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friendlylocalwriter · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 of The Quiet Stranger

Pairing(s): Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Prompt: You live a quiet life in the forest with your mother after the fall of Cintra, selling grains and produce to keep enough coins for survival. When your mother leaves for a long journey to the market, you're surprised to meet a white-haired stranger in dire need of help, and even more surprised by how you feel about him.

Word Count: 2916

Chapter: 2/?

Previous Chapters : Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I’ve already started planning the next one which’ll be much longer and spicier ;) I have a Superman request that I will hopefully be filling next week, and I want to write a Mando fic while we get tortured wait for the s2 trailer to release! As always, reblog + comments are so welcome, and this is posted on my AO3 @/violettaren. Love you guys <33

Geralt slept for the entire day and through the night.

You weren’t surprised, though. You assume that whatever fight he had gotten into, which he seems intent on not telling you about, must’ve been intense if they were able to get that good of a gash on him. So you let him rest. And, you weren’t averse to stealing a few glances of his bare chest rising while he slept on your cot. You spent the first day of his arrival tending to the garden and trying to ignore how your mother would feel about you housing a stranger in your shack. The guilt only increased when you slept on your mother’s cot, tossing and turning in your sleep as you remember all your mother told you about not letting anyone in.

You woke up the next morning before him, and rushed to change out of your nightgown. You chose a linen white skirt that hit just above the knee and a long sleeve off the shoulder black sweater that was a bit too thin for the humid Spring weather, but you’d make do. As you take your hair out of your ponytail and attempt to tame it, you wonder why you’re putting so much effort into your appearance, since he’ll be gone tonight anyway. As you pass by his sleeping body, your eyes focus on the gray pendant around his neck and creep forward to try and get a better view.

A wolf. Interesting.

You jump when he shifts slightly and immediately move away, not looking to be caught in such a compromising position. As you clean through the cot, you try and rack your brain to see if you remember ever seeing that necklace when you were in Cintra. But, like most things, you simply cannot recall much of anything from your childhood.

Maybe it’s in the books.

After you glance over to make sure Geralt is still sound asleep, you tip-toe to the back of your shack where a large, old locked box resides. Your fingers toy with the lock and you make sure to get it just in that right position to…

You sigh in relief when you hear the quiet click of the lock opening. You lift the lid and remove the many tablecloths to find what you were looking for - the mangled brown leather journal with your father’s initials inscribed on the bottom of it. Your father, a sorcerer, compiled an anthology of all the monsters and non-humans that he came across, and it was the only thing of his that you and your mother still had. You trace the indentations with your finger, ignoring the heavy pull in your chest. You lock the box again and make your way to the main table, making sure to sit with your back to Geralt.

It only takes a few moments of you thumbing through the yellowed pages of your father’s anthology to find that same design that’s on Geralt’s pendant, and the words above it scream at you.

WITCHER .

Of course. The secrecy, the wound, the swords, the hair . You read through the paragraphs on the page that describe the process of becoming a Witcher, and the effects of it. You can’t tear your eyes off of the underlined portion at the bottom, describing how Witcher’s no longer feel emotions after they consume the mutagenic compounds and complete their grueling training. It doesn’t take a scientist to understand why your father wrote that. He thought Witcher’s were evil.

“What are you doing?”

You immediately shut the notebook and launch out of your seat to see Geralt standing in front of you, his right eyebrow raised and his arms pressing folded over his chest, his biceps bulging underneath the pressure.

“God, Geralt, you scared me,” you place your hand over your heart as you try and catch the breath that was shocked out of you. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I wasn’t. What are you doing?” he repeats, unrelenting.

You quickly run through the possible outcomes of what could happen if you tell Geralt that you know he’s a Witcher. Surely, he wouldn’t wear his pendant if he was that intent on hiding his identity, right? But, then again, he could easily kill you if you try and be more invasive than you already have been. I mean, you just read about how Witcher’s are soulless monsters who only exist to take lives.

You try to think of something, but you remember that you couldn’t lie to save your damn life. With a sigh, you pick up the notebook from the table and thumb through to find the page about Witchers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you are a Witcher, Geralt?” you shove the notebook in front of you, and Geralt takes it from you, scanning the pages. You fumble with your hands, hoping Geralt didn’t notice how fake the confidence in your voice was.

“I assumed you already knew. Is it not quite obvious?”

You scoff, surprised at how easy Geralt’s few words made you feel so naive and stupid. You snatch the notebook from his hand and brush past him, walking back towards the box.

“You could’ve at least told me,” you close the lock with more force than you mean to, eliciting a loud bang as it comes in contact with the aged wood.

“Why are you so upset?” he asks, and the simpleness of his question makes you even more pissed for some reason.

“I’m not,” you retort, standing up and away from the chest. “I just wish you told me.”

“Would you have not treated me? Had you known I was a Witcher?”

You turn around sharply and don’t attempt to hide the confusion on your face. Geralt’s face was tight, the same it always was, but his voice was strained and his eyes were narrowed, the bright amber of his irises much more intimidating than they once were.

“What? No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant. Geralt!” you call him after he walks away from you, grabbing his bag of weapons. He nearly makes it out of the shack completely until you yell his name again and he stops in his tracks. You flinch when he turns around to face you with one of the venomous expressions you’ve ever seen, his golden eyes boring into you.

“What?” he spits, his mouth in a snarl. “You read that book. That’s what you all think of me, right?”

You can’t help the tears that begin to pool in your eyes at the venom in his words. No one has ever yelled at you - even when your mother scolds you, she never raises her voice even slightly. You hated that Geralt was so upset at you for something you didn’t even mean.

“Geralt, I promise you, that isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry,” you drop your head, sniffling. If he was going to leave, you wanted him to know you didn’t think anything lesser of him. You would never do anything like that.

You hear the clink of the bag of metal hitting the floor and an exhale come from the man in front of you.

“Stop crying. Please,” he folds his arms over his chest, and you can’t tell if the statement comes from guilt or annoyance.

“Of course I still would’ve treated you, Geralt,” you whisper, breaking the silence that had fallen. “I- I know what that feels like - to not be liked for something you can’t change. I’d never wish that feeling on my worst enemy.”

Geralt says nothing, his eyes locked on yours.

“If you wish to leave, I won’t stop you,” you empty your chest, trying to convince yourself that you’re okay with that. “But I want you to leave knowing that. I was just scared, I guess. I have not seen anyone in ages, let alone someone like you - but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me.”

Geralt still doesn’t speak, but he tears his eyes off of you to sit down on your bed.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No,” he murmurs, wincing as he tries to move without tearing the stitches. “I’m not.”

“Good,” you move forward and crouch in front of him, picking up the bottom of his shirt so you can take a look at the stitches. You look up at him to make sure he’s okay with it, and you take his stoic expression as a yes. You see that the stitches are healing quite nicely, but you also notice the dirt and grime that has gathered around it and on the rest of his stomach.

“When was the last time you bathed, Geralt?” you graze your fingers across his abdomen, cringing at the dirt that gathers under them.

“Bathing is a luxury for me. I do it when I can.”

You kiss your teeth and stand up, shaking your head. “A luxury? Nonsense, it is integral. A basic human right.”

“Well, I’m not exactly human am I?” Geralt counters, and you furrow your brows in confusion.

“If you are implying, Geralt of Rivia, that you do not need to bathe simply because you are a Witcher,” you pause to dramatically sniff him and make a sour face, “Then you are terribly, terribly mistaken.”

“Alright, enough.” he waves you off as you snicker proudly at your joke. “There’s no bath in here anyway.

“I know a place.”

••••••

You focus on the crunching of your feet on the leaves as you lead Geralt towards the river that you use to bathe. The moist dirt tickles your bare feet and you move the tall green weeds out of the way as you breathe in the fresh air, letting it fill your chest.

“The air is so clean because of all the trees. I love going back here.”

“Hmm,” is the only response you get from the man behind you. You briefly look back at Geralt with a smile.

“Such a man of few words,” you say after a few moments, your voice low. You’ve begun to not let the lack of detail from Geralt sting, since it seems that he won’t be opening up to you with his life story any time soon. In fact, you found an odd bit of comfort in his presence - somebody who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty talk. So you accept it and make your way to the river with the quietude heavy between you.

Even though you’ve been to this river so many times, it never fails to take your breath away. The water is a remarkable pale blue color, and it’s so clean that the light reflecting off of it is almost blinding. Old, decaying logs are littered throughout the bank of the river, spotted with green moss. As you get to the end of the worn trail where the rocks leading to the body water begin, you look up at the blush pink early morning sky and bask in the soft hum of various insects.

“It is nice.”

Realizing that Geralt talked to you of his own volition and not just because you spoke to him., you feign surprise and look at Geralt with an exaggerated face of shock. “Wow, he speaks!”

Geralt rolls his eyes but you catch the smile on his face when he drops his head. A grin involuntarily makes its way onto your face, and you gesture towards the beautiful river.

“Well, here it is. I’ll go back to the garden and come get you later, alright?”

“You’re not going to bathe?”

Your cheeks and chest immediately get hot as you think of the idea of being so close to Geralt in such an intimate position with no clothes on, imagining the water droplets trailing down his chest and onto his-

You clear your throat and try to remember how words work.

“I was, um, just going to bathe after you were finished. So, uh, yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it just be quicker to bathe together? Wastes less time,” Geralt shrugs, placing his bag with his sword on the ground and reaching to pull off his shirt. “And I’m not sure of this road. Wouldn’t want to get lost.”

Huh. I guess that makes sense.

“Well, only if you’re okay with it.”

“I proposed it, why wouldn’t I be?”

Not knowing what to say, you nod in agreement and watch him peel off the rest of his clothing. When he looks back at you, you don’t have a chance to explain why you were staring before he asks why you aren’t undressed.

“Uh, close your eyes, please,” you ask, toying with the waistband of your skirt.

Geralt laughs, like really fucking laughs, after you say that, but you can’t seem to find the humor in what you said.

“Geralt. I’m serious.”

“Fine,” he says with a chuckle, making his way towards the river and, after testing the temperature with his foot, glides in with his back facing you. Relieved, you take off your top and skirt, deciding against removing your undergarments, which included your underwear and a light tank top. You’re suddenly very conscious of your body and the way that it looks - no one has ever seen you like this. You force the anxiety out of your head and join Geralt in the river, giving him permission to turn around once you’re submerged up until your shoulders.

“Have you still got a shirt on?” he gestures towards the white strap that is peeking out from the water. “Is that not uncomfortable?”

“No,” you shut down any attempt at continuing that conversation, running your hands over your forearms to scrub off any potential gunk. The two of you naturally fell into another silence, enjoying the cool water as the sun started to rise, glaring down onto the river. The silence permeates for God knows how long until Geralt asks you a question.

“What did you mean earlier?”

“Hm?” you turn at the sound of Geralt’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you know what it feels like. To be judged.” Geralt moves closer to you, causing ripples in the water.

“Oh,” you sigh, mentally preparing yourself to tell a story you’ve never spoken about with anyone after it was relayed to you.

“My father,” you start after some moments, “He was a sorcerer - he was born with magic inside of him and had no proper training, but he was still incredible at his craft. Instead of working for the royal family, he decided to help the impoverished who lived near our home. He would heal them, mentally and physically, for quite little money. He took a few jobs under Queen Calanthe that granted him the coins to feed us, but that wasn’t where his heart was. He wasn’t interested in pointless politics,” your voice starts to break as you blink rapidly, attempting to keep it together. You notice Geralt’s expression soften, his jaw releasing from the clench it always seems to be in.

“And when Nilfgaard attacked, he didn’t fight. He stayed in burning buildings and ashy rubble, looking for anyone who needed help that wasn’t a priority to Cintra. And when he was found, he was trying to help a young girl whose leg had been caught under steel. He didn’t even flinch when he was struck, he just kept trying. He never stopped, never - it wasn’t in his blood,” your mouth opens to continue but nothing comes out except for a sob that racks your whole body. Your head falls in your hand and you cry and cry, forgetting that Geralt is standing in the water in front of you until you feel two large arms wrap around yours, enveloping you in a tight embrace. You stiffen instinctively at his tight grip, but let yourself melt into his arms and the water, grasping at his biceps.

“He sounds like he was a good man, Y/N. You should be proud,” he reassured you, releasing his tight grip and lazily running his hands up and down your forearms. You nodded, not wanting to remove your face from the crevice in Geralt’s neck

“I understand the - the pain of loss,” Geralt says quietly, and you look up, expecting to hear more. Yet you see Geralt staring out straight in front of him, his expression unreadable, and you know that’s all you can squeeze out of him. You're okay with that, though.

"I feel like I've cried more in the last few days than I have in years, Christ," you laugh, trying to wipe the tears off of your face but realizing the effort is futile as your soaked hands make your face even damper.

Geralt says nothing but he brushes his thumbs across on your arm, and you register that he's still so close to you. You tilt your head up to look at his face and your eyes fall on the red scar on his cheek, the skin around it slightly raised from the inflammation of the cut. You slowly bring your hand up to his face using your index finger to lightly ghost over the cut, tracing the shape. Geralt closes his eyes as you continue running your finger over the left side of his face until the pad of your finger gets to his jawline, and you pull your finger away to point the pad of your finger in Geralt’s face.

“See?” you prompt with a smile, waiting for him to open his eyes. “All clean.”

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt x you #the witcher fandom #geralt reader insert #geralt fluff #geralt of rivia smut #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #the witcher fanfic #cute fic

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friendlylocalwriter · 4 years

Text

The Quiet Stranger

Pairing(s): Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Warnings: Slight mention of violence, mild language, bit of a meet-cute, nothing too bad

Requested: No

Word Count: 2452

Chapter: 1/?

A/N: Hello friends! I have decided to do a multi-chapter Witcher fic because like,,, have y’all seen him LMAO. I’m hoping to actually get on a schedule and post every Saturday for this fic, so I hope you all enjoy! And, I’ve decided to stray away from writing real person fics (like my timothee chalamet fic I posted earlier this year) so there will be no part three to that, so I apologize! Pretty please comment/reblog if you enjoy, because that’s what keeps me goin! This is also posted on my AO3 @/violettaren. Enjoy loves! <3

Your back is aching.

You turn over on your poorly constructed wooden bed to see your mother opening the curtains to your shack, letting the bright light of the morning shine into your eyes. You groan and let your head fall back onto the cheap fabric that works as a makeshift pillow.

“Get up urgently, young one. We’ve much to do before I leave for the market” your mother says as she gathers various tools from the main table in your home. Well, home is generous. Nilfgaard had taken your home in Cintra many years ago during the war, robbing you and your mother of your father, your home, your livelihood. You were so young that any memory of Cintra escapes you, but you see it on your mother’s eyes every time she looks out onto the large acre of land you two now occupy deep in the forest, alone. This isn’t where she’s meant to be.

It’s this thought that forces you out of bed to help your mother gather the grains and berries you grow in your garden to sell in the town miles over every few months. The coins your mother makes isn’t much, not nearly as much as your father made in Cintra, but it’s enough to keep you alive. Enough to allow you to stay home while your mother is gone for many weeks and study the books your father left behind.

“I’d appreciate it if you actually put the grains in the bag,” your mother grins at you, looking down at the empty rucksack that should be full of the tall brown plants cascading across the field. You drop your head and apologize, quickly feeling around to see which are ready to be picked. You feel your mother’s hand on your shoulder, forcing your gaze up to see her expression.

“I was only kidding, dear. What has you so disquieted?” her voice was soft and plush, enveloping around you like a warm cotton blanket. Christ, you were going to miss her.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave, Mother. At least not for so long.” You sighed, pressing the pads of your fingers into your hands. “I feel so lonely here, all I can do is tend to the garden and read Father’s books. Can I come with you, just this once?”

You already knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Now, dear, you know it’s much too dangerous for you to leave here,” her voice stopped as she took in a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a sad smile.

“I’ve lost- I’ve lost too much to take the chance. I’m sorry. And with Lav’s sickness, the journey will take even longer since I must go on foot. You have to understand.”

Lav was your family horse who’d been with you for many years, but her age was starting to catch up with her. She could barely walk, let alone carry pounds of produce.

"I do, I do understand." you sigh and carry the bags of food to the front of a trail where a barrel stands, and you begin the load to load the produce. Once the last of the bags are set, you grab your mother tightly, and you drink in her laugh, hoping it'll stay with you for the coming weeks.

"I'll be just alright, dear. Just make sure Lav doesn't eat any of my damn berries."

•••••••

Lav’s loud neighing woke you up as the sun was just starting to rise over your shack. You assumed it was just your old horse coming across some little rodent in the garden, and snuggled back into your blanket, thinking nothing of it. But her sounds got progressively louder and more shrill, and you sighed, ripping the blanket off of your body and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You glanced in the mirror next to you to see your sheer pale nightgown outlining your body. No one comes around even miles close to here, you thought. Shrugging, you make your way outside to the garden to see Lav and … nothing. Like you thought.

“What is it, girl? What’d you wake me up for?” you pet her brown mane, looking around to see if there was anything out there.

“You get scared so easy, Lav. Make no more noise, please, Lord knows I need the beauty sleep.”

You give her a few more head pats and yawn, turning around to walk back to your bed when you are met with two amber eyes looking at you.

It takes you a few moments to realize that there is an actual person, a massive one at that, staring at you with no expression on his face. Once your brain decides to work, you remember what you’re wearing and your hands immediately fly to cover your chest.

“I am - I didn’t know anyone was around here. I’m sure you’re just passing through, I’ll get out of your way,” your voice comes out much quicker and more child-like than you would’ve hoped, and you try to speedwalk past him. You only get maybe two steps in before a calloused hand grabs your arm, turning you back around to face him again, forcing you to get a good look at him.

Funnily enough, his amber eyes are the least striking thing about this stranger. His long locks are a dusty white shade, with a few sparse strands framing the front of his face. He’s wide, god why is he so wide?, and he easily has at least 6 inches on you. He has three or four fresh scars on his face, and what looks like the handle of a sword is peeking out from behind him. Your eyes fall down his heavily dressed chest only to see a large hole at the bottom, right above his pelvis. Your brows furrow, and you quickly realize that it is a knife wound, noticing the dark dried blood. Your heart stops and you run through all of the things your mother told you to do if a Nilfgaardian came to your home.

“Listen,” he says almost immediately after feelings your pulse quicken under his touch. “I am not here to hurt you. I am Geralt, of Rivia. I need attendance.” His voice is deep and ragged, with such a severe intensity that you hesitate to reply. He lets his grip loosen on your arm but still keeps it there, ghosting over you.

“Please, I will give you no trouble.”

“I don’t know, a wound of that caliber kind of indicates to me that there’d be a bit of trouble,” you joke, lightly gesturing to his abdomen with your free arm. He says nothing, his eyes scanning your face.

Yeesh. You haven’t seen another person other than your mother in years, but you didn’t think your jokes were that bad.

Once the silence begins to verge on uncomfortable, you slowly remove your arm from his grip and move back a bit, crossing your arms over your torso.

“I can try and help you, Geralt, but I’ve no magic nor any healing powers. I can possibly stitch that wound you’ve got and give you some fresh ale to help with the pain?” you propose, even though you had quite shoddy sewing skills. You swear you see his rock hard expression falter quickly, but it goes right back before you could figure out if it truly happened or not.

“I would appreciate that, uh…”

“Y/N, my name is Y/N, of, well formerly of Cintra,” you smile tightly, forcing those thoughts out of your head.

He simply hmmed, and you spot his eyes trailing down your collarbones to fall onto your chest. You feel the heat come onto your face and you turn around, trying to concentrate on anything except the amber of eyes of the stranger.

“Come inside. I’ll get changed quickly and then hopefully get you back to health, and on your way.”

•••••••

He was bad at talking. Or rather, he just didn’t want to talk to you.

Once you two were inside, you tossed on a large tattered poncho over your nightgown and grabbed the old sewing kit on your nightstand, praying that you had the skills to hopefully help this man. He was sat on your bed, constantly fidgeting around to try and get comfortable.

“I know, it’s quite hard, isn’t it? I wake up feeling ten years older every night,” you look up to smile at him while you try and get the thread through your needle. It feels like hours pass before he says anything.

“I am used to discomfort.”

You try to rack your brain to think of what to say, because who the hell says that, but you come up short and decide to work on the pressing task at hand. As soon as you prepare the needles, you stand up and walk towards the back of your shack where all of your food and drink are stored, and grab the beer you and your mother made with the fresh grains.

“Here,” you hand it to him, ignoring the electricity that runs through your arm when his fingers brush against yours. “Hopefully this will help with the pain.”

He gives you another hmm and takes a large swig while you sit next to him, being extra cautious to make sure there is enough space between the two of you. He quickly finishes his drink with a sigh and places it on your nightstand, looking back at you with expecting eyes.

“I, um, need you to remove your dressings. For me to work, of course,” you sputter, mentally kicking yourself in the head.

You notice Geralt’s lips rise oh so slightly into a little smirk as you stuttered, and he wastes no time tossing his bag with his weapons onto the floor and then slowly removing the many articles of clothing on his torso. You feel an odd pull in the bottom of your stomach when you see his shirtless body, his arms veiny and riddled with scars, his chest muscular and equally as blemished. That same heat rises to your cheeks and you look down at his wound, wincing as you examine the gash.

“Lean back, please,” you murmur, cringing at how weak you sound. “I can’t properly stitch you in this position.”

He obliges wordlessly as he splays his half-naked body onto your cot, closing his eyes. You realize how much effort you’re putting into just breathing, and you get to work on closing the wound, getting into a rhythm with your sewing. His abdomen clenches but he lets out no audible indication of pain, his mouth sealed in a tight frown.

“How did this happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do.”

Shocked at his rude candor, and embarrassed, you say nothing as you press your head down, hoping to make no further eye contact with him. He hisses as you work towards closing the largest part of the wound, and you thought of apologizing but decided against it due to his track record when it came to talking. You continue to stitch in silence until the wound was closed, and you sigh in relief as you looked at your finished work. Wasn’t great, but wasn’t going to kill him.

“It should heal soon, hopefully,” you stand up, moving to rub your hands on your thighs until you notice the bloodstains all over them. With a shiver, you grab a wet cloth and roughly scrub at hands. You couldn’t stand the smell of someone else’s blood any longer.

You hear a creak and turn around to see Geralt standing up with his clothing in his hand, and you immediately feel anger cloud your head.

“What the hell? You’re going to pull the stitches, you idiot,” you grab the clothes out of his hands and toss them back on the ground. “I did not just cover my hands in blood for God knows how long for you to mess up my work minutes after!” you exclaim, putting your hands on your hips. Geralt laughs in such a condescending way that you can’t even begin to hold back the fury in your voice.

“You asked me for help, remember? I should be hearing ‘Wow, thank you Y/N for helping me, a random stabbed stranger!’”

Geralt’s smile falls as he stares into your eyes, and you feel that same discomfort from when you first found him outside. He just did everything with such intent and passion that when it was directed at you, you felt like jumping out of your skin.

“Thank you, Y/N, for what you’ve done, but I will be fine. I must be on my way,” he grimaces as he takes a step, and you can almost feel the pain with him.

“Geralt, listen. I get it, you’re a strong guy,” you step in front of him and try and remove the anger from your voice. “But you’re going to need to relax for at least a day. Give the stitches some time to settle.”

“I’ve no place to stay. It’s just forest, for miles.”

“You can stay with me.”

The sentence leaves your mouth before you can even recognize what you’re saying. Geralt’s eyebrows raise and he tilts his head slightly, eyeing you as one would to a lost puppy. Any confidence you had immediately dissipates when you realize what you just suggested, and you open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“I mean, only if- if you’d like. If not, I’m sure you can make it to a town on foot by tomorrow. I’m sure your fast,” you finally choke out with a scratchy laugh, and you shut your eyes, wishing this entire situation would just disappear.

Geralt laughs again, but this time it’s much more earnest and kind of … adorable? Not that you should think of this strange man who’d been knifed and wandered through a forest as adorable, but he kind of was.

“Y/N, open your eyes,” he says, his voice surprisingly stern. You look up at him, preparing for another blunt response, but are met with much softer eyes.

“I wouldn’t wish to overstay my welcome.”

“You wouldn’t be,” you breathe, shyness creeping up under his gaze. “I- I would like for you to stay. Just so I can make sure the stitches are okay.”

You didn’t notice it until now, but Geralt’s fingertips were so lightly touching yours that there was almost no contact, but just close enough to get that same pull in the bottom of your stomach. You’d never felt anything like this before, and as much as it terrified you, you didn’t want it to end.

"Alright, then it's settled, Y/N. I'll stay."

#the witcher #witcher x reader #witcher x y/n #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher fandom #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #fanfiction #reader-insert #fluff #witcher fluff

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friendlylocalwriter · 4 years

Text

Stay With Me

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the Daily Planet and can’t stand Clark Kent, until he saves your life.

Requested : No

Word Count: 2,514

Warnings: Violence (not too graphic), swearing, a little smutty if you really squint, and Clark Kent’s a bit snarky ;)

A/N: i’m not a huuuge fan of how this turned out, but i just watched The Witcher and needed to write something with a henry cavill character! i’m thinking of doing some geralt of rivia fics, let me know if yall would like that! p.s., i also posted this fic on AO3 if yall would prefer to read it there (my username is violettaren). enjoy! requests are open :)

You sighed heavily as you thumbed through bill after bill, the glaring red ink of PAST DUE seemingly taunting you.

“Jesus, Perry, how did you let it get this bad?” you tossed the papers on his desk, placing your hands on your hips.

Perry White pinched his nose, leaning back in his rickety wooden chair.

“Why the hell do we think we hired you? Out of the kindness of our hearts?”

Silence fell in the room before your head fell back in laughter, and you were met with confused eyes when you looked forward.

“You don’t get to be facetious when you’re on the verge of bankruptcy, Perry. I mean, look at this,” you reached over and picked up a sheet of paper with the payroll on it. “You’re paying people when they aren’t even in the office? I mean, what did you expect?”

Perry snatched the sheet from your hand, scanning it to see what you were going on about. Your brows furrowed when his gaze hardened on a specific name.

“Jesus Christ,” he rolled his eyes and slammed the paper back on his desk. He ruffled through the drawers in his desk and pulled out a red pen, furiously scribbling on the payroll.

“What?” you leaned over to see if you could sneak a peek on what got him so angry so quickly. He handed the sheet back to you and let his head fall, emptying any breath he had in him.

“Of course it’s him,” he said, his voice low.

Confused, you glance down at the paper to see a circled name staring back at you.

Clark Kent.

-----------------------------------

“What’s this meeting for, boss?”

You sat down as Perry moved to the front of the conference room, next to a large projector. He had called in his lead reporters for an ‘important conversation’, and everyone in the room knew this wasn’t ending kindly. You looked around, trying to gauge the different expressions on your soon-to-be coworkers’ faces. Your eyes stopped first on a woman with burnt orange hair, her chest rising rapidly due to her quick breathing. You shuffled through the papers given to you by Perry, and it was easy to determine that to be … Lois Lane. Her eyes met yours and she gave you a shaky smile. You simply raised your eyebrows in return and looked back down at your agenda.

You didn’t mean to be a dick, but you had business to do, and your job didn’t make you the nicest person in the office.

Scanning the room, you continued to identify each member until your gaze fell on him. His light blue eyes pierced through his thick-framed black glasses and didn’t budge when you looked over at him. You took in his defined, angular face and tilted your head, almost staring at him as if he were an attraction. His expression was unlike anyone else in the room - his smile was wide and bright and he leaned back in his chair, letting his shirt tighten with his movements. You could smell the confidence oozing out of his pores. You didn’t even need to take a look at your sheet to know who he was. You simply humphed and turned your attention to Perry.

The presentation included Perry viciously yelling at his employees for nearly an hour. You couldn’t blame him though - employees gone for weeks at a time, using company funding for flights and housing - if it continued, the Daily Planet would definitely be going under.

Which is why you needed to put this Clark Kent character in his place.

“Mr. Kent,” you called out before he left the room,.“May I have a word?”

He held the door for the other employees, and once everyone was gone, he turned over to face you with a Cheshire-like grin on his face. It took every bone in your body not to let your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“I don’t believe I got your name,” he walked over to you with his hand extended, waiting for you to shake it.

Jesus, his hands are big.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kent, I am not having this conversation with you in hopes of becoming your friend. We need to discuss your extended leaves of absences without prior notice,” you said, handing him a large stack of papers. You noticed his body tense slightly before he relaxed and picked up the papers.

After a short silence, you heard what sounded like a … giggle? You didn’t trust your ears, because this 6-foot, incredibly muscular man did not just giggle in front of your fucking face.

“I guess I am gone a lot, huh,” he shuffled through each paper, snickering.

You felt your face get warm, and you clenched your jaw.

“Mr. Kent, I’m not sure what-“

“Clark,” he interrupted, looking up at you. “Call me Clark, no need to be formal.”

You wanted to rip that goddamn smile off of his face.

“Well, Clark, I’m not sure how things are run around here. But, you are single handedly costing this company a fortune. To be completely honest, I am not sure why Perry hasn’t fired you yet to be honest,” you sighed, standing up to face him.

“Maybe he’s in love with me,” Clark grinned, looking down at you.

You let out a dry chuckle and shook your head, licking your lips as you gathered your things.

“Let me be very clear with you, Mr. Kent,” you straightened, not allowing his daunting height to waive your confidence. “There will be no more unannounced absences. If you need to leave, I need to be contacted at least 24 hours before, but I would prefer 48. And, while I determine base pay, there can be no absences for the next month. Do you understand?”

He said nothing as he looked down at you, his smile slowly morphing into a smirk.

“Mr. Kent,” you let any humor leave your voice and spoke very slowly. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Duly noted.”

“Great,” you forced your eyes away from his face as you glided past him, smoothing out your pencil skirt.

“Y/N is my name, by the way,” you said as you opened the door, feeling his eyes burning the back of the head.

You knew this guy was gonna be trouble.

—————————————

It’s been around two months since you started working at the Daily Planet, and you have finally begun to found your footing. You’ve been forced to be very strict with the reporters, giving you a not-so-nice reputation, but hey- it’s working. For the first time in the entire year, the company is actually not losing profits. Go figure.

It’s too quiet, you thought as glanced above your cubicle to see everyone was gone. You grabbed your phone to look at the time.

12:46 AM

No wonder it was silent - everyone had already left. You sighed, standing up and feeling the entire weight of the day as you did so. You aimlessly shoved papers and notebooks into your messenger bag and turned to leave, jumping when you see Clark standing right in front of you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kent, you scared me,” you hunched over with your hand on your heart. “What are you still doing here?”

“I came over to ask you the same thing,” he adjusted the strap of his bag, and you noticed that the top button on his shirt was unbuttoned.

Hmm.

“Perry wanted me to finish some work before I left, and some work became more and more and…” you trailed off, your brain so fried that you couldn’t even think.

Clark raised his hand, hesitating, before placing his hand on your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his large grip on you.

“I think White’s working you too hard, Y/N. You always leave after me,” he said, leaning his head down slightly. The space between the two of you was small. Too small for your liking.

You shrugged his hand off of your shoulder and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Suddenly, Clark cares about me? That’s new,” you gritted through your teeth. He winced, confused by your anger. You were confused yourself on why you had gotten so angry. He doesn’t matter.

“I’m not deaf. I hear what Lane says about me. And you seem to have no problem agreeing with her,” you tried to speak with conviction, but it came out so weak and … wanting. That’s not who you are. Frustrated, you start speed-walking away from him towards the elevator.

His expression fell and he jogged to catch up with you, calling your name.

“Kent, please leave me alone. I need to get home,” you felt his hand move behind you and came right next to your head and fell against the wall, trapping you from moving.

“Y/N,” his voice was hoarse. “Please, let me explain.”

You shut your eyes hard, feeling the burn of tears trying to come forward. Without a word, you quickly twisted and pushed his hand away, rushing towards the stairs and nearly falling as you sprinted down. For a reason you couldn’t explain, you felt a ping of sadness when Clark didn’t follow you.

Your heart dropped when you realized you had to walk home alone, as a woman, during the night all the way from Metropolis to Gotham City. Wiping the tears off of your face, you kept an iron-clad grip on your bag and started your twenty-minute walk home. You ignored the cat-calls and gross comments from men on the street, and you managed to make it to the front of your apartment without a scratch. Relieved, you press your keycard into the front of the apartment entrance door when you hear your name called from behind you. Initially, you think the voice was Clark, but it was too high and scratchy to be him. You turn around to see a figure that you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark.

“Who are you?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

The man stalked towards you, and once he came into the light, you immediately recognized him.

“Don’t you own Lexcorp?”

His laugh was cacophonous, making you cringe as you tried to slowly create more distance between the two of you. Within a blink, fingers were pressing into your throat and your back slammed against the door. You gasped, reaching up to try and scratch at the man holding you, and his fist collided with your cheek. Your head dropped involuntarily, and you felt blood drip from your face onto the floor.

“You,” he squeezed out, his voice manic and shaky. “Are the key to what I want.”

“I don’t… know … what you’re-“ you gasped, trying to keep your eyes open and hold on to any consciousness.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, tutting condescendingly. “Superman will save you, won’t he?

He punched you once again, and your head slammed against the glass door. The sound of glass shattering was the last thing you heard before your body went limp.

——————

Fuck, your head hurts.

You cracked open your eyes and tried to push yourself off of the bed you're laying down on, but your whole body feels like it’s a thousand pounds. You let your body fall back into bed and reached to grab the comforters, but your eyes widened in fear as you felt the duvet in your hands.

This isn’t your room.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you forced yourself onto your feet, staggering as your head pounds. Disoriented, you opened the door to the unknown apartment and attempted to make a beeline for the front door when a hand grabbed at your arm. You’re about to scream before you hear his voice- Clark’s voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me, relax,” his voice was soft, so soft, and he used both of his hands to hold you up.

“Clark?” You whispered, letting your body relax in his arms.

“Yes, it’s me, it’s just me,” he moved one hand to wrap around your waist and the other rested on your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. Lines danced across your forehead as you scanned his face, trying to figure out what exactly he was apologizing for.

“For what, Clark?”

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and you started to slowly gain awareness of your surroundings.

“What am I doing here? And why does my head feel like I was body-slammed into concrete?” you sighed as you rubbed your head, attempting to soothe the shooting pain.

“It’s my fault.”

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to digest the pain in his voice.

“I’d love a bit more than three word sentences, Clark,” you joked after a few moments, but Clark didn’t even crack a smile. Your heart fell in your stomach - if you were the one joking and Clark wasn’t being insufferable, something was definitely off.

“Clark, please talk to me-”

You’re cut off by Clark’s lips pressing onto your. Your eyes widen with shock as you feel his lips mold against yours. you try to rack your brain to figure out what is happening but your mind is empty - every thought you had escaped as your mouth met his. Your heart banged against your chest as you let him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing inside your mouth. You felt a flutter in your lower stomach as his grip on your waist tightened, and you moaned softly into his mouth, bringing your hands up to his muscular chest. You opened your eyes slightly to peek at Clark, making sure this wasn’t a figment of your imagination, but it wasn’t. The way he was kissing you was very real.

You softly pushed him away as you gasped for air, his lips pink and swollen and his eyes glazed over.

“Only you would kiss me after I’ve been beaten to a pulp, Kent.”

He smiled that gorgeous annoying smile and rested his forehead against yours as he sighed contentedly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “But you were too busy scolding me to let me do it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? Of course, of course,” you struggled to feign anger, but you just couldn’t get the shit-eating grin off of your face.

He kissed me.

You took your hand off of his chest and grazed it down his arm until you got to his hand, slowly interlacing your fingers.

“Tell me what happened last night, Clark,” you squeezed his hand, letting him know that kissing you wasn’t going to get him out of this. “Why did Lex Luthor try to fucking kill me?”

His eyes refused to meet yours, and you pressed into him harder.

“Clark-”

“Okay,” he relented, staring down at your intertwined hands. “I’ll tell you everything, under one condition.”

You raised your eyebrow in amusement. “And what would that be, Kent?”

“Stay, here, with me.”

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman x you #superman x y/n #dc #batman v superman #dceu #superman #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #superman fanfic #superman fluff #batman #henry cavill x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #headcanon

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friendlylocalwriter · 4 years

Text

love you like i’m gonna lose you

Pairing(s): poe dameron x reader

Summary: some loose headcanons about what would happen if poe dameron thought you died :-(

Warnings: angst + mentions of death but it’s quite tame imo

Word Count: 904 (i got a lil into it hehe)

a/n: ok so there is a timothee request that’s been in my ask box FOREVER and i swear my lil heart that i will get to it but i just rewatched the force awakens (arguably the only good sequel movie cough cough) and i was really feelin some poe dameron so i decided to do some headcanons abt him! i also have an idea for a super angsty kylo fic but it would be a big boy (prob like 20k words and i am not a fan of fics w chapters so it would take me a while to pump out) so lmk if yall would like that?? ok enough chat onwards with headcanons! :)

- also this is so long for no reason i should’ve just done a fic LOL enjoy :-)

- you and poe had been in a weird serious but not serious relationship for around 6 months, and you were honestly loving it

- the only thing you hated was how intent he was on making sure you never went on a mission with him

- you were kind of offended because, like, ‘who does this asshole think he is, i can put down a couple stormtroopers no problem’

- and he knew that, trust me

- but what you didn’t know is that he was terrified of losing you, just like he lost so many other of his loved ones in this war

- so after months and months of begging and bribing, he finally caved because he couldn’t do anything when you gave him that adorable pout

- so the mission was supposed to be easy - (and he did that for a reason) - go to Yavin 4 and scope out a pub that was rumored to have spies for the first order working there. no violence, just a tactical mission, and then you two would return to jakku and plan how to take them out

- on the way there, poe was like nervously tapping the entire time he was flying his x-wing

- and you just attributed it to his nerves about the mission, which was weird since it was so easy

- but in reality, poe was losing his shit because he was going to ask you to officially be his girlfriend on the flight back after the mission

- and boy was he nervous because it’s not like you’re one the best things that’s ever happened to him, or anything

- bb-8 almost ruined his plan by asking poe when he was gonna do it

- “do what, babe?”

-”bb-8 get out of the cockpit or i swear to god-”

- so the two of you land on yavin-4, and the whole plan goes smoothly

- poe lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in when the three of you get back in the x-wing

- you were super tired so when you two were almost off of the planet, your eyes were closing from exhaustion before poe shook you awake

- “so, um, y/n, i, uh had a question”

- you laughed at his shyness since it was so out of character

- “what’s got cocky little poe stuttering over his words”

- “if you only you knew it was you” he said in his head

- “so, i’ve been having a really good time with you, and i’m sure, well i’m positive you have with me” he smirks

- you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and poe let out one of his beautiful laughs

-”so i was wondering if you-”

-poe’s sentence was cut off by bb-8 beeping rapidly

- poe sighed “not the right time, pal”

- bb-8 continued until a deafening crack was heard behind them

- “what the hell? are one of the engines shot?” you turned to him and saw his face white as a sheet

- “oh fuck, no no no this is not supposed to be happening, fuck!” poe screamed out

- you were so confused until you saw two black planes fly by you, and you realized they were part of a first order fleet

- poe’s screams made a lot more sense

- before you even registered this, another shot hit your x-wing and you felt the altitude drop

- “fuck y/n, we’re going down okay i’m gonna fly out and we’re going to avoid them and land safely, okay? we’re gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine, we’re okay”

- “okay, poe, i trust you” you said shakily, and moved to grab his arm

- then a searing pain ran through your chest, and your head hit the front of the cockpit as you fell unconscious

- you obviously hadn’t known at the time, but the members of the first order had damn good aim, and had hit you just below your heart

- poe’s heart just about fell out of his mouth as he saw your lifeless body and he felt so sick that he started gagging

- then he realized that a bunch of first order scum was still trying to kill him

- being the incredible pilot that he is, he was able to land his decimated x-wing that definitely wouldn’t be able to fly anymore

- but he couldn’t even think about that

- tears were running down his face as he dragged your body out onto the ground of whatever planet he managed to land on

- he rested his head on your head, sobbing and muttering how this wasn’t supposed to happen to you

- bb-8 rolled around you, and rolled right into your side

- poe was about to scream at the droid until you let out a loud gasp

- poe’s eyes just about fell out of his head

- “poe”

- “oh my fucking stars, you’re alive”

- “why the hell are you crying”

- poe’s tears turned into laughter as he pressed you into his chest

- then realized that the hole in your chest was going to kill you

- being who he is, he immediately jumped into action

-“there has to be an infirmary here somewhere, we’ll get you cleaned up, okay? but you gotta stay awake for me, honey”

- you grunted in pain as he picked you up

- “honey, huh? that’s a new one” you muttered

- poe had a shit eating grin on his face

- “if you like that one, i have an even better one”

- “oh yeah? what’s that, smart guy”

-”my girlfriend”

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friendlylocalwriter · 5 years

Text

thank u, next pt. 2

Pairing(s):Timothee Chalamet x fem!reader

Warnings: angst (i love pain what can i say), kind of fluffy? (my idea of fluff is just softer angst fmknfsknfns)

Word Count: 2,043

author’s note: ok im ACTUALLY back this time LMAO. yall wanted, so yall shall receive. enjoy :-)

p.s. it’s not essential to read part 1 before reading this as i wrote it as a stand alone, but if you want a little more context check out pt. 1! :)

It was early on a cold Sunday morning, and I had just stopped into my local cafe for some much-needed caffeine. I stuffed my frozen fingers into my coat pocket and rushed inside to escape the chilling New York air, and was immediately bombarded with the bustling sounds of the shop.

“The usual?”

I was pulled out of my thoughts and looked up to see the barista smiling widely at me, already plugging in numbers.

“Yes, Vivian, thanks,” I said softly, fishing out a crumpled ten dollar bill from my pocket. She handed me my change with a bright “Coming right up!”, and a few minutes later I was standing with a bagel and a coffee in my hands, wondering where to eat.

I ended up deciding on the second-floor seating- the designated study area. It comprised mostly of adults typing away furiously on laptops, quickly downing shots of espresso and periodically letting out exasperated sighs. I sat down at a little table in the back and took a bite of my bagel, people-watching. My eyes laid on two teenagers in the corner seated on a little beanbag chair. The boy’s fluffy hair meshed with the short pixie cut of the girl he was laying beside, both nose deep in a book. The girl pointed at something in the thick novel, and the boy nodded, quickly jotting down something in a journal. Curious, I inch towards them to see if I could get a glimpse at the title, and my body freezes when I read it. “The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe.”

TWO YEARS PRIOR

“’ The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe? Could you get any more pretentious?”

Timothee let out a hearty laugh as he settled into his chair and brushed his brown locks away from his face., He watched Y/N thumb through the stacks of books arranged haphazardly in his bedroom, lingering on those she found interesting. His eyes trailed down her body, settling on her dirty, doodled-on Converse.

“Sick shoes,” he chortled, feigning surprise when she flipped him off.

It was only the second time Timothee and Y/N hung out, and Timothee impulsively asked if she wanted to come over after they spent hours walking around the NYC streets, talking about everything and nothing. He realized how much it sounded like he just wanted to bang her, but (although he did want to do that eventually) he genuinely just ached to spend more time with her. She was funny and blunt and made random weird jokes and just made Tim feel warm and fuzzy all over.

“Huh. Never really pegged you as a self-help book kinda guy,” she muttered, so quietly that Timothee almost couldn’t hear her. But he did.

“Well, what kind of guy do you peg me as?”, he asked, leaning forward in his chair with a grin on his face. Y/N turned around, rolling her eyes when she saw that shit-eating smirk.

“The kind who probably asks every girl he likes to come over to his apartment so they can ‘talk about books.’“ she says with air quotes, walking towards him. Timothee rolled his eyes as she stationed himself in front of him, her legs pressed together in between his spread ones. He said nothing, lightly grazing his hand on the fabric of her jeans.

Y/N looked down at him and instinctively started running her hands through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp. He looked up at her with a confused yet entertained look on his face.

“I can’t help it, I like your hair” Y/N giggled, letting her hands sit at the back of his neck.

“Well, I like you,” Timothee said, moving his hands from his jeans to her hand, gently interlocking their fingers. Y/N said nothing for a couple of moments and Timothee looked up at her, nervous.

“Shit, that might’ve been too soon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Timothee’s words were cut off by Y/N pressing her lips against his.

PRESENT TIME

“Hey, lady, your phone is ringing,”

I shook my head and realized that my phone was, indeed, ringing at full volume and every person within a 5-foot vicinity was giving me the death glare. I scrambled to stuff my bagel in my purse and let out a rushed “Sorry!” as I grabbed my coffee and sped down the stairs and out of the cafe. Once I was outside, I let myself rest on the window and looked to see who was calling.

‘An unknown number. Weird,’ I thought. ‘I’m pretty sure I blocked all those telemarketers.’

I answer the phone call with a short “Who’s this?”

The line is silent for a few seconds until I hear something I thought I would never hear again.

“Hey, Y/N it-it’s me, Timothee.”

My breath hitched and soared back into my body. Everything came running forward- the late night talks, getting McDonald’s at 4 A.M, the kisses, the hugs, the night he left.

Left. He left me.

“What the hell do you want?” I spat. Silence fell again, and I shifted against the cafe window, ready to hang up the phone. Then, I heard a deep sigh through the phone and something I didn’t expect- crying.

“Please, can we talk in person. I ... need to see you,” he choked out. I shut my eyes hard, feeling tears welling beneath my eyelids. No matter what, him crying always made me cry. Always.

I wasn’t going to crack, though.

“I don’t deserve this, Tim,” I laughed with no humor. “I just started to get used to having a life again, and you just call me out of nowhere asking to see me? You ruined me, T. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“Of course you don’t, that’s not what I meant, I-I’m sorry this was stupid. Sorry, sorry,” he rushed out with a quiet voice and the phone call disconnected. I let my head hang and a shuddered breath left my mouth, trying to wrap my head around what happened in the last minute.

I knew I didn’t deserve this, so I deleted his number and went on with my life. I found another boy who cherished me, respected me, and loved me. I had kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. I had peace.

I wish that were the truth.

3 DAYS LATER

Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on Your Shoulder” was the first thing I heard when I pushed open the double doors to my local diner. The 50s-themed restaurant was a favorite of mine, and the food was to die for. I glanced over at the modern-style jukebox to get a glimpse of the time.

2:14 A.M. Jesus.

The diner was empty, and the bored teen behind the counter looked at me with lazy eyes when I approached him.

“Table for two, please,” I asked kindly, giving him a small smile.

“You with the weirdo?” he questioned unenthusiastically, pointing over to a booth in the corner. I turned, confused, to see Timothee hunched over a cup of coffee. I felt my pulse quicken when he looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah, sadly. Thanks,” I mumbled, dragging my feet as I trudged over to the booth. I took in a sharp breath when I saw Timothee up close.

His eyes were bloodshot red, dark circles prominent coating his undereye area. His face was sunken and his cheekbones were a lot more prevalent than I remembered. His billowy shirt barely hung on his frame, his collarbones peeking out from the top. I cringed; he looked so unhealthy and broken that I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I settled into my side of the booth and kept my eyes on my hands in my lap.

“I know I look a little rough around the edges,” he muttered, a bashful tone to his voice.

“Well, little isn’t exactly the word I would use,” I joked, not being able to stop myself. Timothee looked up at me and laughed, his hair bouncing along with him. I chuckled along, looking him in the eyes. I’m not sure how many moments passed where we were just gazed at each other, taking it all in.

“Are you guys ready to order, or...,” the teen from before came up to our table with his hands crossed over his chest and an annoyed look on his face.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll take a slice of cherry pie and a root beer,” I said, glancing at Timothee from above the menu to prompt him to order.

“I’ll just take another coffee.”

“Don’t know why’d you come to a diner just for coffee but whatever,” the teen said before snatching our menus and walking away. Timothee shook his head and I couldn’t help but snort at the kid’s actions.

“He’s probably pissed that we are coming in to eat at two in the morning,” Timothee hypothesized. I hummed in agreement, the smile on my face falling when I remembered the situation I was in.

An awkward silence took over the booth and I focused my eyes on anything except for the curly haired boy in front of me.

“Look, Y/N, I know this is kind of shitty for me to ask you out to eat and bring up all these bad memories but I just needed to talk to you. I’m not even asking for forgiveness, or for us to get back together, I just,” his voice trailed off and I peeked at him, his head low and his lips pursed together.

“I feel like shit. Like, absolute shit for what I did to you. Not only did I make the biggest mistake of my life, but I was a huge dick about it. I’m sure nothing I say can ever make it better, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he cried, pushing his hair back and violently shaking.

“Christ, Tim, relax, you’re gonna make yourself sick breathing like that,” I hesitantly placed my hand on his face, making him look at me.

“Breathe, T. Breathe”

Timothee closed his eyes as he focused on taking in healthy amounts of air. I moved my hand to take it off of his face and he quickly reached up to put his hand on top of mine, leaving it on his damp cheek.

“Timothee-”

“I love you, Y/N. With everything I have, every bone in my body,”

“Then why did you cheat on me?”

I think he was shocked I actually brought it up and said those words out loud. I jerked my hand back and put it back in my lap.

“Hmm? That’s why we are here, remember?” I sneered.

He took a big breath and his head bobbed against the back of the booth as he leaned back.

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue. You had all these great opportunities at university and you were out so much and I felt so... neglected, I guess?”

“So, it’s my fault. Incredible,” I scoffed, grabbing my purse.

“No, no, no, of course not, wait- don’t go yet. Please” he scrambled to grab my hand.

I yanked it back and stood up.

“It was good to see you, Timothee. But I never need to again,” I tried to get out the sentence without crying, but I choked on the last word.

“Please, remember when you said we can fix this? I need us, I need you. I can’t live without you,” he begged, tears flowing down his face. I closed my eyes and exhaled quietly in an effort to catch my breath. In a few quick moves, I pressed my lips against Timothee’s temple, then dug fifteen dollars out of my purse and threw it on the table.

“That should cover the food. Goodbye, Tim,”

My name left Timothee’s mouth multiple times with increasing despair as I turned my back to him, making a beeline for the store.

“The food’s about to be ready, dude,” the teen behind the counter said as I had the handle on the door. “You can’t wait a couple minutes?”

“Give it to the weirdo for me, please,” I said over my shoulder as I walked into the night, not knowing that would be the last time I’d ever see Timothee.

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friendlylocalwriter · 5 years

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i am back!

helloooo everybody! apologies for being gone after making one post, holy crap. AP exams have been kicking my ass but i only have about two more weeks and then i’ll have so much free time bc i’m a senior! so send me any kind of request you want! if it’s a show/movie, i’ve probably seen it lol but just ask, you never know! ciao :)

p.s: a “thank you, next” pt.2 is in the works and i think yall are gonna like it ;-).

p.p.s: if any of yall want to request something in regards to marvel/star wars i will most definitely not be mad because i have been needing an excuse to write for my baby bucky barnes

p.p.p.s(god this is long): i got an ask about writing for male readers/ gender neutral readers and i for sure can! i think thank you, next was gender neutral but don’t be afraid to ask if you want your fic gender neutral/male! we respect all genders & sexualities on this blog <3

#fanfic #fanfiction #timothee chalamet fanfiction #cmbyn #Call Me By Your Name #request #fic #my fic #my fic recs #marvel #avengers endgame #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #timothee chalamet x reader

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friendlylocalwriter · 5 years

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thank u, next

timothee chalamet x reader

word count: 1, 010

warnings: angst, a little swearing, mentions of cheating

A/N: my first ever fanfic on this account! hope yall enjoy, request something if u would like. p.s timmy would never cheat, this might as well be an AU. have fun reading

Time has the ability to feel subjective. When you are desperate to have something pass, time can feel achingly slow. When one wants to feel a moment forever, time seems to run past you, allowing that memory to become fleeting. It isn’t under our control, yet it feels like it can be in the least convenient times. Like today.

The slow click of the grandfather clock behind me echoed in my ears as I sat down, anxious. The lack of light shining through the windows told me that it was quite late at night, and I was excited to go out with Timothee, something I haven’t done since university started again for me.

Click. Click. Click.

My thoughts were disrupted by the sound of feet padding against the floor, and I saw him walk down the steps, his pale legs exposed as he was in his boxers and his lack of a shirt showing his thin frame. My eyes met his and I furrowed my brows, confused as to why it appeared that he had been crying. His eyes, normally bright and energetic, were drooped and bright red, and he sniffled softly.

“Timmy, are you alright? Why aren’t you dressed yet?” I questioned. He said nothing as he slowly moved towards me. He was about to sit on the couch I was on when he hesitated, jerking back and sitting on the chair adjacent to me.

“Timothee?”

Click. Click.

What felt like hours passed until I began to feel anger rising in my chest. He had said nothing, done nothing- I had canceled important plans to make time to be with Timothee, something he claimed that I hadn’t done enough. And now, he was just going to sit here and not say a single word when he’s obviously upset?

“Tim, honey, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you,” I croon, scooting over to reach and touch my hand to his and he flinches, retracting into himself.

I look at him in disbelief, and then chuckle dryly.

“Seriously, Tim, this isn’t funny. The reservation is in 30 minutes and you aren’t even dressed yet.” I said sternly, feeling my cheeks get red as my anger rose. Tim finally made eye contact with me, and his cheeks were wet with tears. I watched him quickly peek his tongue out to catch the salty liquid and take a heavy breath.

“Timoth-”

“I’ve been...I’ve been seeing someone else,” he hiccuped.

Click.

It sort of felt like that moment when you’re falling and the initial adrenaline and excitement passes, and all you’re left with is that fear and dread at the pit of your stomach, and you’re just waiting, and waiting, and waiting to hit the ground, but you don’t. It feels like you’re suspended in the air and you can’t move, and everything around you is rushing past you and you feel like you can’t breathe and your heart has stopped and you can’t-

“Y/N?” Timothee breathed, concerned.

I didn’t know what to say. I can’t think of many times I was like speechless, but I don’t even know if that was the right word for it. It was more as if he, my lover, my everything- had managed to rip my heart out in one measly fucking sentence.

“What’s her name?” I hissed, staring down at the linoleum flooring, refusing to meet his eyes.

I could feel him tense up from feet away, and moments passed before he said anything.

“I don’t, um, think that I should tell you, she doesn’t-"

“Timothee Hal Chalamet if you have at least an ounce of respect for me,” I spat, turning up to look at him. “Then you will tell me what her goddamn name is.”

“Lily-Rose” he rushed out quickly. “Her name is Lily-Rose.”

Maybe it was the name that sealed the deal, but at this point I couldn’t make out anything in the room as my tears clouded my vision. My whole body shook as I sobbed violently, pressing my face into my hands and letting my body curl into itself.

Not me, I thought helplessly. This cannot be happening to me.

I felt Timothee’s cold fingers grasp my shoulder, and I slightly titled my head to look at him. I didn’t move them.

“We can work this out, Tim” I sniffled, reaching my hand to grab his. “I know how much this movie has been wearing down on you and although I’m- I’m broken right now, I think with some time and space, we can be better.” I smiled.

“I- I can’t. I think I love her.” Timothee muttered, shrugging off my hand. I felt my heartbeat quicken as he leaned over to a nearby table where my keys sat and grabbed them.

Is this it?

“Let me take you home. Please?” he asked, standing up and motioning for me to stand. I said nothing as I looked at him, my mouth agape as I struggled to process what was going on.

“Timmy, I just said I think I can forgive you. Is that not enough? Huh? Am I not enough?” I challenged, my voice rising with each word.

“Y/N, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am-”

“Then stay!” I yelled, my voice cracking as I wept. “Stay here, with me. I love you,” I nearly whispered.

I expected to at least see a conflict in his eyes, a question of whether or not I was worth it. But, he just stood there, defeated. He stretched out his hand with the keys in his palm.

“Go home,” he said, no essence of emotion in his voice. Stunned, I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it. I snatched the keys out of his hand and looked up at him, my eyes burning and my head pounding.

“You were my home, Tim” I uttered, pushing past him and shakily opening the front door. I turned around to see one last time, but all I saw was the hands of the clock slowly moving, one by one.

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