indistinctly. “What was that?” You asked. “I said sorry for barging in. I need to fix my hair.” He repeated. You hummed in response. Levi, who was usually a great conversation starter, was dead silent. He was contemplating whether or not he should ask you if you’re okay.

“Hey, Y/N?” He rummaged through your drawers in search of a comb. “Hmm?” “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” You lathered your body with soap and replied with another hum. “Right?” He prompted. “Yes, I do.” You answered. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

The water cascaded down your body, bringing soapy water to the floor. “Not anything in particular.” He frowned, knowing that if you didn’t talk to him when he was around, you’d eventually be left to fight your inner demons alone.

His hair was done but he kept messing it up and combing it again just so that he could keep talking to you. “Please promise me that if you’re ever not okay, we’ll talk about it.” Your face went neutral, unable to pinpoint what made him talk this way suddenly. “I’m not gonna fall apart on you, Levi. Who am I to do so?” You rubbed a few bubbles of soap off of your collarbone under the stream then reached for the shampoo bottle. “You’re my everything. I need to know what’s going on inside that brain of yours.”

You distributed the runny substance to your scalp and mane of hair. The scalp massage you gave yourself was very much needed given the constant weight you felt on you shoulders. A minute later, the foamy texture was rinsed out and you turned the water off. You peeped your head out of the shower, hand reaching for the towel hanging on the steel bar. Levi looked at you from the corner of his eye, enticed by the sight of you being drenched. You got a hold of your towel and shut the shower curtains, missing the light blush that appeared on his face.

You wrapped the towel around your body and stepped out of the shower, not looking in Levi’s direction as you separated your jacket from the dirty clothes. “Do you want me to get out?” The rosy tint was there again. “No, it’s alright. I’ll change in the room.” You took your clothes and shut the door behind you. You dressed into another white button-up and tucked it into your white trousers.

A knock came from the bathroom door. “Can I come in? It’s hot in here.” Levi asked, voice muffled. You internally laughed evilly. “Yeah, I’m done.” The door clicked open and he instantly searched the room for you. You were putting your belt on. “I’m ready to go. Do you need help with your straps?” Please say yes. Please say yes. “Yes, please and thank you. I need to do my hair.” You went to the bathroom and grabbed your hairbrush before returning to your bed.

Levi was waiting on your bed with the leather bands that went around your chest and limbs. “Let’s start with your thighs.” He picked up the brown material. You sat on the bed, lifting a leg to allow him to slip the bands under. He wrapped the pieces of leather around your thighs gently, tightening them the appropriate amount needed and buckling them. This procedure was followed by a kiss applied to each area that was strapped, and a look up at you afterwards. You give him a small smile while you continue to brush your hair.

He finished with the straps that went on your legs, waiting for you to finish brushing your hair to do the ones for your arms and chest.

You put your hair into a ponytail and he immediately began slipping your arms through the leather loops. He buckled the strap that went slightly above your chest, intense eye contact from him while doing so. “What?” You asked curiously. “Oh, nothing.” He placed the awaited kiss and moved down to your abdomen to attach the last two straps to your belt. He placed the last kisses on your stomach, straightening from his slightly hunched position after.

“Thank you, Levi.” If you were more like him, you would make it more clear that you loved him. You would say that you loved him more often. They were his three favorite words coming from you because he knew that you found difficulty saying them, yet you managed to get them out for him. You’ve only said it to him three times before, the rest of the time you show him.

“It’s no bother at all. I wanted to give you some extra love as well because…I know something is off. I’m not gonna push you about it, but please talk to me about it when you can.” You nodded as you put your camel colored jacket on. “Are you ready to go?” You asked, mediocrely fixing your bed. You were going to come back to wash your entire set anyway. “Yeah, let’s go.”

—

It was seven twenty-five when you both got to the meeting room. Familiar faces surrounded you. You sat next to Erwin who sat at the head of the table. You’re his right hand woman, and he trusts you with his life to say the least. Levi sat to your left as your right hand man. He acted as your emotional support, mostly to keep you calm and collected when you thought something wasn’t right and were being misunderstood when you voiced your concerns.

Once the clock struck seven thirty, Erwin began the meeting. “Good morning, everyone. We’re gathered here to brainstorm a plan for our next expedition outside of the walls. Today we’ll be discussing squad reformations and routes that can help lower the amount of casualties and injuries in our battalion. Our next meeting will consist of looking over what we come up with today and confirming the actions we will be taking.” Your hands immediately clenched into fists when your heard ‘next expedition.’ We just went through with one two days ago. The number of casualties and injured soldiers is too high to go outside the walls again so soon.

Levi’s hand found your forearm and squeezed gently. With the amount of times your concerns have been shot down, you were just about done trying to object anything your Commander said in regards to exiting the walls. He was so strong headed and able to defend his methods that you often gave up trying to convince him that there were flaws in his thought processes. You relaxed your hands and sat through the rest of the meeting with your usual stoic expression. Your surface did not reflect the way you felt inside at all.

“Captain Y/N, what do you think of the plan we’ve arranged so far?” The blonde haired man asked, facing you. Should I go for it? Should I tell him what I think just to get shut down again? “It’s a good plan, I just have one concern.” He folded his hands and nodded in an understanding manner. Levi turned to pay attention to the conversation between you and Erwin. The officers were discussing ideas amongst themselves.

“I think it’s too soon to go outside the walls again. I was filling out the reports for the soldiers that died during the last expedition, and we lost a grand number of soldiers.” “Yes, you’re right about that. Our next expedition won’t be for a while though. I noticed the amount of soldiers that came back injured is just as large as those that died, so i’m giving them time to recuperate. The squad reformations we’ve made are just incase our wounded soldiers are not capable of joining us in our next expedition. If they aren’t physically well by the time our next expedition takes place, the squad reformations will be confirmed.”

He agrees? He agrees. “Oh, alright. Then we’re off to a great start with this plan.” He nodded and smiled with satisfaction.

The meeting ended in a little over an hour. Erwin dismissed everyone and made sure to praise you for your input before exiting the room to continue brainstorming alone.

“I’m proud of you, Captain!” Levi beamed a smile and pulled you into an embrace that you refused to reciprocate. The public display of affection had heat creeping to your cheeks even if there was no one in the room but you two. People were walking past the door constantly, and the thought of being seen like this was embarrassing to an extent. “Thank you, Levi. Let’s get out of here.”

—

Lunchtime finally arrived and usually you sat with Hange, Levi, and Erwin, but Hange and Erwin were both busy with their own things so it was just you and Levi. You weren’t hungry, the thought of your fallen comrades slowly beginning to bombard your thoughts again. It brought an unsettling feeling to your stomach.

“You should eat something.” Levi said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m not hungry. I think i’m gonna go to my office to finish some more work.” “Okay, i’ll go with you.” He said feeling overjoyed to spend more time alone with you. “You don’t have to. I’m just gonna be filling out more papers.” You rubbed the back of your neck. Levi’s clinginess was another reason you loved him. You like the idea of him wanting to be around you all the time, but it’s not a problem if he spends a day without you as well. You withstand the time apart better than he does.

“I want to, though. I like spending time with you even if i’m just watching you do work.” You looked at his teacup that was still three fourths of the way full. “At least finish your tea. You can meet me in my office once you’re done.” You rose from the bench looking at him as he set the porcelain cup down. “Fine, i’ll see you in a bit, Captain.” He stood up and gave you one of his perfect salutes. You nodded and left the table.

—

Throughout your years as a Scout, you’ve seen death left and right. You made it your mission to remain as closed off to others as you could to protect yourself from anymore heartache, but Levi managed to break into your heart by force. He just wouldn’t leave you alone, so you let your guard down for him, seeing the way he cared for you like you were his favorite person in the world. He dealt with your mood swings, he stayed after you pushed him away, and he understood your significance to the Scout Regiment and all the weight you bear solely. He understood that you being deemed humanity’s strongest soldier isn’t just a fancy title, it’s a heavy anchor that weighs on your shoulders.

You opened the door to your office, shutting it behind you before you went further into the room.

You went to your desk and sat down in the wooden chair. A sound came from underneath your boots, making you look down to inspect the area. You crouched down to pick up a paper that had fallen out of the stack of reports you had filled out. ‘Name:_____| Age: 15 yrs| Gender: Male…’ read the beginning of the description. The young boy, once so full of joy and life, was narrowed down to a sheet of paper with a pitiful explanation for why he will never be seen again. You sat on the floor underneath your desk reading the rest of the description. ‘Hair color: Black| Eye color: Hazel| Height: 5’6| Weight: 152 lbs…’

You felt the urge to cry, but tears wouldn’t form. The floor was not at all comfortable, but it brought comfort knowing that your lack of emotional stability wouldn’t be witnessed at first glance. You weren’t visible to anyone under your desk, so if you really wanted to break down, now would be your chance.

A knock came from the other side of your door. That was too quick, Levi. You didn’t answer, still deep in thought and overcome by treacherous feelings.

The door opened without your permission and you didn’t even care. “Y/N, are you in here?” Levi’s footsteps got further as he walked past your desk and into your bedroom. “Are you in here?” He opened the bathroom door, not seeing you in there. “Hmm.” He returned to the doorway between the two rooms. He noticed your boot as it leaned against the left leg of your chair. “There you are.” He traced your boot back to you.

“What are you doing down here? Are you okay?” He crouched down to meet with you at eye level. “Yeah, i’m fine. I just…forgot this…um…report.” You were visibly shaken and Levi wasn’t sure what the cause was. He took the paper from your loose grip and read the page quickly from top to bottom. “Talk.” He sat on the floor, something he wasn’t particularly fond of doing, but anything for you.

“I’m not doing this right now. There’s a time and a place for mourning the dead. Now is not that time, and this is definitely not the place.” You crawled out of the area and slowly got to your feet. Levi followed you as you strode to your bedroom. “When is it the time, then? Where is that place? I’ll take you there whenever.” His voice wasn’t as soft as it was when he first found you. You said you weren’t going to push it, Levi. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration filling him to the brim. “I just want you to talk to me! Confide in me! God, Y/N. It shouldn’t be this hard. I’m not just some stranger you’ve held close at night. I’m your lover.” You were on the brink of letting every emotion within you loose, bringing yourself back when you see how distressed Levi looks. You know it’s your fault he’s this way right now, but you made him a silent promise.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, holding your hands together tightly. “I’m not going to break in front of you.” You whispered. Levi kneeled down in front of you and held onto one of your shins. “I’m not leaving until you do.” His stormy gray eyes never left yours. “I don’t care if it takes hours. I’m not leaving until you spill your fucking heart out.”

Wherever you went, he just followed you. Working on paperwork? He watched you from the other side of your desk. How he didn’t get tired of watching you was beyond you. “I’m just trying to help.” You didn’t look up at him, continuing your writing. “I know you are.” You murmured. He reached for your vacant hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Then why aren’t you letting me?” Tears stung the inner corners of your eyes, threatening to break your facade. You blinked back the blurriness of your vision, prohibiting yourself from showing your true emotions.

“Maybe others can’t see through your stoic mask, but I’m close enough to notice the cracks in it.” And there it was…the first tear. You gripped your pen tighter, ink bleeding through the paper, but you continued writing messily. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips trembled, eyelashes being weighed down with teardrops. “I know it’s hard to bare yourself to me like this.” His eyes softened at the large tears that rolled down your cheeks, ending at your chin, before falling on the paper.

Your chest suddenly felt tight causing a hiccup to fall from your lips. You covered your eyes with both of your hands, tears still streaming underneath them. You felt humiliated at your show of weakness. “How are you gonna try to hide all those tears from me, sweetheart?” He pulled one of your hands down, revealing a closed eye, and a knitted eyebrow. You instantly crossed your arms on your desk and put your head down, tears pooling and leaving dark spots on your sleeves.

Levi hurried over to your side and kneeled beside you. “I know, baby. You need to get this out.” He rubbed your back slowly. The erratic shaking that started in your shoulders lured a sad reaction out of Levi. It was as if he felt every ounce of pain you were feeling. He wanted to cry with you, but stayed strong knowing there was no room for two meltdowns.

“He…was…fif…teen.” You spoke muffled with pauses between gasps. Levi kissed your shoulder. “I know. It’s awful. He was a pure soul and solid addition to the squad, but think about it, he’s not suffering in this disgusting world anymore and he’s no longer living in fear.” Your eyes felt even heavier now. You went silent as you tried to calm down. Your breathing was anything but steady.

When you managed to stabilize yourself, you took one last deep breath before picking your head up.

“Y-Yeah.” You cleared your throat and wiped at your puffy under eyes. “You’re right.” You said more steadily, finally able to face your inamorato.

He undid his ascot and gave it to you to dry your eyes with. “Thank you.” You said quietly, dabbing the cloth on your damp features. He nodded with a soft smile. “How do you feel?” His knuckles brushed your cheeks sweetly. The coldness of his skin felt nice in contrast to your warm, tear-stained face. “Fine.” It was the only word you thought could narrow down how you currently felt after your meltdown. You knew the storm was only passing temporarily, but you weren’t going to make a bigger spectacle than you already had.

“Come on, give me something more.” He turned his head and pointed to his cheek. “I feel better, love. Thank you.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, not expecting Levi to straighten his head at the last second. Lips met lips pleasantly, heat taking it’s place on your cheeks again. On the inside, he was laughing like a child at his spontaneous act, knowing he managed to fluster you. On the outside, he was enjoying the contact you allowed him to have with you.

Every time he kisses, hugs, or even just brushes his hand against yours, it brings back memories of the first time you let him rock you to sleep like you were a child. He knew before he even formally met you that you never slept because you walked around with the darkest bags under your pretty eyes. When you picked Levi to be on your squad, he made it his own personal mission to get you the sleep you deserved.

You pulled away from him, blush continuing to make you look like you were the subordinate in the relationship. “I’m glad you feel better. I’ll always be here to console you, Y/N. I hope you know that. I’m sorry I had to force your feelings out of you this time.” He smoothly brought one of your hands to his lips and kissed the back. “It’s fine. You shouldn’t have to force me to talk about things. I’ll work on it.” He chuckled at the way you effortlessly made him happy. He was the only one to see your smile often, even if it was a small and short-lasting one.

“What do you want to do now? I’m pretty sure I recall you telling me that you finished all the work you had to do, earlier in the morning.” You stood up from the chair, pulling him up from his kneeled position as well. “Come on.” You took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

“Remember the first night we slept in the same bed? The first night you got me to sleep after you found out I hadn’t slept in a few days?” His eyes twinkled hoping you were thinking what he was thinking. “Mhm. What about it?” You let go of his hand and proceeded to your bed where you sat on the edge and took off your boots. “Can we do that again?” You threw your right boot in a corner next to the left boot.

He felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. This was his favorite thing to do with you, having decided it after only doing it once. It beat every single thing you two did together. He got to watch you close your eyes and get the rest you desperately needed, yet ran from. He got to hold you close and listen to the rhythm of your breathing, and he got to kiss you as much as he wanted.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.” He went to the opposite side of the bed and took his boots off, tossing them across the room to where your boots were. He got closer to the center of the bed with his back against the headboard and got into a comfortable position before patting his lap for you to lay across. You crawled to where he was, laying your head just above the crease of his arm and the rest of your body lay across his lap. You felt safe and secure in his arms.

“Who knew the Captain was such a softie for an ordinary soldier like me?” Levi cooed, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes with his free hand. “Shut up.” You mumbled with your eyes closed. He chuckled lowly, the vibrations already working on lulling you to sleep. “Are you sure you want to sleep right now? It’s three in the afternoon. You might not be able to sleep at night.” “Mhm.” You hummed. “I don’t sleep at night anyway.” You reassured. “Alright, my dear.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and began swaying your body slowly. You concentrated on the motion and your heart rate started slowing down.

There was an immense adoration gleaming in Levi’s eyes as he watched you slowly drift to sleep. He kissed your forehead and stopped swaying when he felt your body go limp, chest rising and falling with every breath that escaped your lips.

A few moments later, there was a sudden knock on your door. Levi’s eyes widened, hoping whoever was at the door would leave immediately. Another three knocks came from the other side when there was no response, causing you to stir at the sound. Levi looked down at you, eyes completely soft. He hoped you would stay asleep through the unwelcome raps. Then the doorknob turned.

“Captain Y/N, are you in-” “Shut the fuck up.” Levi muttered through gritted teeth. He was never this aggressive with his words, but when it came to you, he could surprise anybody—even Hange and Erwin.

Eren’s eyes were wide at the sight. ‘Captain Y/N likes affection?’ Was all he thought. “Sorry, Levi.” He whispered. “Can you make sure Captain Y/N sees this when she wakes up?” The boy rubbed his neck as he waited for Levi to look up again. “Just leave it on her office table. Don’t touch anything. No, never mind. Just leave it on her dresser over there.” Levi watched Eren like a hawk as he located your dresser and set the paper down. “I’m heading out. See you later, Levi.” The boy exited the room, unsure of whether he should keep this to himself or tell his group of friends.

“Who was that?” You asked, feigning grogginess a few seconds later. Your survival instincts had you awake by the first knock, but you wanted Levi to feel good about the way he was taking care of you. “It was Eren. Go back to sleep, love. Your schedule is clear for today. You can sleep for the rest of today if you want to.” You nodded and nudged yourself into his chest. “Only a little longer. Wake me up in ten minutes, please.” He stroked your cheek lightly. “Okay, dear.” His expression returned to the loving one he had prior to Eren’s interruption.

You returned to your dormant state rather quickly and Levi didn’t plan on waking you up any time soon.

As time went by, Levi found himself having to hold in his chuckles as he saw drool sliding down the corners of your mouth. He was quick to wipe it away with his thumb, knowing how you’d react if you woke up with drool on your face.

He realized before, but now it was emphasized that nothing could ever stop him from loving you. Not your past, not the present, not the future. Nothing. He knew from the moment you told him you loved him back that he would love and care for you endlessly.

I will hold you like this for as long as you want me to, and as many times as you need me to, my love.

#aot #attack on titan #captain levi #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #levi x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #fanfic #levi fic #levi x y/n #levi #levi aot

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primasveraas-writing · 3 years

Text

Captivating

Request: “Good day! I don’t know English at all, so through a translator, if you don’t mind. I would like to ask you to imagine a reader with Cassian where, during one of the undercover missions, the reader is dancing in a bar to distract the subject's attention, and Cassian finally accepts his / her feelings for her / him and is slightly jealous. After that, they have a serious conversation. You can add a light NSFW if you want. Thank you so much for earlier! I really like your work!))))”

Ahhh thank you so much for waiting so long! I’ve changed it a bit- they’re still in a bar and the reader is the subject of attention, but there’s no dancing and it’s a little tamer. Still- TW for alcohol and suggestive themes.

Reader is gender-neutral.

WORD COUNT: 1065

XXX

Cassian’s not sure why his throat feels so tight, or why his palms can’t seem to stay dry.

He trusts you- he knows that much. And it’s not like you’ve never been separated on a mission before, so that can’t be the cause for concern. But still, he sits in a corner of the dingy bar, hands clutched around some cheap drink, and watches you out of the corner of his eye, his heart pounding.

Through the tables of people and in the dim lighting, you’re barely visible, but Cassian can still make out the curves of your lips as you smile, and the way your eyes crinkle as you tip your head back in a laugh. His stomach turns as your hair falls back gracefully, and he forces himself to look down at the brown liquid in his glass instead.

He’s there as backup, that’s all, in case something goes wrong. You’re smart and capable, so there’s no reason for Cassian to be nervous. In fact, your target seems entirely clueless- she’s been smiling and laughing along with you all night.

So maybe Cassian isn’t nervous, he thinks. You’re not in danger.

Heat flashes through Cassian when he catches another glimpse of you. Your skin is practically shining, even in the semi-dark, and your borrowed outfit is made out of some sleek material. It’s low-cut and it hugs your form. You had picked it out yourself, laughing at Cassian’s bewildered impression at the idea of you wearing such a thing.

He had told himself then it was because he’d never seen you in anything other than grungy uniforms, rebel or otherwise, but as you readied yourself hours before, Cassian had realized that this might not be the problem.

It was an inconvenient revelation, especially in a burgeoning war.

Nonetheless- all the hours you had spent together, saving each other and watching each other’s backs- they meant something. The danger brought you closer, because sometimes, your mutual trust was all you had in this vast, cruel galaxy. You and Cassian work well as a team, so it only made sense that-

Cassian downs the rest of his drink, wincing at the taste rather than the burn. It was nearly water, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, given the general atmosphere of the establishment and the price of the drink in the first place.

A couple in front of him rises and leaves, slipping silently out the door and into the night, granting Cassian a clearer view of you. Your features are lit up, so genuine Cassian could believe your joy himself, and you’re-

His heart clenches. Maybe the timing is horrible, but the truth bubbles to the forefront of his mind before he can help or deny it.

You’re beautiful. Not just in looks, but in every aspect important to Cassian. And he cares about you. Not as just a mission partner, and not as just a friend, either.

So now there’s that.

Cassian raises his cup to his lips before remembering that it’s empty, and he mutters a curse into the empty glass and sets it on the table with a dull thunk.

It’s then he catches the hand signal- subtle and quick, but Cassian is sure. You’re getting up slowly, touching the subject on her arm and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. You linger, long enough that Cassian can’t ignore his heart thudding in his chest, before turning away with a smile. The mission, it seems, was a success.

He waits a full minute, watching the subject before he too leaves, slinking out the door without looking back.

***

Once you’ve rendezvoused and made it to your ship, you tell Cassian the information you’ve gleaned in a rushed tone. He’s quiet, more so than usual, something that his droid comments on snidely. Both of you ignore K-2SO, but he has a point. Taking Cassian by the arm, you guide him to the back of the ship where you can at least pretend there’s some privacy.

“What is it?” Your words are hushed, but if K2 could smirk at you, he would be doing so right now. Cassian shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Try again,” you say, eyes glinting. Cassian meets your even stare, but sighs after a long moment.

“You were very… captivating… tonight,” Cassian says slowly, as if testing out the words.

“Thank you,” you reply, a little pointed. “That was the objective, right?”

Cassian sighs again, a short huff, and tugs at his unruly hair. His jaw is working furiously, and you realize that your partner is literally grinding his teeth. But what-

Oh. It could almost be funny, if the two of you weren’t so frustrated. Cassian, in his own quiet, stubborn, backward way- is confessing to you.

You raise a single eyebrow. “Do you mean to tell me I looked nice tonight?”

“That’s what I just said,” Cassian grumbles, not meeting your eyes. He picks at a thread on his sleeve, and you’re very acutely aware of how close you are, huddled in the back of the cabin, you still clad in your rather scanty outfit.

“You think I looked good. Attractive, even.”

Cassian gazes at you, deadpan. “And if I did?” The words are defensive, a challenge. Like he doesn’t know how this conversation is going to end.

A thousand retorts flash through your mind, but only one gets to the point fast enough. Quickly, before you can lose your nerve, you grab Cassian’s jacket, bringing him closer. You can feel his hot breath against your bare skin- your lips are inches apart, and he’s looking at you, almost in awe, and hungry, but he doesn’t pull away- so you close the gap, kissing him.

His arms wrap around your body. You’re flush against him, he’s kissing you like his life depends on it, then it’s over. Your lips are tender from the pressure; your chin stings from Cassian’s unshaven stubble.

“I-” Cassian sounds flustered.

“That was nice,” you prompt.

“That was nice,” Cassian repeats. He’s looking at you, ever calculating, and then he smiles, and relief floods through you. “That was very nice.” His grin widens before his eyes sober. “We are on the same page, then?” he asks, extending his hand.

You take it, threading your fingers through his, and beam. “We are,” you agree, happy and content.

#cassian andor x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian andor x you #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars x y/n #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars imagine #cassian andor #cassian andor imagine #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfic #rogue one #rogue one fanfic

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eliemo · 4 years

Text

See Yourself Through My Eyes

Summary: Virgil severely misunderstands Roman’s intentions. They both have a lot to work on...but they’re helping each other.

Notes: Yes I’m writing prinxiety immediately after that episode. Enjoy some gays.

Virgil was pretty sure there wasn’t a single person in the world who didn’t know about his feelings for Roman.

Logan definitely knew, because Logan somehow knew everything, and Patton was less than subtle about his support or dreaded pity whenever Roman would inevitably brush Virgil off or call him a name during a video.

There was no way Thomas didn’t at least suspect something. Virgil was a part of him, after all, and he was much more attuned with the aspects of his personality than he gave himself credit for.

That meant, of course, that Roman also knew.

Honestly, Roman probably knew before Virgil did. He was the romantic side, always looking for signs of love and affection and passion. Well, looking for it anywhere other than Virgil. Obviously.

And that was fine. Virgil had learned to accept it a long time ago that his feelings were just...common knowledge that would never be acted upon.

The fact that Roman knew made him anxious sometimes, and earlier on it had certainly kept him awake at night, but he had to admit there was some relief in that knowledge.

Roman knew that Virgil was helplessly head over heels for the Prince, and had never once acted any awkward or disgusted around him. They were friends now, the two of them making an effort to get to know each other after Virgil revealed his name, and that was fine with him. Friendship was more than Virgil had ever dared to hope for.

It hurt a little, sure. Even if it had never been brought up, it was still rejection all the same. And the eyebrow raises from Logan and sympathetic frowns from Patton didn’t help matters either.

But he’d get over himself. He still loved what he had, the Prince’s company and smiles and squeezes to his hand after a long day.

It was more than enough.

Now though...now Virgil was trying to ignore the fact that something was wrong.

He knew the others well enough by now to pick up on when they were acting differently, doubled by the fact that he was Anxiety- it was quite literally his job to look out for any little signs that he’d done something wrong or someone was upset.

Roman was working on something new. Virgil knew that glint in his eye, the spark of an idea forming, the air of excitement he carried with him. But it was a bit different this time. He hadn’t mentioned anything outright and he seemed almost...uneasy about whatever it was.

Logan and Patton were obviously in on it. Patton did an awful lot of giggling which earned a stern look and an eye roll from Logan, and more than once the three of them had abruptly stopped their conversation when Virgil had walked into the room.

So needless to say, by the time things came to a head, Virgil was already a jumpy, anxious mess waiting for the shoe to drop, for someone to just hurry up and chew him out for doing something wrong.

He’d really thought he’d been doing well. He’d been trying to at least. Thomas was ahead of schedule, and Virgil had been careful to let him unwind and relax when he needed it.

It was three days into the strange behavior, the sun beginning to set into the paling gray sky when Virgil left his room in search of the others, hoping he was still welcome for a movie night or family meal.

Roman was sitting on the couch, alone in the living room, fidgeting restlessly and drumming his fingers along his crossed legs.

When he saw Virgil, the Prince’s eyes practically lit up as he leapt to his feet, and Virgil resolutely ignored the familiar swoop in his stomach.

“There you are!” Roman exclaimed, quickly adjusting his sash and running his fingers through his hair. “I was going to come up and get you but I- well I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.”

Virgil really hoped his blush wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. He shrugged, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’m, uh, I’m not busy. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong! I just want to talk to you about something!”

That still very much sounded like something was wrong, and he felt his anxiety rise, squeezing shaky hands into fists, but it was hard to completely dread anything when Roman was looking at him so eagerly.

“Yeah, ok,” he said. “Go for it.”

Roman looked...nervous. Virgil halfheartedly thought about telling the Prince he was stealing his brand.

But Roman was talking before Virgil could work up the courage to tease him.

“Virgil,” he started. “I...well first of all I wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance. I know we don’t always see eye to eye but...I’ve truly enjoyed being able to call you a friend these last months.”

Virgil blinked, not quite sure what to say, struggling to think around the butterflies in his stomach. “Oh. Uh, yeah. You too.”

God, he was so useless.

“I’m glad!” Roman cleared his throat, wringing his hands together before continuing. “But...well, lately I’ve...I’m not even quite sure how to say this to be honest. I mean, it’s my job to be good at this but...you make me nervous, I suppose.”

Virgil made him nervous?

“Spit it out, Princey,” he said with a small smile, hoping to convey that the longer he stalled, the more nervous they would both inevitably get. If Virgil had hurt him or done something wrong, he needed to know. “Did I...Do something?”

“What? No! Of course not.” Roman took a breath. “It’s...well, I’ll just come out and say it. I believe I’ve caught feelings for you, Virgil. Romantic feelings, if that...if that wasn’t clear. I- er, thought about a more grand declaration but I...figured you wouldn’t like that.”

For a second, everything froze, Virgil’s pounding heart stopping in his chest. And then the giddy feeling in his stomach was gone, butterflies replaced with cold dread as the pieces fell together.

It made sense now. The planning when he was away, the conversations abruptly stopping, the nervous excitement, side glances, and laughter…

Everyone was in on it. Because everyone knew about his feelings, everyone knew it wasn’t mutual and that Virgil had accepted that, so everyone thought it would be ok to toy with his heart a bit. They thought it’d be funny.

“It’s- it’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same!” Roman said quickly, eyes widening at the lack of a response, and Virgil’s heart only broke further. “Seriously I- I don’t want to make things awkward or ruin our friendship--”

“No, I do,” Virgil said, because what the hell was the point in denying it? Everyone knew. It just wasn’t...talked about. At least, he’d thought they all had the decency not to talk about it. “You know I have feelings for you, Roman.”

He stared at the ground, at his socked feet on the carpet, refusing to look up and see the fake excitement Roman had plastered on for the sake of a prank.

“You do?” he heard the Prince say. “You do! Oh- that’s...that’s good! Right? So...so what are we--”

“Why are you doing this?”

Virgil knew he and Roman hadn’t always gotten along, and they still bickered occasionally, but he hadn’t thought...he’d never thought he would be so cruel.

“I...huh?”

“Why are you doing this?” Virgil repeated, finally raising his head just to try and catch Roman’s smirk, rewarded only with the other’s confusion. “Did you...what, did you all think this would be funny?”

“What? No!” Roman sounded incredulous, confusion morphing to something a bit more angry. “Dude, I’m confessing.”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil hunched his shoulders, turning away to frantically scan the room. “Where is it? Where’s the camera?”

“Camera?” the Prince echoed. “Wh- you think this is a prank?”

“Of course it's a prank!” Virgil hadn’t meant to get worked up, but honestly could they blame him for getting angry? Did they think he was just going to stand here and take his heart getting broken? “I don’t know why you all thought this would be funny. Yeah, I get it, I’m an asshole. Doesn’t mean you guys have to--”

“You’re not an asshole,” Roman said, and Virgil scoffed, squeezing his eyes shut because he was not going to cry. “Virgil. You’re not. Why...why do you think this is a prank? Why can’t I just...like you?”

“Because I know you don’t feel the same, ok? I know we never talked about it but it’s pretty fucking obvious. And that’s fine. Or it- it was fine until you decided to treat my feelings like some big joke. What, is it because I’m Anxiety? Am I still just some dark brooding villain who can’t possibly experience real love so why not make a stupid video about it? Is that it?”

He took a breath, still refusing to open his eyes, willing himself to calm down, to stop talking, and get out of the situation as quickly as he could.

“Sorry, I’m...I didn’t mean to say all that,” he muttered. “Just...god, please don’t upload this. Please.”

Somewhere along the way his voice had fallen into nothing more than a pathetic whisper, but right now he really didn’t care. Virgil couldn’t see himself leaving his room for the next couple days at least.

“I’m not recording this, Virge,” Roman said, and he sounded painfully genuine. “I swear I’m not. We can go somewhere else, if you want me to prove it. I promise there’s no camera.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, and he relented with a shaky sigh. “Alright. So then...is this just for fun? Did I piss you off somehow?”

“No. God, no Virgil I would never…” he trailed off, pausing for just a few seconds. “I didn’t know you felt the same. I had no idea.”

That got Virgil to open his eyes, snapping his head up and fully expecting to see a joking smile and bright eyes. Instead, Roman’s expression was sad and genuine, and a bit guilty.

“What?” Virgil asked. “You...Roman, everyone knows. Literally everyone.”

“Well...I didn’t. Truly.”

Virgil blinked, momentarily at a loss because this was...there was no way. “You’re the romantic side. How could you...how?”

Roman shrugged, suddenly averting his gaze. “You didn’t know either. I’ve been taken with you for some time now, Stormcloud.”

Virgil shook his head, desperately trying to block it out, to push down that rising hope and excitement fighting its way to the surface.

Because...because no. No. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t going to drop his defenses just to be crushed and laughed at.

“That’s different.”

“Why?” Roman asked, soft and sincere. “Why’s it different, Virgil?”

“Because...because it’s you. Obviously I’m going to fall for you, you’re- you’re perfect. You’re...talented and passionate and I’m...I’m me. You’re not going to fall for Anxiety.”

His words were met with silence, and there was a bit of relief amongst the sorrow in his chest, because if Roman didn’t have anything else to say, it meant this was over. He could just...forget about it and hopefully avoid any future teasing.

But then Roman took a step closer, Virgil forcing himself not to back up, immediately tensing up and waiting.

“But I did,” the Prince said. “I did fall for you, Virgil.”

Virgil shook his head again, looking away as Roman slowly approached, waiting for him to drop the act. “Stop it.”

“I fell for all of you,” Roman continued. “I fell for your smile, for your laugh- you have the most beautiful laugh, did you know that? I wish I could hear it more, but every time I do I feel as though everything is right in the world.”

Roman was in front of him now, one hand cupping Virgil’s cheek, and he couldn’t help but lean into the touch despite wanting to curl up into a ball and sob.

“You represent anxiety,” Roman said. “But you’re so much more. You’re brave, Virgil. I’ve seen it so, so many times. You fight against your fears, against anything that would put us in danger. You protect us. You’re strong, Virge, stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“Please stop,” Virgil whispered, and it was such a blatant lie. He wanted this, wanted it to be real so badly. “Roman, I...I can’t--”

He couldn’t take it. If the rug was pulled out from under him now, after coming so close to what he’d always so desperately wanted...he didn’t know how he was supposed to look anyone in the eye ever again.

“I can go on,” Roman said. “And I will. I will help you see how easy you are to fall in love with if it’s the last thing I do, because you deserve to see yourself the way I see you. But I just...I need you to tell me you believe me. This isn’t a prank or a joke. I would never play with your feelings like that.”

Roman...Roman wasn’t cruel. He could get over excited, he could take a bit longer to pick up on someone’s uneasiness, he could be loud or brash, but he would never try to hurt someone he called a friend. He wouldn’t try to hurt anyone.

If this was a prank...it would have stopped by now. Right? Roman wouldn’t...he wouldn’t let it go this far.

“Virgil?” Roman’s voice was soft, hopeful, and Virgil warily met his gaze. “I love you. I really, really do.”

There was absolutely no way to stop the few stray tears that escaped at the raw emotion and adoration in those words, no way to fight against the way his breath hitched when Roman gently wiped them away with his thumb.

Virgil wanted so desperately to respond, to apologize, to warn Roman that at this point, if this all turned out to be a joke he was never leaving his room again.

But no words came out, Virgil still frozen in terror and treacherous hope. But slowly, cautiously, he reached forward to lace his fingers in Roman’s free hand.

The Prince didn’t pull away, didn’t sneer or laugh or twist his face in disgust. He just smiled, and squeezed Virgil’s hand.

“You can say no,” Roman said after a moment, never moving the hand that cupped Virgil’s cheek. He waited for Virgil to give a tiny nod before continuing. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

And Virgil had definitely stopped thinking at this point, fear and self loathing suddenly losing control to something else, something much more brave than anxiety.

He nodded wordlessly and before he could even blink Roman leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and Virgil felt his world melt away.

It was careful and delicate and perfect, so much better than Virgil had ever imagined, and that cold ache in his heart, the one that longed for something he could never have, melted from Roman’s warmth.

It only lasted a few seconds before Roman pulled away, but they were easily the best few seconds of Virgil’s entire life. If his heart decided to give out now, he didn’t think he would mind all that much.

Roman didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together, and Virgil leaned into the touch, smiling when he felt Roman rub his thumb along his knuckles.

“I love you too,” Virgil blurted before he could stop himself, beyond relieved when Roman didn’t immediately shove him away. “I’m...I’m so sorry I thought--”

Roman quickly cut off the apology with another kiss, this one deeper than the first, and Virgil’s free hand instinctively moved up to grip his shirt.

“I’m not upset,” Roman assured when they pulled back. “I just...hope I can help you see how perfect you really are.”

Virgil smiled, hiding his blush against Roman’s chest as the prince wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

“I forgot you’re a sap,” he muttered against the red sash. “Seriously though, you can be pissed at me for yelling at you.”

“Well, I’m not. Besides, it all worked out, didn’t it? You didn’t flat out reject me which is...what I was expecting.”

Virgil extracted himself from the embrace to look up at Roman, and suddenly it was the Prince's turn to quickly look away, brows furrowed.

“Seriously?” Virgil asked. “You thought I would reject you?”

“I wasn’t always...kind to you,” Roman admitted. “And...well, I know how I am. I can be loud and annoying and you don’t always like that. I’m not...exactly an easy person to love.”

For a moment, Virgil had no idea what to say to that. He thought back to all the times he’d mulled over his feelings for Roman, envisioning all the possibilities he’d once thought were impossible.

He’d tried to talk himself out of loving the Prince in an attempt to spare himself from the heartbreak. He told himself they were too different, too incompatible. It would never work even if Roman did feel the same.

But now, seeing the Prince stare at the ground with his shoulders tense, like he was waiting for Virgil to agree and call the whole thing off...it was almost like looking in a mirror.

Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil said, grabbing for Roman’s hands again. “So...so I guess we’re both going to help each other. To...you know. See how easy we are to love. And stuff.”

And ok, he didn’t have Roman’s elegant way with words. But that wasn’t his job, and the Prince seemed to appreciate it anyway, worried frown replaced with a timid, yet brilliant smile.

“I guess so,” Roman said, smiling never faltering, and Virgil found himself matching it. “I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”

That was the last thing Virgil heard before being pulled into another kiss, Roman nothing but warm, welcoming, and safe, and for the first time Virgil allowed himself to let go and relax.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders asides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #fanfiction #angst #love confessions #misunderstandings #this is sweet and gay #gays #writing

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

Text

the ghost of unbroken love pt 1

Summary: Thomas pays the Carstairs home a visit once the dust has settled (COI spoilers!)

Read it on AO3 | Fanfiction Masterlist

CW: PTSD, implied child abuse, bullying

thanks to @littlx-songbxrd for the title :) (it’s a line from “silhouettes” by sleeping at last)

Alastair’s eyes widened in surprise when he opened the front door to see Thomas Lightwood standing before him. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Alastair’s hands. “Why do you have a hedgehog?”

He turned away slightly, gently stroking the hedgehog in his palm. “Excuse you, don’t be rude to Alfred.”

Thomas gave a slight smile. “My apologies, Alfred. Wait- Isn’t that Christopher’s hedgehog?”

Alastair’s eyes flared, clearly offended. “He is not! He was merely watching him for a few days.”

“Ah, I do think he mentioned that. My mistake.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Since when do you have a pet hedgehog, though?”

He tried to focus on the feeling of Alfred squirming in his palms and not on the tall, handsome masterpiece of a man standing before him, or on the memory of what his lips and skin tasted like. “If you’re here to try to change my mind-”

“I’m not, don’t worry. I just… I thought that perhaps we could talk, now that some of the excitement has passed.”

Alastair sighed. “Fine, come in, then, before you freeze.”

Thomas followed him in, shaking some of the melting ice and snow from his hair and hanging up his coat. His nose and ears were red from the cold.

“It truly would not kill you to wear a hat, you know,” Alastair commented.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve a reputation to uphold, don’t I? What would my friends and I be known for if not our aversion to hats?”

“Besides being a nuisance, you mean?”

Thomas smirked. “Kit did look after Alfred for you.”

“Believe me, any time I mention you and your Merry boys, I never mean Christopher.”

He chuckled. “That’s fair.” Thomas’ eyes drifted to the piano. Alastair cursed silently to himself, realizing that he’d left the fallboard open earlier. “You play?”

“I…” Alastair hesitated. He certainly used to. He wanted to, again. He could play music from a sheet without much effort, though he was still rusty, but playing written music was never what Alastair had enjoyed about playing. He’d always found his joy in creating, in taking written words and crafting it into a beautiful melody. That had been what he was attempting earlier, before he’d gotten overwhelmed and abandoned the project to fetch Alfred to calm him down, before Thomas had arrived at his doorstep. But it was a lost cause, for the part of Alastair that created, the part that dreamed, had died long ago. “Sometimes. Sometimes I do.”

Thomas pulled something out of his coat. “I, uh, I brought you something. I thought… Well, I’m not sure what I thought. I’m certainly not an expert in dealing with grief. But this is one of the books I read after Barbara died, and I thought it was a helpful distraction, and I figured at the very least you could amuse yourself with my trying to make sense of it all in the margins.”

Alastair gave him a small smile while placing Alfred down on the sofa and accepted the book. It was a volume of Sufi poetry, written in Farsi and Arabic. “Thank you, this… it means a lot.”

The conversation stumbled awkwardly for the next few minutes until finally Thomas made a pensive noise. “May I… May I ask you something?”

Alastair paused. “You may.”

“Why are you still friends with them?”

Alastair cast a dark gaze away from him. “I already told you, I-”

“You have no friends, I know. But you certainly pretend to be friendly with them, at the very least. You certainly don’t treat them anything like the way we’ve treated you.”

You don’t treat them anything like the way you’ve treated me, he wanted to say, but he knew that he would be deflecting to bring it up now. The truth was that Alastair asked himself the same questions. Why was he civil with them, friendly even? Why did he placate his father knowing how he would still treat him? He was sure he could see the wheels turning in Thomas’ brain, though his face betrayed none of it, wondering how badly they could have truly treated him if he was able to stay so amicable with them. Alastair, too, often worried if his own memories were lying to him, tricking him. “I can hardly blame them, can I? When I myself have done horrible things?”

Thomas hesitated. “That- That’s not really fair, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, it sounded like, at the time, you hadn’t done anything yet. At least, not to them.”

“What’s it matter? What goes around comes around.”

“More like what comes around goes around. Life isn’t just some twisted justice system, paying for crimes you hadn’t yet committed. What reasons did they have for treating you the way they did? Have they apologized?” Alastair’s brain stalled as Thomas added, “Do you think they owe you one?”

Alastair could feel his heart beating, blood rushing to his head, his chest constricting. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded a little too forcefully. “I told you to leave me alone!”

Thomas took a daring step towards him. “I think you think you deserved it. You think that you’re a monster, that you’re dangerous, a terrible person. You think that means they were justified in hurting you. That’s bullshit, Alastair. No one deserves to go through what you did, even someone who is terrible, and you are not. You’ve done bad things, certainly, but you’ve had reasons for doing each of them, and not one was that you are a terrible person. You are none of the things that you call yourself. You are strong and resilient and compassionate, and you love with your whole heart even those who do not deserve it.”

Alastair took a step back. “You’re wrong.” He wasn’t. Alastair hated feeling so seen, so vulnerable. He wanted to scream. Why wasn’t it enough, then? His love was never enough to make his father want to change, to get better. It was not even enough to get him to stop throwing things at him whenever the night quit going his way. His love was not enough to make Charles love him back. Even the boys at the Academy, Augustus and the rest, he’d spent so much time and energy trying desperately for them to genuinely like him, but it was never enough. He was fairly certain that it never would be. Thomas was wrong, Alastair was none of the things Thomas believed him to be, he was weak and pathetic and whatever love he held inside of him was broken at its core. “You ask me why I treat the boys from school better than you treated me, but why do you? You and your friends have never given them a fraction of the grief you’ve given me, even Augustus after he hurt your sister so terribly. Why?”

Alastair could see the defenses light behind Thomas’ eyes. “Don’t talk about Eugenia as if you know what happened!”

Alastair looked him in the eyes without a hint of expression on his face. “I do, and I know because she told me.��

Thomas stumbled on his words, unsure of how to respond.

“I told you why I was cruel to you lot at school, but I did not tell you why I spread that rumor. The truth is that I was hurting and I was scared and all I wanted was for you to leave me alone, but you wouldn’t. And then Matthew came, running his mouth with his endless nonsense, poking fun at the way I looked and reminding me yet again that there is not a single person on this Earth who sees me as anything more than an afterthought. And so I repeated that rumor to him. And I repeated it again, and again, because I was angry, because when Matthew blew up my belongings, my father decided that the cost to replace them was more than simply the coinage at the shops.” Alastair inhaled, pushing away the memory of the fury in his father’s eyes when he came home that semester.

Releasing a shaky breath, Alastair continued, “And I know. I know that wasn’t fair to him, or to you, or to your parents. But I have been trying to apologize for five months, only you decided without even hearing my apology that I did not deserve forgiveness. What now, Thomas? Now that you know my secrets, you’ve seen my scars? Do I deserve forgiveness? Do I deserve to be hated? Because truly I cannot keep track.” He gestured to the door, his voice now angry. “Who are you to decide what is deserved and undeserved? You do not get to come here and pretend like you understand me or my life. You and your friends think that you’re better than everyone else, but I have a secret for you: you are not morally superior simply because you are less broken than the rest of us. Get out of my house.”

“Alastair-” Thomas tried, but he was cut off.

“Leave, Thomas. And put me out of your mind. I left Charles because I did not wish to be his secret, and I will not be yours, either.”

Thomas looked like he was about to speak, but stopped himself. He looked hurt and confused, something like a wounded puppy. Alastair would not flinch. Finally, he obliged, though he turned at the last moment. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, though not ingenuine. Alastair shut and bolted the door without responding.

Once the door was secure, Alastair sank to his knees, a million thoughts and feelings flooding his brain, from relief to anger to utter despair. Shaky breath after shaky breath, he attempted to piece the world back together again.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added and, if so, whether for every TLH fic I write or just for this series or something else): @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #chain of iron #coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #coi #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #fanfic #cw ptsd #cw child abuse #cw bullying

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 14

February, 1067

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Lady Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Masterlist

This chapter sucks but it’s about to get super good!

Thomasin went straight to church in the morning to confess. She liked and trusted Elaine, but she wasn’t comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts with her yet, especially since her daughter was likely to eavesdrop.

Not that she particularly trusted William’s priest to keep her confidence, especially considering what she planned to confess.

Her conversation with Charlie pricked at her mind like a sewing needle hidden in a bed might prick at her body.

Thomasin lowered herself to her knees and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.” It was the custom to confess at least once a month, but the past year’s events had altered everyone’s routines.

“What are your sins, daughter?”

“I have been unkind. I have blasphemed. I have not loved my neighbors. I have not kept the Sabbath day. I have been . . . amorous.” These were mostly the same sins as usual, but the amorousness was a new addition thanks to that week she spent in Henry’s lap. “That’s all I can remember.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked the priest.

Thomasin took a deep breath. “No. I have not yet - that is, I’m considering another sin. You won’t betray my confidence, Father, will you? That must surely be a sin. Is it not?”

“It is. No, child, I won’t betray your confidence and share your secrets. What is this sin you consider?”

“I’m thinking of . . . lying . . . to the king.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the curtain. “Explain.”

All at once, Thomasin’s story came rushing out starting with the night the Cavills took her prisoner to Charlie’s idea that she lie to the king about her virginity. “And I know I mustn’t bear false witness against my neighbor, but I am not bearing false witness against my neighbor, only myself. You see?”

The priest was silent for a long time. “Would it truly be so bad to marry Lawrence?”

“Yes!” He drove his wife to commit self-murder. Didn’t he? He didn’t seem actively cruel. Did he truly become so angry that he beat his wife until she lost the child in her belly? It seemed to Thomasin that he couldn’t be bothered to do such a thing, that he didn’t feel anything strongly enough to act in such a way – to act at all, really.

“I think so,” Thomasin amended. “I can’t be sure. But it cannot be good.” Of that, she was quite certain.

“Is that the only reason you don’t wish to marry him?” asked the priest.

“There’s Henry, too, of course.” She swallowed hard. “I cannot bear the thought of Henry being with someone else.” The words stuck in her dry throat like fish bones. Lord. That was the first time she’d admitted it. It was painfully true. The idea of Henry bedding another woman, her bearing his children – it made her sick to her stomach.

The priest sighed. “It is never easy to follow God’s laws. We all must make sacrifices to enter His Kingdom, for the road to Heaven is narrow and steep.”

“You think I ought to marry Lawrence? Don’t you know what happened to his last wife?”

“Seek solace in the spiritual world. Devote yourself to God. It is through Him that you will find comfort and joy.”

Thomasin had to literally bite her tongue to keep from lashing out. Wouldn’t God want His children to be happy? Didn’t He want Lawrence to be punished?

The priest told her to recite certain prayers to atone for her sins. She thanked him as graciously as possible and nearly stomped out of the chapel.

She was being childish, she knew, but she could not help it. Most girls were married off at fourteen to men they did not know. She was some twenty years old and unwed. She spent her life being coddled and guarded by her father. And now she was a piece of chattel to be traded by men who did not know her or care for her wellbeing.

She knew in her heart that Henry wouldn’t let that happen. He’d give his arm for her if she asked him to. But it might not be enough.

She believed that he was a finer swordsman that Lawrence – better than even King William, perhaps – but she also believed his honor made him vulnerable. Henry might be the finer warrior, but she suspected Lawrence had a great and dark mind. That could be just as dangerous. Sometimes more so.

Henry ordered her to let him deal with the matter. It was the only thing he ever truly asked of the woman he held so dearly and treated with such generosity and respect. But if it was in her power to preserve the life and limb of the man to whom she owed her own, how could she not? Surely he would understand. He must.

***

The next few days numbered among the most difficult in Thomasin’s life. She felt sick even after her courses passed; she’d worked herself into a fine state. She had an episode like this when she was young, around the time of her mother’s death. The healer, a monk, called it hysteria. She’d been blessedly free of it since then – it didn’t even happen when her father got sick – but now it was back, and it would not go away.

One of the Saxon prisoners died – of what, Thomasin did not know – and two more pledged their loyalty to William, even though it meant giving up everything they owned, including their dignity. They made their pledge in front of the entire court just before supper.

Thomasin and Henry were seated at the table at opposite sides, one chair over from each other. They could steal glances at one another during the meal, but they could not speak. Thomasin supposed that was the point.

Lawrence had taken to sitting next to her most nights. They didn’t speak. Lawrence had ceased with the pleasantries after her comment about his last wife. He ignored her as much as possible, but he sneered whenever she spoke.

Thomasin understood that he didn’t want this any more than she did, but he needed a wife to produce heirs and Thomasin was a gift from the king. He couldn’t refuse. He did still get pleasure out of the arrangement, for seeing him with Thomasin upset Henry to the point where he could hardly hold back his anger. Between Henry’s jealousy and Thomasin’s feistiness, conquering her was sure to be excellent sport.

The Saxon knights came forward and fell to their knees before the king and his wife and made their pledges. The other Saxons in attendance – mostly women, but a handful of warriors and former nobles that pledged themselves to the Normans early on – showed a range of emotions. Some of the men applauded their brothers for being sensible; others appeared to be ashamed. Most of the women looked like the wanted the whole thing over and done with, especially Elaine, who knew most of the Saxon prisoners either from tending their wounds or meeting them at court before the Norman invasion.

Henry’s reaction was surprising. He glared at the trencher of food in front of him, nostrils flared and jaw clenched as though he were the one being forced to swallow his pride. Thomasin made no effort to hide her concern, and neither did Charlie.

He, of course, knew about Cerdic’s presence in the dungeon, and he worried that Henry would allow his emotions to get the best of him. Frankly, he didn’t understand why Henry was so upset. He thought Cerdic was dead already; soon enough he would be. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for his part in the conquest. Thomasin had his head in knots.

During the applause that followed the oaths, Henry shoved away from the table and made a beeline for the main doors without offering any excuse or explanation.

Thomasin looked quizzically at Charlie, who sat directly across from her. He shook his head. She stood up and went after him anyway.

The large corridor was mostly empty, except for a young couple kissing deeply in a shadowed corner and a handful of female servants walking back and forth between the hall and the kitchens. They gossiped as they walked, paying no attention to those around them.

“Henry,” Thomasin called, scurrying over to him. He had his shoulder leaned against the wall and he was rubbing his face with his hand.

He looked up at the sound of Thomasin’s voice and gave a weary smile. “You should not have followed me,” Henry said, trying to sound stern; he just sounded tired. He caught sight of his ring hanging from the chain around Thomasin’s neck. He held it in his hand, still hanging from her neck, and smiled slightly.

“You followed me when I ran off in the woods,” she said. “I’m only returning the favor.”

“Or exacting your revenge,” Henry teased.

Thomasin shrugged her narrow shoulders and repeated Henry’s earlier words back to him. “It’s a matter of perspective.”

“This looks very fine on you,” Henry said of the ring.

“Will you have a pendant made for me like your brothers’ wives and your mother?”

“Patience,” he said teasingly. In fact, he had commissioned a jeweler shortly after arriving in London, though the piece’s production was delayed because Henry didn’t have his ring to show the jeweler. Instead, he had to provide the man with his shield so he could study the symbols painted on it. It wouldn’t be very pretty, he thought, but as long as it was recognizable it didn’t matter.

He knew better than to seek to borrow Charlie’s ring when he arrived. He would lend it to Henry if he asked him to, but he’d certainly put up a fuss about it.

And then he remembered the Saxon awaiting his death three floors below them.

Henry’s smile faltered.

“What’s wrong?” Thomasin murmured.

Seeing Cerdic, simply knowing that he was alive and nearby, upset Henry. As far as he could tell, the man was a boar, and it would be no great loss to the world for him to die. But it still bothered him.

Cerdic didn’t know about Henry’s relationship with Thomasin, her betrothal to Lawrence, or even that she was at court. He had no fondness for Thomasin, it seemed, and he would certainly not treat her with respect if they were wed, but he was still a living reminder of the life the Normans stole from her. That Henry stole from her. He sometimes felt that Thomasin was as much a prisoner as her former intended.

She cared for Henry, of course, but he wondered how much of her affection was true – true, in that it would still be there if she were free of Norman rule – if she had the option to return home to her father and go on living as she did before.

More than that, he worried how Thomasin would feel if she knew Cerdic was here. He swore Roger and Charlie to secrecy, of course. Lawrence didn’t know of his intended’s former relationship with the red-bearded prisoner – if he did, he would surely use that information to inflict pain.

“The Saxons . . .” Henry shook his head. “I’m so tired of all this fighting.”

Thomasin took a deep breath knowing she was about to start a fight. “Then why do you insist on fighting Lawrence?”

Henry’s nostrils flared in anger; he let the ring fall back into place. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” she said apologetically. She stepped closer as he started pacing in a circle, one hand on his hip as he rubbed his brow with the other. His hair, still short by Saxon standards, was a small pile of tumbling curls stacked atop his head. But he still looked so handsome. “I just . . . I’m just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I’m frightened! All right?!” How dare he make her say it out loud?

Henry stopped pacing. He tried to soften his features, but he was still stiff with nervousness. “It will be all right, Tom. Nothing will happen to you.”

“I don’t care about me!” she hissed. “I want to protect you just as much as you wish to protect me. Why won’t you let me?”

Henry was lost. “How?”

Kal let loose a warning bark that nearly made Thomasin jump. She hadn’t even realized he was in the hall with them. “Go,” she said to Henry. “I need a moment to compose myself.”

Henry slipped past her just as Lawrence came into view, carrying a goblet of wine in one hand and holding the other behind his back. Henry tensed his muscles so hard he nearly shook. Thomasin nodded silently to assure him that she was all right. Henry stomped back into the hall as Lawrence took a long drink from his goblet of wine.

“Would you like some?” he asked Thomasin.

“No, thank you.”

“Very well.” He tapped his fingernail against the rim of the glass. “You remember the nobleman’s family that I put to death?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips again.

What sort of a question was that? “Yes.”

“Do you think they would’ve been better off alive, surrounded by lustful soldiers?” Lawrence asked calmly. “Do you think the baroness would be pleased to see her young daughters beaten and defiled in the same home where she was once mistress? It was a mercy killing in some ways.”

Thomasin was silent. She’d considered such questions for months after the Normans landed up until the night Henry lifted her out of her hiding place. She always concluded that she would rather be dead than passed around like a brood mare.

“You’d never have been so lucky. That would’ve been your fate if the king weren’t so set on bringing your brother to heel, which he clearly cannot, and if anyone but the Cavills had come for you, you would’ve been tied and beaten into submission and raped nightly, not carried about like a babe with your virtue intact.”

“I know that,” Thomasin snapped. What was his point? “Are you truly surprised that I might wish to marry someone who would treat me well? Someone I know would never raise a hand to me?”

“I won’t deny that I struck my wife on more than one occasion,” Lawrence said. “She came to me when she was fifteen years old. Still a child in need of discipline. You’re more intelligent, more mature, and I think you will know better than she did. I was not the source of all her troubles, as much as you might like to think so.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I dislike the way that you fawn over Henry and regard me as the most heinous of villains. You should be grateful for your good fortune. You’re betrothed to a man capable of mercy toward women.”

Beating his wife was mercy? He likely just meant that he wouldn’t take her against her will, and that was a great mercy indeed for women. Beating wasn’t so heinous, Thomasin supposed, but that didn’t mean she was all right with it.

“What do you care what I think?”

“I don’t. I care about whether or not my peers perceive me as weak, though, and I won’t have a wife who runs after another man anytime he frowns.” His voice remained even but his whole face had gone bright red with anger. “We’re to be wed next week. Once you are mine, I won’t tolerate such behavior. A wife obeys her husband in all things; you will not embarrass me by fawning over a weakling. Should you continue to do so, I won’t hesitate to show you my displeasure. Am I clear?”

The calm with which he spoke was unsettling. God’s truth, Thomasin would have felt better if he shouted.

Thomasin dipped her head. “I understand, my lord.”

Lawrence’s face returned to its normal color and a smile bloomed across his face. “Good.” He gave Thomasin a peck on the cheek. “Sleep well, my beloved.”

She didn’t notice Elaine and her daughter standing nearby until Elaine called out to her. “Thomasin?” She scurried over to her friend. “Are you all right?” Thomasin swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded. “Here. Come with me.” She released her grip on Mercia to pull Thomasin around a corner for greater privacy, squeezing her hands reassuringly. “What’s happened?”

Thomasin didn’t realize all the color was gone from her face or that she was quaking like a leaf. “I’m fine.”

“Mamma?” Mercia said.

“A moment, my love,” her mother told her. “She was falling asleep at the table; I was leaving to put her to bed,” she explained to Thomasin. “I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation.”

“I don’t care about that,” Thomasin said, shaking her head.

“I didn’t hear anything clearly,” Elaine said over her. “I only saw that he was talking to you and the look on your face.”

Mercia wasn’t paying attention to what the women were saying, she only saw the sadness in Thomasin’s eyes. “Why you crying?” she asked, eyebrows knit together. Thomasin noticed for the first time how cherubic the child appeared.

“I’m not crying.” Thomasin honestly didn’t think she was. And she wasn’t really, in that there were no tears, but she certainly looked distressed.

The child wouldn’t accept the non-explanation. “Mamma, why she crying?”

Elaine released her friend’s hands and crouched to look her daughter in the eye. “Go back inside, please. Lady Thomasin and I are speaking. I’ll take you to bed just as soon as we’ve finished.”

“But she sad!” Mercia objected. She looked around. “Where Bear? Bear make you happy. I go find!” She was still upset with Kal for assaulting Batty, but she trusted in his ability to bring joy to others.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Thomasin said with a sniffle. “I don’t want to bother him.” The last thing she needed was for Henry to be involved.

Mercia frowned for a moment before thrusting her doll up toward Thomasin’s face. “Take,” she commanded. “Batty make you feel better.”

Thomasin swallowed again and reached out numb fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she held a doll. “Thank you.”

“Not for always,” Mercia said, holding up a finger. “You keep just until you feel better.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Elaine and Mercia walked Thomasin back to her room. Elaine gave Etheldreda some instructions. “Mercia, can Lady Thomasin borrow some of Batty’s magic?”

“Just a little bit,” Mercia agreed.

Elaine smiled in thanks. She tore the doll open just enough to pull out some of the dried lavender, which she instructed Etheldreda to put in hot water for Thomasin to drink. “It will keep you from getting upset. I’ll send along some more herbs to help you rest. And more of Batty’s magic,” she assured her daughter. She turned back to Thomasin. “It won’t seem so bad in the morning. A good night’s sleep always helps.”

“I don’t think I can shut my eyes,” Thomasin said.

Elaine smirked. “Sleeping drafts are my specialty.” She didn’t mention that the drafts were the only thing that kept her from going mad when the Normans arrived. Without them, she’d spend all night staring up at the ceiling, clutching her daughter to her chest, praying for mercy from God and the invaders both.

She slipped away to put Mercia to sleep while Etheldreda prepared Thomasin for bed she sent a servant back with a pack of herbs for Etheldreda to make a sleeping draft and a handful of lavender to replace Batty’s stuffing.

Thomasin watched the fire flicker until the draft was ready. Etheldreda watched her drink, ensuring she drained every drop. Thomasin wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.

“Lie down,” said Etheldreda.

Thomasin shuffled down in the bed as her maid drew the covers over her. “Etheldreda, have you ever been married?”

She nodded. “Twice.”

“Did you love your husbands?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did they ever beat you?”

The old woman frowned. “Peasant women can be lucky on occasion. Sometimes we get to choose our husbands.” She tucked Batty under the covers beside Thomasin. “Shut your eyes and rest.”

“I don’t feel tired,” Thomasin said skeptically. She was asleep moments later.

Thomasin woke around noon the following day. She was still in a daze, so she decided to keep to her rooms for the day. She’d go visit Henry once she was feeling better.

Etheldreda drew her a steaming bath to ease her into the waking world. She washed and brushed her mistress’s hair, as there was too much of it for Thomasin to manage on her own. She told little stories about her daughters and granddaughters. She had sons, too, Thomasin thought, but she didn’t talk about them. Thomasin guessed they were killed in the war.

A servant dropped off some bread and cheese so Etheldreda and Thomasin did not need to leave the room for their nooning meal. Thomasin did feel better, she thought as Etheldreda laced the back of her simple gown.

The servant had only just finished when someone pounded on the door so hard that it shook. “Thomasin!” It was Charlie’s voice.

She pulled the door open, knowing immediately that something bad had happened. “What is it?”

Charlie’s shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily; he’d clearly run from wherever he had been to Thomasin’s room. “Henry’s challenging Lawrence.”

“Today?”

“Now!” Charlie said. “If you want to help him, we must go.”

Thomasin didn’t even stop to put on her slippers. She ran alongside Charlie, damp hair loose and whipping around her. The people they passed looked at her like she’d gone mad. Maybe they thought she was drunk for presenting herself in public like that. Or a strumpet.

They finally reached the throne room.

Charlie shoved the doors open and Thomasin rushed inside. Henry had removed his glove and prepared to throw it down; Thomasin surged forward and managed to grab it out of his hand before he could and careened toward the dais and the king.

She fell so heavily on her knees that she scraped the skin. She’d have awful bruises tomorrow. It didn’t matter. She stared up at the king with enormous eyes. “Your grace, they can’t fight,” she gasped. “Please don’t let them fight.”

“Thomasin,” Henry snarled.

“There’s no need for them to fight,” Thomasin said over him. She refused to turn and look at him.

William raised an eyebrow. “No need? Does this mean you’ll marry Lawrence willingly?”

“Absolutely not.” Her tone was far too harsh but she prayed William would excuse her given the circumstances. “But – I cannot be his wife. Not truly.”

William asked, “Why?”

Oh, God help her. This stupid, stupid girl. Charlie’s plan might not work but she at least had to try.

“Because. Because I’m not – I’m – I’m not a virgin!”

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